by Terri Grimes
“Oops, never mind, I think he’s feeling aces now, Timmy. Too bad.”
“Drat, and I had my lips puckered and ready to go.”
“Better luck next time.”
Timmy and I giggled together.
I couldn’t help but notice Sam observing my end of the conversation with curiosity. No way was I about to tell him he’d narrowly missed getting mouth-to-mouth from my gay best friend.
“What’s your ETA? We’re getting some serious complaints from the other patrons about the noise of our stomach’s growling.”
“Hmmm,” Timmy mused. “If I don’t try on those adorable black gabardine pants I might be able to get there in, uh, let’s say thirty minutes?”
I looked at Sam who was staring at me with a hopeful expression as he patted him stomach, mouthing the words, “Let’s eat now.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and try on that pair of black gabardine pants,” I said into the phone. “I’ll pick you up a small sausage and onion pizza, and we’ll meet you at my house in an hour.”
“Make it one of Cindy’s special meatball bombers and it’s a plan.”
The only thing better than one of Dan’s pizzas was one of his wife’s legendary sandwiches. Homemade meatballs the size of baseballs, stuffed in a length of French bread, smothered in sauce and cheese, the title of ‘bomber’ was accurate. My fear was that after eating a sandwich of such magnificent proportions, the only thing Timmy would be ready for was bed.
Before I could open my mouth to voice my concerns, I heard the sound of material rustling. “Come to Poppa,” Timmy commanded with a satisfied sigh.
“Bye,” I said to the dead connection since he’d already hung up. He didn’t believe in long goodbyes when his sights were set on fashion.
“I take it there will be two of us for dinner this evening?” Sam asked as I slid my cell phone into the confines of my purse.
“You would be correct.”
“Feel like eating at the bar or would you prefer doing the table thing?” His hazel eyes twinkled as he waited for my answer. My heart skipped a beat just looking in them.
“You know what I’d really like?”
He put an elbow on the bar, resting his head on his hand. Reaching his other hand out, he tweaked the tip of my nose. “I’m all ears, Sugarbaker, what would you really like?”
I drew my face close to his, secretly hoping for another nose tweak. “A grilled turkey bomber with a beer chaser, right here at the bar.”
His lips curved into a sexy smile. “Swiss cheese and extra pepperoncini’s?”
“Of course. Is there any other way?”
“A woman after my own heart.” He straightened, motioning to Dan, then ordering our sandwiches and beers with a practiced ease. It was apparent this wasn’t his first bomber and beer dinner at Perfetto’s.
“Have things been quiet around the old homestead today, specter wise?” Sam asked as our next round of beers arrived while we waited for our sandwiches.
I gave a quick nod before taking a drink of the icy cold beverage. “Fortunately, yes. After last night’s drama, I can’t help but be relieved to have a little peace and quiet.”
“Understandable,” he replied before lifting the frothy mug to his mouth. “You know the EVP sessions we conducted?”
I got a sick, churning sensation in the pit of my stomach.
“Yeah?”
He took a deep breath, easing it out before he spoke. “We caught something on one of the sessions.”
“Caught something?” I repeated, in a daze. I was afraid of what was coming next.
Sam reached into his briefcase, pulling out the small hand-held digital voice recorder. “This was caught on the upstairs landing when I asked the entity to give us a sign of his presence.” His lips were set tight and his expression grim as he pressed the play button.
I leaned in close so I could hear the recording.
“I command you to give us a sign of your presence,” Sam’s voice came over the recorder.
There were a few seconds of crackling static and then a whispery, eerie voice spoke. “Give me a blowjob and I’ll give you a sign, sailor boy,” a whispery male voice said.
My first urge should have been to laugh. If a living, breathing, in the flesh person had said such a thing to Sam, I would have giggled at the very least. But the tone of the voice was so downright creepy that my arms peppered with goosebumps and every hair on the back of my neck stood up.
“Holy shit,” I said, enunciating each and every syllable.
