Graves and Golf Carts

by Annabel Chase

  Gia waved me off, still smiling. “Go ahead and tell me then.”

  “I’m looking for a flower that’s light purple.”

  “Any special needs? Full sun? Shade?”

  “I don’t care about any of that.” I debated whether to tell her what I found on Helen-Mary—which meant telling her about Helen-Mary.

  She poured a glass of fresh lemonade and gave it to me. “I feel like you’re holding something back.”

  One sip of lemonade and the sugar loosened my tongue. I blurted out the whole Helen-Mary saga and everything I knew to date, which wasn’t much.

  Gia stilled before dropping onto a stool at the counter, her face slack. “Poor Helen-Mary.”

  “You liked her? What am I saying? You like everybody.”

  “That isn’t true. I don’t much care for…” She giggled. “Well, I really liked Helen-Mary. Very clever witch.”

  I produced the transparent bag from my pocket with the flower petal and Gia leaned forward to inspect it.

  “It’s a type of bellflower,” she said thoughtfully. Her thick eyebrows shot up. “Fortuna wears these in her hair.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Goddess of good fortune, silly. Haven’t you met her yet?”

  “Good fortune?” I offered a weak laugh. “Nope. Can’t say that I have.”

  “She’s obsessed with volleyball. That’s where you’re most likely to find her.”

  “I guess her team wins every year, huh?”

  Gia poured herself a glass of lemonade and took a thoughtful sip. “Our powers don’t quite work that way.”

  “Why not? You’re the goddess of cheer and you’re always the most cheerful one in the room.” Her presence sure made me feel better and I was usually annoyed by happy people. I once worked with a plucky woman named Betty Humphries, whom I actively avoided because the mere sight of her made me want to spit like a camel. She was always smiling and offering assistance like some sort of corporate Snow White. My friend Rob insisted that it was part of her job as an administrative assistant, but whatever. It didn’t help that the one time I got my skirt stuck in the elevator doors, Betty was the one to come to my rescue.

  Gia squeezed a slice of lemon over her drink and tucked the wedge on the rim of the glass. “I ask myself, Addephagia—because that’s my full name—are you happy? Are you full of good cheer?” She rested a cheek against the palm of her hand. “And the honest to gods answer is no. Not all the time. Sometimes I’m downright miserable, but I don’t deserve any better so it’s all good.” She forced a smile that made her look slightly deranged, like she might opt to go shopping in a housecoat, a top hat, and bunny slippers.

  “You’re nuts,” I said, and not just because of her deranged smile. “How can you possibly think someone like you doesn’t deserve to be happy? You’re the bright spot in everyone’s day.” My mind immediately began to concoct ways to lift Gia’s spirits, which was odd because I only ever thought about ways to brighten my own day. The idea of putting others first was a foreign concept.

  “I appreciate you saying that. Anyway, the point of telling you that isn’t to garner sympathy. I just wanted you to understand Fortuna’s limitations.”

  “Gia, your whole identity is tied to bringing good cheer to others,” I said. “If anyone deserves to ascend, it seems to me it should be you.”

  Gia gazed into her lemonade, deep in thought. “I’m not as deserving as you might think.”

  “Why not? What happened?” Everybody had a reason for being in Divine Place. If they’d been all good all the time, then they’d have bypassed purgatory and gone straight to the Land of Margaritas and No Humidity. Still, Gia struck me as a surprising choice for the village.

  The goddess busied herself by watering the plants on the windowsill. “I fell out of favor. It happens to the best of us eventually.”

  “I know, but some of the gods and goddesses go straight through the pearly gates or wherever. Hera and Zeus…I mean, it’s obvious why they weren’t sent to the best place, but I don’t know enough about you.”

  Gia’s body sagged as she placed her watering can on the counter. “I felt the change in the ether. Fewer and fewer devotees. I became bitter and resentful.”

  Bitter and resentful? Now she was speaking my language. “That’s understandable. You were worshipped by an entire population. Naturally you’d want that to continue.”

