Haunted Is Always in Fashion

by Rose Pressey

“Cookie doesn’t look good in orange. Why she continues to wear that color is beyond me.”

  “Orange is a good color for fall,” I said.

  “I knew you were listening.” Charlotte laughed.

  That was a dirty trick.

  Chapter 21

  Cookie’s Savvy Tips for Vintage Shopping

  Add a vintage hat to your outfit

  for a fun pop of pizazz.

  I’d retrieved my car from the garage before dinner with Dylan and was driving from Sugar Creek to Tybee Island early the next morning. The boutique was closed on Sundays and my parents Hank and Margaret had scheduled a cookout. It was a scenic drive. Glancing in the rearview mirror at Juliana and at Charlotte next to me, I grinned. My parents had no idea I had extra guests coming along . . . those who wouldn’t require food.

  Speaking of food, I knew my mother would have everything but real meat. Preferring health food that tasted like tree bark, she was a fan of tofu and seeds. It was one of her enduring qualities. My father would sneak in hamburgers and hot dogs for some of us.

  We pulled up to the house and I shut off the car. Being right near the water, the little blue house with white shutters looked very coastal. Pretty flowers were everywhere. I got out of the car and headed up to the door.

  Before I reached the porch my mother swung open the door, raced out and wrapped her arms around me, embracing me with a hug. The scent of Patchouli swirled around her. Like most days, she wore a long linen skirt that reached down to her knees, and a silk purple and yellow blouse. Luckily, she didn’t have socks on with her Birkenstock sandals.

  We were a couple opposites. I wore a pair of 1950s black cigarette pants, a red and white polka-dot silk blouse with a tapered waist, and red patent leather flats. My vintage Louis Vuitton Speedy completed my outfit perfectly.

  Juliana eyed my mother up and down. “You look nothing like your mother.”

  “She doesn’t get her fashion sense from her mother.” Charlotte shivered. “I don’t see how her mother wears that itchy fabric.”

  Juliana agreed. “Me either.”

  My father popped out from the back porch when he heard our voices. He held a spatula in one hand and wore an apron that read KISS THE COOK. A giant chef hat rested lopsided on his head. “There’s my girl. Come over here and give me a hug.”

  I hurried over. My dad wrapped his strong arms around me and hugged me. He smelled like fresh salt air and hamburgers as I hugged him back.

  “Are you ready for a burger?” He waved the spatula as if it were a wand.

  My mother gave a disapproving frown.

  I winked at my dad. That was our usual signal that I wanted my burger well done and with cheese.

  “Be careful with that spatula. She doesn’t want to smell like beef. Your father gets that smell everywhere.” My mother took me by the arm and pointed toward the kitchen. “Come help me with some goodies.”

  Dad just shook his head and went back to the grill.

  I doubted that they were goodies. More like tree bark and bird food. We walked into the kitchen and childhood memories immediately flooded my mind. Even though it was a different house than I’d grown up in, the kitchen was decorated the same. Blue-and-white checkered curtains hung on the window over the sink. My mother’s vast collection of coffee mugs took up every available space. No matter where my parents moved, it always felt like home. The smell of spices and herbs lingered in the air.

  I started pulling out the plastic plates that we used for the patio.

  “Isn’t Dylan coming today? He is such a nice young man.” My mother pulled out kale from the refrigerator.

  I couldn’t believe my mother said that. She’d never liked anyone I’d dated.

  “He’s going to try.” I reached for the plastic cups. “He had a few things to wrap up first.”

  “Well, I hope he can make it,” my mother said, pulling out bowls from the shelf. “Can you get something out of that cabinet for me?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  I hoped I remembered which one. The drawers had been rearranged since they’d moved into the new house. With the first drawer I tried, I quickly discovered that wasn’t where the utensils were stored. The drawer was full of papers, pens, and other miscellaneous items.

  Essentially it was a junk drawer, but there was something that stuck out to me right away. The word Fatima was written on a card. I pulled the card from the drawer. What an odd discovery. My mother had never believed in paranormal stuff, which was kind of odd. Of all people I knew, I would have expected her to be spiritually inclined.

  “Why do you have this card?” I asked, holding the card up.

  My mother’s eyes widened. She had a funny expression, as if she’d been caught eating the birthday cake before a party.

  She took the card from my hand and chuckled. “A few girlfriends and I were in town shopping and they insisted that we go in. It was just a silly little thing. I should have thrown the card away.” She stuffed the card into the pocket of her skirt.

  I had more questions for her, but when the doorbell rang, I knew that I’d temporarily lost my chance.

  “I bet that’s Dylan,” she said as she hurried out of the room.

  “Well, that was weird,” Charlotte said as she followed me out of the room.

  I agreed it was strange, but I would have to wait to ask more questions.

  My mother had already cornered Dylan by the front door and was asking him a lot of questions.

  “You’d better get a handle on that before he runs screaming from the house.” Charlotte’s gold bangle bracelets clanged together as she spoke with her hands.

  I hurried over and stepped between them, interrupting their conversation. “How was your drive?” I looped my arm through Dylan’s.

  “It was great.”

