"I'm not sure, dear," Ruth said with a curious frown. "But I'm thinkin' yer Granny will enlighten us, 'er bein' a necromancer and all."
Sara studied the two men.
"I need to get back upstairs, anyway," Clarence said, unaware Sara could hear him. He dragged his eyes off the tote. "Shame we don't have a rhinestone-studded casket."
"The friggin, livin', breathin', Herman Munster wannabe," Sara growled. "Look at him! The man's probably only owned one suit for the last twenty years—that one. And look at me; do I look like my mother? I didn't think so."
"He's just judging the book by its cover, honey," Martin said, head tilted, skinny arm waving. "I mean, puh-leease. Your mother has orange-striped hair, huge gold hoop earrings, red lips and matching acrylic fingernails, and she's wearing a black spandex dress with three-inch stilettos. Tell me you're adopted."
Sara frowned.
The man in the white coat bagged his long blond hair in plastic and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He walked over to another body covered with a sheet. "Time for the oven, Mr. Smith." He pushed the gurney toward a set of double doors on the other side of the morgue.
"Ya think I should hang here and see if I can possess morgue-guy, and then fry my body?" Sara asked, but she was watching Mr. Bean head toward the door.
"Come along, Sara, I think it's time we visit yer granny," Ruth said, flying behind the director.
"I'm not fond of necromancers, Ruth." Martin's eyeballs were bulging out of their smoky sockets.
"Think o'the picture as a whole, dear. We want t'stop Bartholomew, and Gran's necromancy would certainly do the trick, it would."
"We're not going anywhere until I pick out my casket," Sara said, following Clarence, "aaand ruffle this jerk's feathers, or die trying!"
Chapter Eight
"My mother's faux pas will sooo not be the talk of the town next week—ain't happenin'—not if I have anything to do with it! I think I should just hang here until they start dressing my body; maybe I can get inside one of them, then," Sara announced as they floated over the front lawn in front of the funeral parlor.
"Blessyervanitydrivensoul, dear, I'm thinkin' that'd be a terribly bad idea, it would. Remember the last time?"
"I do," Martin said, one corner of his mouth twitching upward, "and it was definitely noteworthy."
Sara flashed him a set of angry translucent eyes.
Ruth clucked her tongue. "Y'did approve o'yer mum's choice o'casket, dear. And the lovely pearl colored lid and plush silk coverlet'll hide most o'yer clothes anyway, it will. So we shouldn't dilly-dally with things out o' our control and head right over t'yer granny's house." Ruth tried for the umpteenth time. "Where does she live, dear?"
There was a moment of perceptible unspoken words hanging in the air as Sara eyed the funeral parlor with an analytical gaze.
After careful consideration of Sara's changing facial expressions, Ruth tried another angle. "Gettin' in t'another man's body's a terrible invasion, it is, and it might make said man wonder why 'e acted as a result, so ya should pay that some mind, dear. After all a man's body is 'is castle, so let's move on t'granny's an'-"
"Shut up. Just shut up. I don't care what that jerk thinks, and-"
"Well, as I see it," Martin interrupted, puckering as he paused, "if you could get in his body, which seems unlikely at the moment, and get a look inside the tote-bag, what's the plan, Sara? You going to suggest he bury you in a snappy white mortician jacket? Maybe take him to the Mall shopping?"
Sara, looking overstatedly casual, said, "I don't know yet, but I will be prepared."
"Sh-yeah, right? And that gives you . . . what? I'm not getting it." Martin groused.
As the spirits continued to argue on the front lawn, Toni and Belle walked out of Golden Home Funeral Parlor and down the stairs, none the wiser.
"The casket is lovely, Mom," Toni said. "Now all they need is Sara's eleven-by-fourteen senior picture for the viewing—sorry we forgot that."
"It is a beautiful casket, isn't it?" Belle sobbed.
Two buildings down from the funeral parlor, a black pickup truck pulled to the curb. After what looked like an animated conversation with himself, Paul got out. He straightened his jeans, pocketed his keys, and then smiled shyly at Toni as he walked toward them.
"What the heck is he doing here?" Sara screeched.
"Oh joy! Maybe he'll deflower your sister tonight and our troubles will be over," Martin chortled.