“I’m beginning to get an idea of what you’ve been dealing with these past couple of months. You’ve got quite an inappropriate ghost there, Gertie.”
I tittered. “I could have told you that.”
“Uh, there’s more.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” Sam’s expression was solemn. “Remember when you provoked the entity?”
I shook my head.
“Do you remember calling him a little dicked piece of shit? That was provoking, Gertie.”
It all came flooding back to me in a crashing wave of recognition. Oh dear God, what the hell did I start?
Sam pressed a button on the recorder, forwarding to the spot he was searching for. He turned the volume on high and pressed the play button.
My voice sounded crude and angry over the voice recorder as I taunted the entity. The reply was swift and distinct.
“But, my precious,” the faint whispery voice floated in the air, chilling me to the very core of my being. There was a static filled pause and then the voice continued. “You like my little dick.”
I felt a wave of heat rush across my face and knew I was blushing.
Sam snapped the recorder off and shoved it back into his briefcase. “Sorry, Gertie. I know that wasn’t a pleasant thing to hear, but you needed to know.”
I nodded. “I think I’ll take your advice and try a little less provoking tonight.”
He grinned, patting me heartily on the back. “That might be a good idea.”
Eleven
When we pulled into the driveway, I was no less than amazed to see Timmy’s battered Honda Civic parked at the curb. The thought of him being somewhere when he said he would was just too surreal for me.
I hunched my shoulders against the wind, which had more of a bite to it than it should for mid April and made my way to where he sat on the hood of his car.
Timmy glanced up at me, reproachfully, from underneath his manicured brows. “A guy could starve to death waiting out here for you and lover boy. What did you do, stay for dessert?”
I ignored his comment and question, rustling the paper sack at my side, giggling as he licked his lips.
“Did you get it topped with mozzarella or provolone?”
“Both, of course. You think I would ruin a good meatball bomber with just one type of cheese? Give me more credit than that,” I huffed.
He eagerly grabbed the sack from my outstretched hand, sticking his entire face through the opening while taking a deep appreciative sniff. He must have liked what he smelled because in an instant, Timmy was all smiles.
“Well, what are we standing out here for? Let’s go in so I can eat this masterpiece.”
I closed my lightweight jacket tighter, shivering as another gust of wind blew through the thin material. “You didn’t have to wait outside for us. You know I keep a spare key under the flowerpot by the back door.”
He lowered his head, issuing a tortured sigh as he plodded against the biting wind. “Thanks but no thanks. I’d rather take my chances outside than be in there alone.”
There wasn’t much I could say to that. I knew exactly how he felt. But I wasn’t going to allow myself to be driven out of my home. I had too much of the Sugarbaker stubborn streak in me for that.
After acknowledging Timmy with a friendly wave of the hand, Sam walked to the back of the van and pulled open both of the back doors. Grabbing a duffle bag full of equipment, he marched up the front step
s. Timmy and I followed, Timmy looking rather pale as he looked up at the second story windows looming large and ominous in the early evening darkness.
“Key?” Sam said, turning to me.
I rooted in my oversized purse for a moment before pulling out a jingling key ring. “Catch,” I hollered a split second before tossing the heavy key laden ring to him. I had to give the guy his kudos, he caught the over filled ring without breaking stride.
Sam unlocked the front door, swinging it open. The first thing to hit us was the sound of the living room television turned to full blast. The walls echoed with the sound of the nightly news.
Sam set the duffle bag on the floor, motioning for us to follow him in.
Flipping on a few lights as I went, I made my way over to the television and turned it off. I started to walk away but on second thought turned back and unplugged it, just to be sure.
“That’s never happened before,” I said, nervous.
“Are you sure you didn’t leave the set on?” Timmy asked.
“Of course not!”
“It’s not an unheard of thing, Gertie. People forget to turn their televisions off all the time. You wouldn’t be the first to have done it nor the last,” Sam reasoned.
