Whose Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway? : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book Two

by Robyn Peterman

  “I could ask you the same question,” I said, putting the doughnuts down on her bedside table and the juice next to them.

  “Well now, I’m doin’ just peachy,” Gram lied.

  “Really?” I inquired, leveling her with the identical stare she used to give me when she knew I was fibbing as a child.

  “Yep,” she replied, rearranging her blankets and refusing to meet my gaze.

  “Do you really want me to jerk your tail in a knot?” I asked, picking up a stray arm and handing it to one of the armless ghosts.

  I wasn’t sure I’d returned it to the correct owner, but I was making a point. Once I got them back to my house, I’d double-check to make sure I glued the right appendage back on the right person.

  “Hell’s bells on Christmas morning,” Gram whispered, paling. “You can still see the dead?”

  “Apparently,” I sighed as I sat down on the edge of her bed.

  “That’s not possible,” Gram said, confused.

  “I’m beginning to believe everything is possible—especially the impossible,” I said. “They’re coming back home with me.”

  “No can do,” she said, trying to sit up.

  It took her so much effort, my heart lodged in my throat. Even the specters were concerned and fluttering around in distress.

  Gently helping Gram to a sitting position, I rested my head on top of hers and held back my tears.

  “You can’t do this,” I whispered. “You’re too old to have to deal with this anymore. It’s killing you.”

  “Honey, I’m so old I knew the Burger King when he was still a prince,” Gram said with a laugh. “We’re doin’ just fine here. I’ve sent at least four on their way. Just have to pace myself.”

  “Are you so old that you knew Mr. Clean when he had hair?” I asked, kissing her wrinkled cheek and breathing her in. She smelled of Ivory soap and dime store perfume. It was the best smell in the world.

  “I sure did, baby girl. He was a hottie just like Bob Barker,” she said, cupping my cheek and growing serious. “You will not take ’em back. I know what’s goin’ on.”

  “From who? Heather?” I asked, realizing I’d forgotten to question my friend when she’d told me Gram knew about Steve and Gideon.

  “Nope,” she said. “From Tim.”

  “Tim the nerdy postman?” I asked, shocked and wildly surprised. “The strange little guy who gets possessive about all the packages he delivers? Tim, the dude who half the people in town are positive x-rays all the packages at Christmastime and keeps what he likes? I mean, I’m not sure I believe that, but are we talking about the same Tim?”

  Note to self, ask Heather for a list of all the Immortals in town.

  “Yep,” Gram confirmed. “That boy can be as annoyin’ as a fart in a fan factory, but he’s good at his job.”

  “Stealing packages?” I asked, confused and wanting to gag at her analogy. Between Gram and Jennifer, I was sorry I’d eaten so much today.

  “No, silly girl.” Gram laughed and shook her head. “Tim’s a Courier.”

  “Not following,” I said, picking up an unattached foot from Gram’s bed and holding it up in the air to be claimed.

  A large, mostly transparent man missing several appendages and part of his head zipped by, grabbed the foot and mumbled a garbled thank you.

  “Some might say Tim can’t find his ass with both hands in his back pockets, but he’s not that bad,” she explained.

  “Still not following,” I replied, taking a doughnut out of the box and handing it to her.

  Gram took a bite and sighed with happiness. “Dee-licious.”

  “Good. Eat the whole thing while you explain what exactly Tim does.”

  Gram nodded and took another bite. “He’s one of the people in town who never die.”

  “Immortal,” I said and poured her a cup of juice.

  “Right. Called him Imodium once and he didn’t deliver my mail for a month,” she said with a naughty grin.

  I laughed. Today, I’d laughed several times. I thought those days were over, but I was realizing time could help you heal… especially if you had no choice.

  “How did you know he was Immortal and a Courier?” I asked, swatting at a few of the ghosts who had seated themselves on top of Gram.

  “Tim’s the one who delivered the mail fraud box to aid the dead when I was in my twenties—told me his secret then. Boy’s basically the mailman for the living and dead,” she explained.

  “He wouldn’t have been alive when you were twenty,” I pointed out, and then smacked myself in the forehead, much to the delight of the floating specters. “My bad. I’m trying to open myself up to the impossible. Not going great so far.”

  “The learnin’ curve is steep for you, Daisy,” Gram said, putting her doughnut back in the box. “I shoulda told you about the gift a long time ago.”

  “I didn’t have the gift until recently. I would have thought you had screws loose if you’d told me,” I reminded her, taking the doughnut back out of the box and handing it to her again. “Eat. I stood in line for twenty minutes to get the ones right out of the oven.”

  Gram took another small bite. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing.

  “The past is the past,” I said. “Dwelling on it is useless. I know what I am now and I accept it.”

  “But Steve—” she protested.

  “Will be fine,” I promised. “Charlie sent Clarissa away until the tribunal. Heather decreed that no one can take Steve from me until a decision is made.”