"Martin, blessyerluriddiscourse," Ruth scoffed, "we need to think about 'er sister and Bartholomew, we do. Therefore, we should make 'aste and move along t'granny's, we should. Perhaps Granny can explain t'Toni that she shouldn't be beddin'-"
"Sooo not going to happen." Sara flew at warp speed toward her mother's car.
Paul walked right through Ruth's vaporous form. Ruth yelped and stumbled a step or two.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Farrell," Paul said. "I hope you don't mind me coming over. Toni said it would be all right, and I was very concerned about her."
Belle turned to Toni, patted her hand, and then addressed Paul. "You must be the young man who called earlier. We have to go home for a picture of . . . of . . . well; maybe you would like to join us?"
"I could do that," Paul answered with a comforting smile.
"No he cannot!" Sara said, getting right in Toni's face. "Back away from the possessed guy, Toni!"
Toni blushed, and not because she heard her sisters words. "Did you call Officer Delgado?"
"I did. I answered a few questions." Paul gave Belle a bereaved glance. "The officer said he'd already talked to the other guy—evidentially someone at Wright's knew him—and I basically told him the same things Toni and the guy did. They're still waiting for a tox screen, but Delgado said he thinks it was just a freak accident, Mrs. Farrell."
"I know. I know. Sara wouldn't kill herself," Belle whimpered. "I just can't believe-"
"Damn right!" Sara said, swiping at Paul. "You did that for me, you haunted butt-wipe!"
"You seem to have a proverbial skippy cornucopia of slang, smut-words, now don't you?" Martin asked, tapping his foot on the grass with his hands inside his hips and halfway to his navel.
Sara spit a puff of smoke at him.
Ruth pontificated, "T'be forthright and truthful, Sara, Bartholomew actually executed yer demise, bless'isself-absorbednature."
Not hearing the other conversation, Toni was saying, "Of course she wouldn't, Mom," Toni's voice hitched. Paul put his arm around her. "It was just awful."
Sara loped around Paul, slapping at his arm. "Get your paws off my sister, you . . . you . . . "
Belle mouthed a 'hurp, hurp' sound, her eyes opened wide, she gagged, and projectile barfed a stream of vomit through Sara's body.
Sara yelped. "Eck! Great! Just great! What am I, a fricken puke magnet!? Gross!" She spun a small smoky tornado, hands brushing through her body, feet kicking as she grimaced.
Paul started digging in his pockets. "Hey, you want me to—let me run inside—get you some tissue?"
Belle's arm shot through Ruth and grabbed Paul's arm. She shook her head, and pulled a wad of Kleenex out of her purse. "I just want to go home."
Knowing Sara's mother couldn't see or feel him; Martin curled his arm around Belle's head and cupped her mouth. "Do all the women in your family hurl when they get upset?" He dropped his fangs and smiled.
Sara bared her even, but semi-transparent teeth at him.
Belle made that 'hurp-hurp' sound again. She covered Martin's hand with the soiled tissue. Everyone moved back a few steps, including Martin. Toni opened the car door and Paul helped Belle inside. He smiled at Toni. "I'll be right behind you."
Toni's face turned as red as a stoplight. "Thanks, but are you sure you want to come over?"
"Yep, maybe I can run the picture back," Paul said.
"Thank you," Belle whispered from the car.
As Toni climbed into the car and Paul headed for his truck, Sara asked, "Sh
ould we follow them?"
"No, dear. We need answers, we do. Now where did y'say yer granny lives?" Ruth asked, pulling Sara into the night air.
"Florida, and you aren't going to like her."
"Oh dear," Ruth said.
"Hold up," Martin shouted and took to the air. "Maybe we should reconsider, at the very least, reconnoiter."
***
At the other end of the country, sitting on the balcony of her condo in New Smyrna Beach, Florida, Antoinette Maestro listened to the waves gently lapping at the shoreline, a frown on her face. The clouds passing across the sunset lit the horizon in a vivid display of pink and purple, but Antoinette barely noticed.