  My dad popped inside from the back porch. “Nice to see you again, Dylan. Is everyone ready to eat?”

  “Yes, we’re starving.” I led Dylan to the back porch where the aroma of burgers filled the air.

  My father piled the plastic plates with food until they bent from the weight. Charlotte and Juliana sat on the chaise longue chairs, chatting away. What would everyone say if they knew ghosts were lounging on the porch with us?

  Not a single cloud filled the brilliant blue sky. A slight breeze came in off the water and sea gulls looped high above the house. A perfect fall day.

  After some chitchat while eating, my mother changed the subject. “So are there any new leads on the murder case?”

  “Oh boy,” Charlotte said.

  Dylan smiled. “Now I know where Cookie gets it from.”

  My mother seemed unfazed by his comment and stared at him wide-eyed waiting for an answer.

  “We’re working on it.” He took a bite of his burger.

  “I don’t think he wants to discuss the case, Mom.” I said.

  Dylan hid his smile behind his napkin, his way to thank me for stopping her from questioning him further.

  By the time we’d finished the food and put everything away, Dylan had to leave. I was ready to drive back too, but my mother insisted that I spend the night. He looked disappointed. I knew why. Earlier, he had mentioned finishing our dance.

  “I think you should go home and dance with Dylan.” Charlotte wiggled her eyebrows.

  I wanted that too, but I also wanted to ask my mother more questions about the psychic.

  Dylan and I had just walked to the front door when my phone rang. At first, I didn’t recognize the number then realized it was Ken calling. I preferred that Dylan not hear the conversation and ignored it.

  Dylan looked at me. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

  I waved my hand. “I can take the call later.”

  He looked at me suspiciously.

  “You’re not a good liar, Cookie,” Charlotte said. “He’s a detective, remember? He can read people.”

  Yeah, I didn’t need the reminder. I was already nervous enough. I hurried him out the door so
that I could hear what Ken had to say. I hoped that he had found out something good. I said good-bye to Dylan and then checked my voicemail. Ken wanted me to call him back right away. That meant it was something good. I called him back.

  He answered right away. “Hi Cookie. Can you meet me tonight?”

  “Can it wait until tomorrow?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at my mother.

  “It really can’t.”

  “Okay. I’m at my parents’ house on Tybee. I can be there in a little bit.” I hung up after we set the time and place to meet.

  I wouldn’t be able to get my mother to tell me any more about the psychic. I would have to find out more later. After saying good-bye to my parents, I pointed the Buick in the direction of Sugar Creek.

  My mother was still waving good-bye as if I was going off to war and she’d possibly never see me again. It was no secret that she had a flair for the dramatics.

  Dylan would wonder why I’d returned.

  Chapter 22

  Charlotte’s Tips for a Fashionable Afterlife

  It only takes seconds to get ready

  in the morning. This leaves you time

  for many other things . . . like solving murders.

  Ken called and said he couldn’t meet with me after all. He’d thought he had a witness to the murder, but it hadn’t panned out. Of course I was disappointed. A witness might have had the clue that we needed.

  I was back to searching for the cat’s true identity. Since I was so close to Sugar Creek, I called Heather to see if she could go with me back to Fatima’s. I picked her up, and we drove straight to the psychic’s shop.

  Inside, the smell of incense and candles hit me in the face. Fatima was nowhere in sight. As I moved toward the middle of the room, she popped up beside me.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why does she do that?” Charlotte clutched her chest.

  It had scared me and Juliana too. Heather was off checking out the inventory.

  “It’s nice to see you again.” Fatima set the book she’d had in her hand on the nearby table.

  I was surprised that she remembered me. I hated to keep coming in and never buying anything. All I ever wanted was for her to give me information.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  I picked up a candle and sniffed. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a couple more questions.”

  She smiled. “Sure.”

  “I really need the information about someone who was in here”—I took a big breath—“for a séance.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that information. I’ve told you that before. It’s just not right to violate someone’s privacy.”

  “Yes, I understand, but this is important.”

  She shook her head. “I just can’t.”

  What should I do? How can I convince her? I tried for a look of deep concern and said, “You see, I think my mother was here.”

  “And?”

  “It’s important that I find out. Can you just tell me if she was here?” I watched her furrow her brow and knew I had her interest.

  She stared at me. “What did you want to know?” she asked in a lower voice as if someone might hear.

  Heather moved closer to me. As far as I could tell, we were the only ones in the shop.

  “My mother had your card. That’s what made me think she was here. She doesn’t come to Savannah often. I wondered what she did when she was here.”

  Fatima shook her head as she straightened the books on the display. “There’s no way for me to know. A lot of people come in here. I don’t get everybody’s names.”

  Yes, I supposed that would be the case.

  “Cookie, this isn’t going to work. Plus, you’re stressing this woman out. Let’s just go. Leave her alone.” Charlotte attempted to pull on my arm, but all I felt was a cold breeze.

  I wasn’t finished just yet. The woman didn’t appear all that stressed to me. I suddenly remembered the photo of my mother. “Wait. I have a picture.” I opened my red clutch and pulled out the photo. It showed my mother by the beach, holding up the hem of her skirt so it wouldn’t get wet. In her other hand she held her sandals. “Here she is.” I handed the photo to Fatima.