  “I’m so dang perplexed I don’t know whether to check my ass or scratch my watch,” she said.

  “You’re not wearing a watch and I’d rather not see you scratch your butt. So what do you need to know that will help us avoid this un-ladylike conundrum?” I asked, tucking her sparse gray curls behind her ear.

  “Charlie is Immortal?”

  “Yep,” I said, surprised she didn’t know.

  “Well dang,” she said, shaking her head. “Tim never told me that. But then again, that boy only has one oar in the water. Are there a bunch of ’em?”

  “I’m not sure, but my guess would be yes, since this sleepy little town is the strongest portal between Heaven and Hell,” I replied.

  Gram was quiet as she mulled over the new information. “Do you believe, Daisy girl?”

  It was my turn to be quiet. I didn’t want to upset her, but telling half the story wasn’t working anymore. The truth might not set someone free, but it was far easier to remember than a lie.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted as I moved around the room collecting body parts and handing them to the ghosts. “A month ago, I would have said no. Today? I hope I’m wrong.”

  “Faith,” Gram said. “You gotta believe without proof.”

  “Yep,” I said. “I’m trying.”

  Gram took another little nibble off the doughnut. “Daisy, it doesn’t matter a lick what you believe. Just follow your heart and do what’s right by others. Living it is far better than preaching it.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Faith,” she replied. “The invisible belief that life will expand until it fills up the Universe.”

  “That’s pretty deep,” I said with a laugh.

  “I think Bob Barker said it once on The Price Is Right,” she informed me with a giggle and a wink.

  “I think you need to put your hearing aids in more often,” I shot back.

  “Hate ’em,” she griped. “With those little nuggets in my ears, I can hear every damn sound in this here prison I’m in.”

  My stomach tightened. “Gram, are you unhappy here?”

  “Ohhh Daisy,” she said and reached out for a hug. “I’m just playin’ with you. I like it here. Got plenty of company and I love the gals who take care of me. Don’t you be worryin’ about that. You have enough goin’ on right now.”

  “While that might be true, you come first,” I said, still feeling off as I hugged her. “Always.”<
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  “Gimme some sugar,” Gram insisted.

  I did as told and it felt like home. Being in my gram’s arms even as an adult was so right.

  “Here’s a good thing,” I said, adjusting her bed so she was sitting more upright. “You can get back to your boyfriend, Bob Barker, when the dead leave. No more crappy reality shows.”

  “Fine point,” she said with a giggle. “Don’t forget about my side dish, Pat Sajak.”

  “How could I ever forget Pat Sajak?” I replied with a laugh as I grabbed the remote and turned the channel from Survivor back to the game show channel.

  “How are you gonna get the dead to go with you?”

  “Same way I got them to leave,” I replied and glanced around the room at the ghosts who hovered in anticipation.

  Closing the door to Gram’s room so the staff didn’t think we were off our rocker, I eyed the ghosts, and then smiled. Of course, we were off our rockers, but that wasn’t for anyone else to know.

  Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and centered myself. “I rescind my notice. I no longer deny who I am or what I’m meant to do. I am the Death Counselor. Go home. Now.”

  The deceased squatters were beside themselves. They flew around so fast, a sharp wind blew the box of doughnuts right off Gram’s bedside table.

  Diving to save the treats from falling to the floor, I missed the mass exodus.

  Gram did not.

  “Holy hell in August on a Sunday,” Gram gasped out as she looked around the empty room in shock. “What kind of power do you have, Daisy girl?”

  “Can’t you do the same?” I asked, getting back to my feet.

  “Not even close,” she said, shaking her head and pointing to the far corner of the room.

  One ghost remained. I knew her. She’d been at my house earlier.

  “That one just arrived today,” Gram said quietly. “She breaks my heart.”

  “Mine too,” I muttered as I crossed the room and squatted down in front of her.

  “Sssiiiiiiinngea booooooouuns,” she said.

  “What’d she say?” Gram asked, popping her hearing aids in and leaning forward.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I’d have to enter her mind to find out.”

  “I don’t like that one bit, Daisy,” Gram said sternly. “Not one little bit.”

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t like it either, but sometimes it needed to be done. If the Ouija board didn’t work for this poor woman, I would hug her and learn her story. I could already tell it was tragic.

  “Gram, does she look familiar to you?”

  Gram squinted her eyes and stared at the woman. “Can’t say she does. Do you think you know her?”

  “No,” I said softly as I touched the dead girl’s hand. “I feel like I’ve seen her before though.”

  “She was pretty in life,” Gram said.

  “She’s still pretty now.” I kept my eyes on the girl as she trembled. “Go back to my house. I can help you there.”

  She continued to tremble and tried to smile. It was macabre but appreciated.

  “Sssiiiiiiinngea booooooouuns,” she repeated.