“Right and we all know I’m bloody deaf, so that’s why I left the television turned up to ear splitting. Gawd, you guys! Give me a break.”
“Maybe you have a timer feature on your remote you’re not aware of?”
“No way,” I snapped at Sam. I was getting pissed off. It was
pretty clear we all knew what was going on here. And clearer still was that none of us wanted to admit it. I understood the reasoning behind Sam looking at a site from that standpoint that it wasn’t haunted, until he had all the facts and evidence to back it up to prove it was. But there was no debunking this one, in my mind. We weren’t stupid, we knew who, or more aptly, what had turned the television on.
“Okay,” he said. “Just making sure. First thing to do is to make certain no one else is in the house.”
Timmy gasped. “Like a burglar?”
“Exactly,” Sam confirmed. “We’ll split up. Timmy, you take the first floor and Gertie and I will search the second floor for intruders.”
“Split up?” Timmy said anxiously. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Sam.”
“What’s wrong with splitting up?” I asked. “Afraid the big, bad boogeyman is going to grab you, Timmy?”
“I’ve seen enough horror movies to know the gay guy is always the first to get the axe in the back.”
“Oh, please. I doubt you’re the boogeyman’s type.” I glared at Timmy, my hands on my hips.
With a flourish of the wrist, he stood in front of me, legs slightly apart and put his hands on his hips too, his gaze spawning a classic showdown. It was gunfight at the OK Corral all over again.
I met him look for look. After all, I wasn’t BFF to a gay drama queen without learning a trick or two.
“He might be right, Gertie,” Sam interjected just in the nick of time. “Maybe splitting up isn’t so wise.”
I blinked at him. “What do you mean, isn’t so wise? Are you taking his side now?”
Sam uttered a long sigh as he shot me an exasperated look. “If someone is lurking around, it could be dangerous. You know what they say about safety in numbers.”
Sure, I knew all about the old safety in numbers adage. I also knew what they said about three being a crowd, but I wasn’t about to mention that in front of Sam.
“He’s got a point, Gertie. It could be dangerous,” Timmy said.
Great, I’m in the midst of a meeting of the old boy’s club. The air was getting just a little bit too thick with testosterone for my liking.
I scowled at the two of them. This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted Timmy to come in the first place. I wanted Sam to hold my hand, not my gay BFF’s hand. But I was outnumbered so I didn’t have a choice but to go along with the status quo.
“All right, already. We stay together then.” I turned towards Sam and with a wriggle of the hand said, “Lead the way, Cowboy.”
“Wagon train out,” he responded with a grin.
We moved from room to room throughout the first floor.
“That does it,” Sam said when we finished navigating the lower level. “There’s no one downstairs, other than us.”
“No one living, you mean,” I added.
Timmy visibly paled. “You don’t think that there is a ghost in here right now, do you? I mean, the way the television was blaring when we came in, a ghost couldn’t do that. Could they?”
“Ding dong, earth to Timmy. Dude, what do you think Sam’s being here is all about?” No, wait. I didn’t want him to answer that. Verbalizing it would make it all too real.
“I understand he’s a ghost buster. I get that,” Timmy protested.
“Hunter,” I stressed. “He’s a hunter. It’s not ghost busting, it’s ghost hunting I keep telling you.”
“Okkaaaay,” Timmy drawled. “Ghost hunter. I merely wanted to know if it was even possible for a ghost to physically turn a television set on. I just wondered if there was a ghost with us now. Shoot me for wondering. Sheesh!”
We both turned to look at Sam, who was listening to our little exchange with what seemed to be great interest. “It’s possible,” he said. “With all that has occurred…” He was cut off by a thunderous noise that sounded like a motorcycle revving up in the living room.
“What the hell is that?” Timmy said, his voice full of alarm.
“I don’t know,” Sam answered, already moving out of the room. “But I’m about to find out.”