Sara's grandmother adjusted her baggy, flowered caftan over bird-like legs, the skin on her thin arms flapping with the effort. She slid her glasses up on her nose, gray eyes glaring on a face covered with wrinkles. Pushing back a chaotic mass of ashen curls, she picked up the cordless receiver from the table by her patio chair and punched in her daughter's phone number with an arthritic finger.
"Hello," Belle answered.
"It's Mom, Belle. I know that we've lost Sara, and I wish we hadn't, but there's a more immediate problem. Sara's trying to fight a battle she cannot win." Antoinette's voice was blunt and harsh.
"What do you mean? Have you spoken with Sara?" Belle asked.
"No Belle, I haven't, but my spirit guide allowed me access to her thoughts the minute she died, and the girl is just as big a mess dead as she was alive. Did you know she entered that young girl's body at the hospital—the one chastising her boyfriend? Although the display was a bit theatrical, it was amazing."
"How could that happen? No family member has ever been able to-"
"I'm well aware that none of the women in this family—be they necromancers or not—have been able to enter a human body in spirit form, but Sara did, twice. She also entered your body. And because you were daydreaming about our family secret, she knows I'm a necromancer."
"What do you mean, she knows? I didn't feel her-"
"I know you didn't and that's why I called. She didn't fully understand your thoughts, so she tried to enter Toni's body, but she couldn't. Do you know what that means, Belle? Toni is protected. She will inherit the gift. And I won't let Sara ruin it for her. When she tried to make a scene at the funeral parlor earlier, I was able to stop her from possessing the director, but I don't know how long I can hold her. I don't know what she's capable of doing. She's on her way here with two other ghosts. They seem to be on an unnecessary mission to save Toni. I intend to formally channel Sara and hopefully glean her powers. It's time to set her straight. But that isn't as important as what's happening with Toni."
"What are you talking about?" Belle shrieked. "Tell me my Toni is safe. Please tell me that, Mother!"
"She's more than safe," Antoinette said. "I've found out there's a seer ghost, Bartholomew, waiting to strike up a bargain with her. A seer, Belle. Do you know what that means for our little Toni? She will be able to predict the future, mold it, and be a part of it by letting this Bartholomew possess her. And in return, all he wants is to be able to feel the simple pleasures of the human body—a mutual agreement that would give them both so much. Our little girl can be anything she wants to be, Belle, imagine it. There will be nothing to stop her with Bartholomew guiding her."
Chapter Nine
Paul shuffled his feet on the living room carpet, played with the keys in his pocket and completely shut down his thoughts. He felt Bartholomew's disapproval and ignored it.
"Toni, I know this is a difficult time for your family. But I have big shoulders."
"I appreciate you coming by to check up on me," Toni said, her insides shaking as she ran her eyes over those broad shoulders he was offering. Now what the heck do I do? I don't even know why he's here. Oh, God, what would Sara do?
"I can see you're uncomfortable," Paul tried, his eyes downcast. "We just met and, well, maybe one of your girlfriend's shoulders would be more appro-"
"I don't really have any girlfriends." Great! I'm freakin' encouraging him. Can I just keep my mouth shut for five seconds?
"I only have one friend myself, and he . . . Look, I don't . . . Hell, I don't usually date, but I was just wondering..." Paul's eyes lifted and hung onto hers.
Whoa! Date? Did he just say the D word? As in with me? Alone? With him? Oh, God help me!
Belle walked out of the kitchen and Toni recognized the blue and white envelope that held photos of Sara. "That was your grandmother on the telephone. She's coming up for the funeral."
Thank you—thank you—thank you. I could kiss you right now! Nice save, Mom! "Oh that's great. I can't wait to see her," Toni said, thinking she would have someone to talk to about Paul. Gran always had the right answers. Best of all, Gran always took charge. She would be a big help with Mom, too.
Belle handed the envelope to Toni. "Why don't the two of you go? The funeral director needs the picture for tomorrow's viewing and we can't go in the morning. We have to pick your grandmother up at the airport." Belle looked at Paul. "Do you mind? I'd feel more comfortable if one of us goes. I'd like to lie down for a while."
Shit—shit—shit! Forget the kiss—I want to strangle you, Mom!
"We can do that." Paul gave Toni a look of anticipation, then his hand shot to his ear, and he scrunched his forehead as though his head hurt.