  The goddess stuck a finger in one of the pots and touched the soil. “I was entitled. I thought that I deserved to be worshipped forever simply because I was a goddess. I didn’t even realize that I’d stopped performing any actual function. People had discovered free will. They didn’t believe that I was responsible for their cheerful moods any longer.” She swallowed a sob. “They started doing things that made them happy. Things that didn’t involve visiting my temple. They went for nature walks and learned yoga.” She gulped for air.

  “That must’ve been hard for you to watch.”

  “You should’ve seen them in their child’s pose and downward dog. They made themselves feel better.” Tears striped her cheeks. “They didn’t need me anymore.”

  “I guess you didn’t take it well.”

  “No, I can’t say that I did.” She turned away from me and gazed out the window. “I conspired with another god to force them back to me. I was tired of an empty temple. I wanted the devotion of my people back.”

  “Which god?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I won’t speak his name again, but he spread misery wherever he went, so I invited him to my area. People grew desperately unhappy, yet still they refused to turn to me.” She exhaled. “Eventually I became obsolete and ended up here.”

  “You died?”

  “No, I’m immortal,” she reminded me. “I was simply put out to pasture like women over forty in Hollywood.”

  I inched toward her, feeling a strong inclination to comfort her with a hug. What was wrong with me? I held out my arms like an awkward robot and let her lean against me while I gave her back a ‘there, there’ pat.

  “Gia, I think you’re remarkable, okay? So you did one bad thing in your whole immortal life. Big deal. You don’t want to know how many crappy things I did in my much shorter one.”

  The goddess straightened, then fished a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I’ve been so ashamed of my behavior. I existed to spread good cheer and instead I did the opposite. It was a direct contradiction of my very reason for being.”

  “If I’d have been a goddess, it would’ve been the evil kind that wore twisted horns and a black catsuit.” Basically Jules with a crown and a title.

  Gia snorted and wiped her nose. “You underestimate yourself, Eloise. I haven’t seen any evidence of someone like that.”

  “And I’ve only seen evidence of a goddess of good cheer.” I shoved the evidence bag back into my purse. “I should probably get going. I need to interview a suspect.”

  “Fortuna?” Gia asked.

  “Not yet. I have another lead first.” Agatha had mentioned seeing a werewolf named Fred at the golf course, so I wanted to make sure I got to him sooner rather than later.

  “If Fortuna gives you a hard time, let me know. I can handle her.”

  I headed for the door. “As much as I’d like to see a goddess-on-goddess showdown, I think I’ve got this.”

  I made it as far as the bottom of my driveway when I spotted a suspicious character lingering on my front lawn. His white beard was long enough to hide a bottle of Jack Daniels, which it probably was.

  “Hey, Harold.”

  The wizard did a half turn to peer at me, nearly losing his balance in the process. He leaned on his staff. “I was just coming to see you.”

  “I gathered that from the whole standing on my front lawn thing. You know, now would be the perfect time for me to play the grumpy old man card and tell you to get off.”

  “I need your help.”

  “My help? You’re the Dumbledore of Divine Place. W
hy would you need the help of a muggle?”

  He squinted at me. “I thought English was your first language.”

  I folded my arms and sighed. “What do you need help with, Harold?”

  “You’re the marshal. I need you to make an arrest.”

  “Now? I’m sort of tied up at the moment with an actual crime. In fact, I was heading out now to interview a suspect.”

  The wizard scrutinized me as though uncertain whether to believe my claim. “What crime is that?”

  “If you must know, Helen-Mary is no longer with us.”

  He balked. “The witch with the wart?”

  “That would be her.”

  Harold took a moment to absorb the news. “That’s a shame. She made excellent potions.”

  “So everyone tells me.”

  “What happened?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Now what’s your alleged crime? I’ll see if I can fit it in somewhere between clipping my toenails and shucking corn.”

  Harold seemed to think twice about his troubles in light of Helen-Mary’s demise. “It can wait.”

  “Apparently not since you were willing to do a three-legged race to my house to tell me about it.”

