by Kari August
Then Mags took a step forward and reached out. To her horror, he was solid—like a blob of wax. She quickly withdrew her hand.
Elle was still excited. “Don’t you just love this? He seems so real.”
“But I actually want to see him . . . not this . . . this . . .” She didn’t even have a word to describe the current image before her.
Elle puckered her brow then. “You do realize he passed away years ago.”
“He did? But I’ve never seen him.” She meant in heaven, but of course that slip only made Elle deepen her frown.
Mags realized she had to compose herself. Cary was gone, passed away, undoubtedly already in heaven though why she had never seen him about she wasn’t sure—but then again, there were so many people in residence up that way. She tried again to sound reasonable. “I mean, could we find where his remains are now?”
“Sure, love, but why don’t we go to my place first.”
Once there, Elle began looking up just where Cary actually was, while reading her version of an Internet thing. “Oh, his name was actually—get this—Archie Leach.”
Perhaps that was what he went by in heaven. Mags would have to remember that.
“His parents had been impoverished, and his mom was locked away when he was nine because she was—” Elle tapped her head. “But he didn’t find out about it until he was an adult. When he was a teenager, he ran away to the circus. He had five wives and made a boatload of money by investments before he passed. But it doesn’t say where his ashes were scattered. Sorry, Mags.”
“I can’t believe he’s gone. I had so yearned to see him.”
“Did you actually think that movie was a live show or something?”
“Nooo,” she answered, though obviously yeees.
But she was disappointed about more than losing this chance with Cary. What she recognized was that it was probably going to take longer than she had realized, even in modern Earth with all its many more people, to find the romantic love she sought.
She now forced herself to look at the situation realistically. First off, she was likely too tall for most men to consider. Though she knew she could make herself attractive, she had never been referred to as a beauty. She was also probably too bookish, too opinionated and too smart, even for these modern men.
And yet . . . she didn’t want to give up this dream so soon.
Perhaps some men would be attracted to the fact that she was a duchess. However possibly not, considering the aside comment Elle had made about there being so many claiming titles.
The only way she could imagine to widen her appeal was to present herself as being rich. And that she realized currently, she was not. The last few days she had been going through the money Herman had given her like crazy. She wondered if she had been given less than Dickie as a way to force her to return to heaven on a timely basis.
But besides, did she really want the type of man who only liked her for her money? No, that concept seemed almost the opposite of what she was trying to accomplish on Earth. And yet, given that it was definitely going to take longer than she had thought to find her man she had better come up with a way to make some money. And fast.
Mags heard a ringing and noticed Elle talking into another one of her gadgets. Now Elle was the one looking upset. “I swear I’m going to wring his scrawny little—
—yeah, I could be there in a day—
—yeah, I’ll see about it tomorrow—
—okay, see you first thing in the office.”
Elle looked over then. “You are not going to believe this. You know that hurricane that happened a month ago in the Caribbean?”
Obviously no, but Mags nodded.
“Well, my charity for stray cats and dogs had been sending relief for the poor critters down there, but the idiot I put in charge seems to be having a sideline of selling the puppy food for a huge profit of his own.”
Mags knew all about running charities properly. Mainly through contributions to religious societies she had become renowned for all the help she had given the poor and unfortunate. Yes, one had to stay on top of all aspects of charities.
“I feel bad—this isn’t going to be much of a vacation if you keep following me around. I have to get into the office tomorrow. I mean I’m sure I can wrap everything up by this weekend—oh, wait. I forgot. This weekend is that party at Charlena’s and Clarence’s place in Florida I said I might attend. Hey, I got a great idea. Why don’t we send you over there a few days ahead—I’m sure they would love to meet you—and I’ll join you for the party this weekend. Wouldn’t that be fun? We could fly to Miami—I drop you off—then I go to the islands to see what’s what, then join you again for the shindig. Simple.”
Mags nodded, smiling. Once again, she was at a complete loss as to what exactly was going on and just how far away she was travelling now. She knew, though, that Clarence was another of the American cousins who Dickie had also visited in the past.
Elle grinned. “Okay. That’s settled. Let me just notify Clarence and then, guess what? For the rest of the day, I’m going to treat you to a girl’s day out. We can go shopping for outfits for the party—it’ll be fun. What do you say?”
Mags kept her smile frescoed in place.
Chapter Four
Massachusetts
Charlie Boston, who lived in Boston, awoke to the news that it was going to be an unseasonably hot day. He glanced out the window and saw there was not a cloud in the sky. “Shit.”
He had to wear a sports coat and tie today to work. It was going to be uncomfortable in this weather, to say the least. But someone had to meet with the hugely important customer who planned on buying a large fleet of trucks for his company. Charlie already knew no one else at their family’s car dealership was going take the important meeting. These types of things always fell to Charlie, especially since his father now liked to spend his days vacationing with his mother.
He got out of bed, shaved and showered, and put on the dreaded outfit—long-sleeved shirt, new stylish coat and tie, and pants. He went into his kitchen and made a quick cup of coffee. He debated whether to prepare any breakfast, looked at the time and decided to just get a carry-out breakfast sandwich on the way to work. He looked around the kitchen counter for his keys, lingering longingly on the set for his antique Datsun automobile, but knowing he couldn’t drive that car today. His working vehicle had to represent the brands they actually sold.