We followed him back toward the living room. As we neared the room, the sounds grew louder until it seemed that all of Hell’s Angels were in my cozy living room, revving up their cycles all at once. Suddenly, we knew what the noise was.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered as I watched Paul Teutul Junior revving up a custom Orange County chopper while Paul Teutul Senior gave a running commentary about where he was going to put his size twelve shoe if the chopper wasn’t completed by their deadline—on the television I’d just turned off a short time ago. Even more disturbing, the television’s plug was out of the electrical socket and lying on the floor where I had placed it not ten minutes earlier.
I saw Timmy eyes widen as he followed my gaze, coming to rest on the television plug.
“I don’t like this, not one little bit,” he whimpered, his face covered with a look of terror.
“I’m not too fond of the situation myself,” I hissed between clenched teeth, “but there’s not much I can do about it, now is there?”
“I think that answers our question,” Sam interrupted in a voice that sounded too cheerful for the situation. In fact, to be honest, he sounded stoked about it.
“Question?” Timmy and I both turned to face Sam. “What question?” I asked.
“The entire reason we have been searching your house, Gertie,” Sam said. “Intruder or ghost? I think we have our answer, folks.”
“Well,” Timmy sniffed, “I, for one, don’t like that answer.” He moved closer to me as if I were going to protect him. Hah, what a laugh. I was just as scared as he was, maybe more so. He could leave anytime he wanted, but I had to live here after all.
“I’m not trying to be mean, but maybe it’s best if you head on home, Timmy,” I said.
“Best for who?” he whispered in my ear. “You and lover boy or me?”
I ignored him, continuing, “After all, you’ve worked a full day and then to come here and try to ghost bust all night, you’re probably bushed.”
“Ghost hunt,” he said, eyeing me warily. He was no fool, he was onto my game. I would have thought he might have even been the tiniest bit grateful to me for giving him an out. Even though he was gayer than my Aunt Frances on the cooking sherry, he had a macho image to protect. But he wasn’t taking it very well at all.
“Well,” he simpered in a huff. �
��If you don’t want me here, just let me know. I’m not one to go where I’m not wanted. I thought I was a part of this team too. I wasn’t aware it was the Sam-Gertie team.”
“Don’t get yourself in a snit. That’s not what I mean at all, Timmy and you know it. I worry about you, buddy. There’s no reason for all three of us to wander around the house in the dark, looking for the boogeyman.”
“You kids will have the house to yourself. Me and my sandwich will be manning command central out in the back of Sam’s van, in the cold,” he sniffed with a touch of martyr in his voice.
“That’s right, I forgot you were taking Amanda’s place. Well, carry on I suppose. Off to the cold van with you, my friend.” A light, tinkley giggle bubbled up.
“Great minds think alike because that is just where I was headed,” Timmy said with a relieved smile as he backed toward the front door, sandwich bag in hand. “You can call me on the walkie-talkie if you need anything. Same goes for lover boy,” he said, giving a nod towards the dining room where Sam was checking his equipment. I hoped he was out of earshot. And then, with a wave of the hand and an expert swish of the tush, he was gone.
~ * ~
Ten minutes later, Sam and I were geared up and ready to begin.
“Are you familiar with a K2 meter?” Sam asked handing me a small piece of equipment.
“No, not really. How does this K2 thing work?” I turned the small rectangular device over in my hand, examining the underside.
“An entity can communicate one on one with the investigator with this baby,” he said proudly.
“Yeah? How so?”
“You see these lights?” He pointed to the row of six small, unlit bulbs lining the top of the instrument.
“Sure.”
“When the spirit gets close to the meter, these lights flash like a Christmas tree. The closer the energy gets to the K2, the more the bulbs light. It’s based on the electro magnetic field given off by an entity.”
“Way cool, I must admit. But I don’t see how that helps you communicate with the ghost.”
He gave me an indulgent but patient look as he explained, “The investigator asks a series of yes or no questions. If the answer is yes, the entity stands close to the K2 meter, therefore lighting up every light on this baby.”