Great—just great! Alone with Mr. Big Shoulders. Swell! Say something—say something! He's smiling at you and waiting. "All right, Mom, we'll be right back," Toni said just a bit too fast. She looked down at the envelope in her hands, wishing for once in her life that her sister were standing here instead of her.
As Toni wobbled out the front door, she pushed red curls behind her ear. Paul walked beside her with a big grin frozen on his chiseled face.
You can do this. How hard can it be? It's not like you have to spend all night with him.
Paul ushered her to the car and opened the door. She climbed in, fastened her seat belt, green eyes following him around the front of the truck.
Toni stared out the passenger window the minute Paul cranked the engine. The silence lasted about three blocks.
"Were you and your sister close?" Paul coaxed while stopping for a red light.
"Uh, sort of. We were twins," Toni answered. Can you expand on that, you idiot? Con·ver·sa·tion: Casual talk. An informal talk with somebody, especially about opinions, ideas, feelings, or everyday matters. Right? Oh God, so not going to happen.
"Sorry, I thought maybe you might want to talk about her, but if not, I understand." Paul accelerated when the light turned green.
Toni took a long breath, and thought about the question. What can I tell him about Sara? That she was all about having popular friends, what she looked like, and what boys she could get to call her every night? "My sister always fit in. She's so popular. I mean, she was popular."
"I'm so sorry, Toni. I wish I could have done something. I feel really bad, but I..." Paul felt Bartholomew give a mental poke.
"It's not your fault; I mean what could you have done?" God, he's so sweet and way too cute. I know I shouldn't be thinking about him right now. I should be grieving for my sister, but Sara would totally understand; she'd jump on him like- "You didn't even know she was my sister," Toni said, trying to smile as she watched Paul's Adam's apple bob, his jaw clench.
"Did you like the same things?" Paul asked. "Did you spend a lot of time together?"
Toni noticed a dimple on his cheek when he tried for an encouraging smile as he waited for her answer. How the heck did I miss that? Why is my body shaking? Why can't I take my eyes off that dimple? A chill ran up her spine and her stomach tightened in knots.
She pulled her eyes off his face and locked them on the pavement ahead, lit by the truck's headlights, and watched it rush at them. "No, not at all. Sara loved the new chick flicks, loud music, and all the dumb reality shows. I certainly don't; they're all about who's doing who—who's got blonder hair�
��who's popular—who's not. It's juvenile. Come on, I mean it's so stupid, and it was all she could think about," she blurted. "It's what she lived for." Tell me all that didn't just fall out my mouth? I made my dead sister sound like . . . like... Like every other seventeen year old, but me.
"Okay, you two were as different as Rachel Berry and Quin Fabray on Glee." Paul chuckled. "So, what's a guy gotta do to get your attention?"
How do I answer that? Crap, I don't know. Boys don't try to get my attention, nor me theirs. A good book gets my attention. Read and hide in someone else's dream; that's what I do best. I'm such a geek. "I don't know," Toni sputtered. "I've never been asked that question." Glee? He's watches Glee?
"Go on! Tell me you don't know you're attractive."
Why does it always come down to what someone looks like? "I thought you inferred that looks aren't everything. Remember? In the restaurant?" What about humanity, humor, brains? He watches Glee?
"Well sure, they're not everything, but it's a good start," Paul answered. "I mean it's all about chemistry isn't it?"
And you know he's not talking about dealing with the structure, composition, properties, and reactive characteristics of substances. No, more like a spontaneous mutual sense of attraction and understanding. I'm not quite hitting on the understanding part, but my body is sure doing the spontaneous reaction thing. "I guess."
Paul grinned. "I think we both have some chemistry going here, so how about we find something else we share. What's your favorite food?"
Perfect, sex and food. Just what Sara said—could he be any more of a primate? "I like pizza."
"Exceptional. Me too. See, we do have something in common."
Okay, so he used a word with over ten letters and- "You watch Glee? I love Glee."
"And I thought you didn't watch teen shows." Paul arched an eyebrow.
Toni scrunched freckles on the bridge of her nose. "Glee made some great points about high school mentality and right from wrong, even with the adults on the show. It attracts everyone, not just the popular kids."
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