After battling the usual heavy traffic for the area, he pulled into the drive-thru lane and heard Bernice’s voice on the intercom.
“Hi, Charlie. Want the usual?”
“Sure. How’s the family?”
“The boys are causing trouble. What’s new? Come on around. I’ll get your meal.” Poor Bernice, Charlie had learned from their many encounters in the morning like this one, lived on a minimum wage income, scraping by as best she could, while her derelict grown sons did not treat her as they should.
He pulled around to the open window, and Bernice handed him a bag. He hesitated a moment, then plunged ahead with a question he knew was a mistake as soon as he said it . . . but that was what he did . . . often. “You’re looking tired. Anything I can help you with?”
She smiled. “Oh, would you? My car is making these funny noises—like a screeching sound when I start it, and then it’s running weird.”
Charlie had long ago made the error of telling her what he did for a living—managing the car dealerships his family owned and his father had started. She had taken that to mean that he was her go-to person for anything related to her old POS car. “Well, it could be anything, but sounds like perhaps a worn belt.”
She looked horrified. “Is that bad? How expensive is that?”
Charlie knew that the part cost next to nothing. It was the labor that could add up. But he decided to answer, “I’m sure I can get you a discount. Drive the car over after your shift, and I’ll take a look at it myself when my work is done.” Charlie was not going to ask hi
s mechanics to stay later for work that was probably going to be on the house anyways. He would do it himself. He inwardly groaned. Yet another thing to add to the day. But he guessed he had asked for it.
Bernice looked relieved. “Oh, thanks, Charlie. I’ll take the bus home from the dealership and pick the car up tomorrow. Would that be okay?”
“Sure.”
After more irritation in traffic—where yellow lights to the locals meant “hurry up” and reds “just a suggestion”—Charlie walked into the main showroom.
He was immediately attacked by Mabel. God, he hated days where he couldn’t even walk the fifteen or so feet from the entrance door to his office without hearing about a problem.
Greying, middle-aged, plump, Mabel, who had worked there for as long as Charlie could remember—being an original hire of his father’s—smirked. “We got one of them, waiting for you.”
To Mabel, “one of them” could only mean one thing. Some woman in her thirties was complaining about something. Mabel had the strong opinion that women in their thirties were the worst—Charlie had heard the tirade many a time. “Too arrogant for their own good, too demanding, and look how they drive—never letting you cut in. Oh, no. Those bitches will never allow that!”
Today Mabel merely uttered, “She claims we sold her a car that has an uneven streak of color in it. Hmph. I bet.”
Charlie tried walking towards his office again. “Get one of my brothers to handle it.”
Mabel snorted. “Well, Aron is out for a jog—training you know. And do you really think I’m going to get Will to interrupt that interview he has going on for the new hire?” She pointed to where Will was sitting.
Charlie looked through the glass windows of an adjoining office and saw his brother, seated behind a desk, chuckling with an attractive twenty-something woman. Will caught his glance and waved.
Charlie shook his head at Mabel. “No. So where’d you put her?”
“In the hot tank, of course.” Which meant that Mabel had asked the woman to sit in the empty office off the side corridor where the customers in the sales room could not hear her complaints.
A half-hour later, Charlie had the woman out the door, having agreed the dealership would redo the paint.
He finally made it into his office. After answering a shitload of questions on his computer, he had his meeting with the buyer—which went successfully—then opened up some snail mail. Mabel had placed an invitation on top of the pile from Charlena in Florida to Charlie and his brothers. She often mailed the invitations directly to the family dealership.
She was throwing another party at Clarence’s and her mansion. Rich heiress Charlena, who had grown up as a single child, without a mother most of her life, really cherished having family around her. And because Charlie’s little sister Bridget had married Charlena’s brother or to be more exact, Charlena’s stepbrother Cody, and Charlie was related to Charlena now in some fashion, she invited him, and his brothers, to every single one of her events and hugged them all, smiling widely, when they arrived. His brothers attended occasionally, but Charlie tried more often to go because . . . well, it was the correct and kind thing to do.
Oh, the party would allow Charlie to see his sister again so that would be great and yes, he generally had a lot of fun at these functions, but, come on, attending required quite a bit of shuffling and travelling between congested airports—something Charlie did not look forward to doing again.
But this party, in particular, was also for a good cause and added to Charlie’s sense of obligation. Clarence had established a hotel for newly arrived immigrants and their families which he had jokingly labeled his refugee resort. He helped them find work, provided meals at cost, and supplied English lessons. The enterprise had become hugely successful so Clarence had just sold the renovated building—for a profit to investors who wanted to turn it now into a swanky boutique hotel—and planned on restoring an even larger structure for more immigrants. Some of his refugees had become construction workers and hotel maids or receptionists. Some were now at college on scholarships. But more than a few were in the food business and would be at the party either cooking or serving. The party was to encourage donations but also to remind some of their rich friends that his refugees were good workers whom they should hire.
So, yes, Charlie should attend this party—it was the responsible thing to do. He just . . . didn’t feel like it.