  She studied it.

  “Do you remember her?” I asked.

  A look of recognition appeared on Fatima’s face as she handed the photo back to me. “Yes, she was here . . . when the cat appeared. The one you asked about before. She was trying to contact your grandmother.”

  My eyes widened. “Why would she do that?” She’d never mentioned it to me.

  “Why didn’t she ask me to do it?” Heather wondered.

  Well, Heather had admitted a long time ago that she couldn’t talk to ghosts . . . but my mother didn’t know that.

  “That’s why I like to keep this private,” Fatima said.

  Thoughts flooded my mind. Things were starting to make sense about the cat . . . but—I shook my head. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. I didn’t even know how to ask. I needed time to wrap my mind around what I was thinking. If I was wrong, I would look certifiable.

  “Are you okay?” Fatima asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.

  “Oh, yes, I was just thinking about why she came.”

  “She was probably just curious. She’ll talk to you about it when she’s ready.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Thanks for the info.” I placed the photo back in my purse.

  Fatima touched my hand. “Please, don’t tell her I told you.”

  “You have my word.” How was I going to let my mother know that I knew?

  Heather and I walked out of the shop. Juliana and Charlotte were right behind us.

  “Why didn’t your mother come to me?” Heather asked again in a pouty voice.

  “You can’t talk to ghosts, remember?” I said.

  “She doesn’t know that.” Heather shifted her tote bag to her other shoulder.

  “She sure wouldn’t have gotten her money’s worth.” The corner of Charlotte’s mouth twisted up on one side.

  “What do I do now?” I asked.

  “I guess you’ll have to wait for her to talk to you about it,” Heather said.

  “Yes, you don’t want to nag her about it,” Charlotte said. “That would be annoying.”

  We got into my car and headed back to Sugar Creek. I wanted to share my thoughts with everyone but was nervous they’d think I’d lost my mind.

  Charlotte leaned forward, propping her arms against the back of the front seat. “Cookie, I don’t know how to tell you this . . . but did you ever stop to think that the cat might be your grandmother?”

  I swerved, throwing everybody sideways and almost wrecking the car into the ditch. Everyone screamed while I got the car straightened out.

  “Cookie, what’s the matter with you?” Charlotte asked while straightening her hair.

  “Sorry. It’s just that I thought I was the only one thinking that.”

  “What did she say?” Heather asked.

  “Charlotte thinks Wind Song is my grandmother. The thought crossed my mind too. How would that be possible?”

  Heather smoothed Burt’s Bees lip balm across her lips as if this was just an ordinary, everyday conversation. “When they had the séance, your grandmother found the physical body she needed to stay here on earth.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “A cat?”

  “Not just any cat.” Charlotte leaned forward again. “A gorgeous cat.”

  If my grandmother were to ever come back as a cat, it would definitely be one who looked just like Wind Song. I couldn’t let myself believe that my grandmother was inside the cat. It just couldn’t be possible . . . could it?

  Chapter 23

  Cookie’s Savvy Tips for Vintage Shopping

  Everyone can benefit from a fun piece

  of vintage clothing in their closet.

  The next day, I closed the shop early. We’d agreed to try a séance. I had to admit it was mostly my idea at first, but Ch
arlotte, Juliana, and Heather went along easily. I wondered how it would work taking ghosts with me to a séance. Usually, spirits were invited after the séance was started, not before.

  For the special event, I wore my Corey Lynn Calter black and white houndstooth dress. It had a strapless bodice, which was boned for a structured corset-style fit. The waist was fitted and surrounded with a grosgrain ribbon. The skirt was full. I was hoping it would turn out to be my lucky dress. Since it was slightly cool, I’d covered up with my favorite black Dior cardigan. The delicate rhinestone buttons reminded me of diamonds.

  We were all in my Buick barreling down the road toward Savannah to meet Fatima. Of course, Wind Song had insisted on coming too. She was just one of the girls and wanted to be included.

  I pulled into a spot and parked out front. Not knowing what to expect, I was anxious with anticipation. “Do you think she’ll mind if I bring Wind Song in?” I asked.

  “She’d probably like to see her again, but maybe you should keep her in the carrier,” Heather said.

  We all filed into the shop.

  I placed the carrier on the floor. “I’ll be right back, Wind Song.” I walked over to the area set up for the séance. In the center was a table covered with a white cloth. Chairs circled it. “I guess this is where it’s going to happen.”

  Heather released a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess this is it.”

  The lights were dim. The smell of incense filled the air and candles cast an eerie glow, flickering around the room.

  “This is kind of spooky,” I said.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Heather didn’t sound convinced.

  Fatima came into the room, instructing us with a wave of her hand. “Please have a seat around the table.”

  Heather and I each pulled out a chair and sat.

  Nervous thoughts crashed in my brain. This might be a good time to tell Fatima that I brought ghosts with me. Then again, she might not be happy about that. Perhaps I should keep that part a secret. Can she sense they’re here? I swear she looked right in their direction.

  Stop! I told myself silently. “Is three people enough?” I asked.