  He scratched his beard, debating. “Okay fine. My neighbor won’t stop playing Christmas music and if I have to hear Baby, It’s Cold Outside one more freakin’ time, I’m going to need a new staff because this one is going to be shoved…”

  I waved my hands. “Slow your wand there, Scrooge McWizard. I can see you’re getting all worked up over someone’s festive spirit.”

  “Festive, my wrinkled ass. I want you to arrest them. At least if they’re waiting for their case to be heard, they won’t be home playing Christmas music and I can take a nap.”

  “Isn’t loud music an issue for the HOA?”

  “Do you know what kind of backlog there is for neighborhood disputes and nuisance claims?” he seethed. “I demand justice now.”

  I contemplated the irate wizard with his rosy red cheeks and bulging eyes. I hadn’t seen someone this agitated over nonsense since my neighbor across the street left a note about the view of my bedroom window being “a form of unwanted pornography” and that she would appreciate it if I could pull down the shade at night. It didn’t escape my notice that the letter was only from her and not her husband. I wrote back asking for clarification on what constituted “wanted” pornography but she never responded.

  “Harold, has anyone ever told you that you’re spoiled?”

  The look he gave me was indignation personified. “Am not.”

  “Are to. You play hermit eighty percent of the time and the other twenty percent you spend lurking and judging. You want the village to be exactly the way you want it at all times and that’s not how the world works. Not in life and not in the afterlife either.”

  “You should talk. I believe you arrived here in a hot dog suit that you used to protest anything from a broken slushie machine at the cinema to the faded lines of a parking spot.”

  I jabbed a finger at him. “For your information, I’d been jonesing for a slushie all day. It was an egregious violation of my expectations as a customer.”

  He ground his staff into the ground. “Then you won’t help me?”

  “I’ll drive with you to your neighbor’s on my way to interview the suspect. Will that soothe your hemorrhoids?”

  “I can drive,” Harold said.

  “You hobble around on that cane like you’re half drunk at eight in the morning. I’ll drive.”

  The wizard started to move, but the end of his staff got stuck in the ground and he had to fight to dislodge it. “The earth here is too soft.”

  “Wow. That’s a complaint I can honestly say I’ve never heard before. Congrats, Harold. You’ve surprised even me.”

  The wizard stopped short when he caught sight of my golf cart. “Hold on. I can’t be seen riding around the village in that monstrosity.”

  “Finally. Something we can agree on.”

  “Can’t you do something?”

  “I’ve tried, but my request to repaint it was denied,” I said. “Apparently ugliness isn’t a serious enough offense.”

  Harold stared at the design and I could practically hear the wheels creaking in the wizard’s mind. “Since you’re helping me, I suppose I can help you.”

  “How? If we can’t paint it, how are we going to hide the design?”

  A sly grin emerged. “By hiding the entire golf cart, of course.”

  “I don’t suggest wrapping it in cardboard. The three o’clock downpour will make a mess of it.”

  Harold’s bony finger zigzagged and he muttered an incantation. “There you are.”

  I looked at my empty driveway. “What? Where did you send it? I need the cart to get around when I’m feeling lazy.” Which was pretty much every day.

  “It’s still there.” He reached his staff forward and tapped the exterior.

  My jaw unhinged. “That’s amazing. Who knew you were good for anything except worldly advice I’ll never follow and cringeworthy banter with waitresses?” I slid behind the wheel and Harold climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Seems an old wizard has his uses.”

  “Harold, you’ve rocked my Casbah.”

  We made it all the way to the main street in town when our luck ran out. Hera caught sight of us when I made the mistake of stopping at an intersection. So much for that lucky leprechaun coin in my pocket.

  The goddess glowered at me from the corner where her arms were laden with shopping bags that appeared to be color-coordinated with her outfit. “What in the name of my obliterated ex-husband do you think you’re doing, Marshal Worthington?”

  I batted my eyelashes, mustering my best expression of innocence. “What does it look like? I’m riding in my golf cart.”