He messaged his brother Aron. “CAN YOU GO TO CHARLENA’S PARTY THIS TIME INSTEAD OF ME?”
A minute later, he received, “SORRY BRO. GOT THE MARATHON.”
He tried Will next.
“SORRY BRO. GOT HOT DATE.”
Charlie shook his head. He just hoped it wasn’t with the new hire. Charlie proceeded to RSVP yes, he would attend and continued on with his miserable day which included firing a drunk worker—his brothers only liked to do the hiring, not the unpleasant firing.
But towards late afternoon, he glanced out his office at the new line of posters Mabel had put up along the corridor, supplied by the car making company, advertising their new truck line. The last one really caught his attention. The truck was attempting to climb a pile of rocks against a backdrop of imposing snow-capped mountains.
An idea began to form in Charlie’s mind. He wondered if he would actually go through with the audacious plan.
Chapter Five
Florida
Rudy, some sort of servant of her cousin Clarence, got out of the driver’s seat and came around to open Mag’s door. She stepped out and was hit again by an absolutely ungodly heat. And she had thought where Elle lived was not to her taste. Ha! This Miami seemed, if possible, even more overly crowded, with nondescript buildings and ugly roads everywhere.
My heavens. These modern structures had nothing over the beautifully ornate, Romanesque buildings and palaces of Bruges, Lieges or Ghent. Even the humbler dwellings of Burgundy could claim the distinctive multipatterned roof tiles the region was praised for. Herman had told her modern city people liked clean lines which she had not fully comprehended until now. Well, she was realizing she preferred charming, open, and what modern people must consider rural settings—or at least give her a building with one stinking gargoyle, could they please?
Rudy led her to the front door and opened it for her. Ah, thank goodness. Her cousin’s dwelling was cool and livable. He then took her to a room off the entrance where a man—oh, Dickie was so correct again—handsome and solidly built, sitting behind a desk, looked strikingly like their brother George. She was sure it was her cousin Clarence.
Rudy waved goodbye as Clarence motioned for her to take a seat and to wait a moment—he was talking on a phone.
“Hey, Gonzo—hold up a sec.” He looked at her and smiled. “Hi! Nice to meet ya. I’m Clarence—I’ll be off in a minute. Sorry about this.” He went back to his conversation. “So, look. There isn’t a chance that we’re interested.”
He listened and then chuckled. “Yeah, well, I agree. That is a lot of money to make for just one evening of work, but—
—okay. Yeah. I’ll think about it.” He glanced at Mags and shook his head, smiling and then mouthed silently to her no way. “Listen, I got to go. My pretty English cousin has just arrived—
—okay. I’ll give you a final answer soon—
Yeah. Within the hour. Bye.”
Clarence looked over and chuckled. “Well, that was interesting. Did Dickie ever tell you that I once owned a club?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Well, one of my pals—and that’s being generous to call him that—who once ran another club is now part of the WWW—I’m sure you’ve heard of it, the World Wide Warriors? Get this. He tried to recruit me or Charlena to fight tonight—it’s amateur walk-on night—and he has a last-minute problem with one of his so-called warriors. He thought it would be a good crowd draw to have rich people in the ring.” He shook his head again. “Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?”
Mags was instantly alert. There were
so many things Clarence had said that had caught her attention. A warrior club where participants made a lot of money? Sounded fantastic.
Clarence kept talking. “Sorry, but you only got me for company the next couple days. Charlena is with the twins at her daddy’s beach house—Gramps was complaining he didn’t get to see enough of the kids, especially since big brother Georgie is spending the summer in England with his cousin Richie.”
Mags had heard only a few things about Clarence’s wife Charlena and their three children. His spouse was apparently beautiful, her father was rich and she was also exceedingly kind and sweet—at least according to Dickie and Aunt Elle.
Clarence snorted. “And, of course, Char’s posse, Gert and Sally—our supposed housekeeper and nanny—had to follow her. We only have Juanita and Rudy puttering around here until closer to the party. And it’s the soccer playoffs or something so don’t expect to see much of Rudy.” Clarence smiled again. “So how is Dickie doing? I miss that nut.”
“Dickie is doing well. He’s busy with—” She had to catch herself and remember that Clarence had never learned that Dickie was King Richard III despite the fact that Dickie had once spent some of his time on Earth with him.
Clarence held up his hand. “Don’t tell me. I bet he’s acting again.”
Acting? Is that how Dickie pulled off the deception? Mags just smiled in response then turned the conversation to what she was most interested in. “So, about this World Wide Warriors Club. I could fight. I mean if your friend was interested.”
Clarence gawked at her, then laughed. “Oh, you’re just kidding.”
“No, I’m not. I’m sure I’m as capable as any man.”
“But this—”
“Warfare?” she supplied.
“—is nonsense. Even with all my varied pursuits, I’ve never been interested in it.”
Mags nodded. War was nonsensical often—she was glad her cousin knew this. But she wanted the money—though she would never admit that to Clarence—and imagine how much fun it would be to then tell Dickie that yes, she had fought as a warrior even if he wouldn’t let her friends and her participate in his stupid club.