  The goddess gesticulated in dramatic fashion. “And where exactly is your golf cart?”

  I tapped the wheel. “Right here. It’s invisible, like Wonder Woman’s jet.”

  Hera sputtered as she tried to form the right words. “How?” she blurted. Her gaze settled on Harold, who’d tried unsuccessfully to use me as a human shield. “You.”

  “I did a simple spell, Madam President,” he said. “It seems her request to paint the cart was denied, but there’s no rule that says she can’t use an illusion spell.”

  Hera’s expression was withering enough to destroy every living plant within range. “And, pray tell, what is the problem with your golf cart?”

  “I wrote it on my petition. It’s not my taste.”

  The goddess sniffed. “That assumes you have any.”

  “I have taste, Madam President. It may not be the same as yours, but it exists.”

  She seemed to contemplate my golf cart. “This is untenable. We can’t have you riding around like this. I’ll submit your petition for reconsideration.”

  I brightened. “Does that mean I can paint my golf cart?”

  Hera glanced furtively around us. “You didn’t hear that from me.”

  I smiled. “Hear what?” I continued to drive, pleased with this unexpected development. Apparently invisibility was more objectionable than sugar skulls. Who knew?

  Chapter Eight

  Harold’s neighbor ended up easily persuaded to lower the volume on the Christmas music. It turned out that he’d been suffering a temporary bout of deafness due to wax buildup and had no idea the music was so loud. Score one for a reasonable response.

  I left Harold on his front porch where he could safely yell at passersby and continued on to find Fred, the werewolf with a gripe against Helen-Mary. I debated whether to ask Cole to join me, but I decided against it, knowing I’d have a hard time keeping my hands to myself. It wouldn’t be professional to be nibbling the deputy’s ear while I asked Fred about his history with the obliterated witch. Jules, on the other hand, would not have the same effect on me, so I decided to enlist her aid instead. This way, if Fred went full furry du
ring our conversation, I’d have a sharp set of fangs and an even sharper tongue to protect me.

  “I can’t imagine Fred had anything to do with it,” Jules said, as we left Bloodlust and went in search of the werewolf on foot. Jules knew where he worked, which wasn’t far from the bar.

  “I’m not arresting him. I only want to ask him a few questions. Agatha saw him at the scene and he had an issue with the victim. Motive plus opportunity means he’s an automatic suspect.”

  Jules looked at me sideways. “Look at you, all professional.”

  “You take your alcohol seriously.”

  She smirked. “So do you.”

  “Okay, fine. But my point is that we both take our jobs to heart.”

  “You’re just afraid of Hera.”

  “You’re not wrong, but I also think it’s important to know what really happened to Helen-Mary. If Fred shoved a golf club through her chest, do you really want him skulking around the village as a free werewolf?”

  Jules suddenly became alert. “He’s skulking up ahead right now.”

  I looked further along the sidewalk to where a slim figure walked ahead of us. From the back, he reminded me of one of the bank tellers in Chipping Cheddar rather than a werewolf, although, according to everyone here, supernaturals ran rampant in my hometown—so maybe the bank teller had been a werewolf too.

  “Fred,” Jules yelled. She didn’t wait for him to respond. The vampire used her super speed to position herself directly in front of him. I ran to catch up, cursing her with every step for the shin splints I’d be sure to experience later.

  “Hey, Jules,” he said with a casual air. “Haven’t seen you in ages. You’re not taking hula anymore?”

  Despite my wheezing, I managed to laugh. “You took hula?” I couldn’t picture Jules shaking her hips in such a carefree fashion. In my mind, every part of the vampire’s body was a weapon, including her narrow hips.

  “It was a brief phase,” Jules said darkly. “We all have our moments.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I went through a leg warmers phase long after they were trendy. Even though I knew on an intellectual level that no one else was wearing them, I couldn’t stop myself.” I sighed at the memory of those cheerful knit leg warmers. “Then Mischief got her claws in them and they ended up torn to pieces on the bedroom floor. I think it was her way of telling me I needed a new look.”