  “I’ll figure out what you mean soon,” I promised. “Go now. You’ll be safe at my house.”

  The young woman shimmered for a brief second, and then disappeared.

  “You okay?” Gram asked quietly.

  I stood up and faced her. “I have no choice, so yes.”

  “What can I do to make that frown turn upside down?” she asked.

  Well,” I said as an idea came to mind that made me smile. “You can eat an entire doughnut. That would make me happy.”

  “Deal,” Gram said, taking a nice big bite. “Can you get me a glass of milk, baby? I have a carton in the fridge over there.”

  “That I can do,” I said, feeling a small bit of relief she was eating. Granted, it took a little bribe, but that was fine by me.

  Bending down to get the milk out of her small refrigerator, I grabbed the container—and then dropped the carton to the floor as if I’d been burned. Milk splattered everywhere and Gram gasped.

  “Daisy, what’s wrong?”

  Slowly picking up the paper carton, my eyes blurred with tears as I looked at the face of the missing woman on the container. She was lovely. Her smile was bright and her eyes twinkled even in the black-and-white photo. She’d been missing for a year. Clearly, the search was still on.

  “It’s her,” I whispered.

  “It’s who?” Gram demanded, trying to get out of her bed.

  Quickly crossing the room so she would stay put, I held out the container with the picture on it.

  The reason I recognized the ghost was because I had indeed seen her before… on a milk carton.

  “Her name is Lindsay Macon. Only twenty-five years old,” Gram said, with her hand on her heart. “Poor child. You have to let the family know somehow.”

  Nodding because talking might make me cry, I hugged Gram.

  “I can help you,” she said, holding me as tight as her weakening arms could.

  “I’ve got this. Sorry about the milk,” I said. “I’ll let the staff know I spilled it.”

  “No worries, Daisy girl. Tell ’em I got doughnuts in here and they’ll come runnin’.”

  “Will do. You have to eat at least two, please,” I said, kissing the top of her head before grabbing my coat and purse.

  “You have my word,” Gram promised. “Keep me up to date, please. I worry about you.”

  “Back at you, old lady,” I said with a watery smile. “I love you.”

  “Love you more,” she shot back.

  “Not possible.”

  “Everything’s possible,” Gram said with a wink. “Especially the impossible.”

  Truer words had never been said.

  Chapter Six

  “Hey,” I called out as I walked into Missy’s bookshop. “Anyone home?”

  My BFF since childhood owned and ran a fabulous kitschy bookstore in town. It was loaded with bestsellers along with books on magic and all sorts of other new-agey stuff that I used to roll my eyes about.

  Not anymore. I was living magic and new-agey stuff. My eyes were no longer rolling.

  “Be out in a sec,” Missy called from the back.

  I wandered the shop and ran my fingers over the spines of the books. The scent of jasmine filled the air and it felt like the world might be normal for a moment. It was a fleeting wish. The moment passed as quickly as the feeling. My new normal would never be normal again.

  Part of me was fine with it. Part of me was terrified. Hence, I was going to arm myself with knowledge… or at least try to.

  I wondered if Missy would have what I was searching for. She’d probably have to order it. That is, if it even existed. The internet would be helpful if necessary, but I loved books. I liked the way they smelled and the feel of them in my hands. I’d considered the library, but this particular book I wanted to own.

  “Shot of iced espresso with an obnoxiously large squirt of chocolate syrup and a buttload of milk for your pleasure,” Missy announced as she came out of the back room of the shop and handed me my favorite drink.

  “I think I love you,” I replied, taking a big sip.

  The sweet caffeine slid down my throat and felt heavenly. Missy made my special drink as perfectly as I did… and as perfectly as Gideon had.

  Nope. Not going there. Since there was no time to think about the biggest mistake I’d made in my life so far, I pushed all thoughts of Gideon to the back of my mind. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to want to stay there.

  “I know you love me,” Missy said with a grin.

  She leaned on the counter and waited for me to speak. I was grateful. Plus, the coffee was insanely good. From knowing each other as long as we had, we innately knew what the other needed. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to say or even what I wanted to say. Telling her everything wasn’t fair. She was human and didn’t need to know. I was human, but I had no choice.


  “How did you know I was coming?” I asked, taking another sip and pointing at the coffee.

  “You stood outside the shop for five minutes talking to yourself,” Missy told me.

  “Right,” I said, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

  Missy was correct that I’d been standing on the sidewalk outside of her shop. She was incorrect that I’d been talking to myself. I’d run into three ghosts who seemed lost. I’d given them directions to my house and they’d disappeared. The fact that I’d forgotten I was in public didn’t bode well for the townsfolk questioning my sanity.

  Note to self, ignore dead people in public settings.

  “I have a lot on my mind,” I said, which was a massive understatement.

  “I know,” Missy said, giving me a hug. “Can I help?”

  My bestie was beautiful, inside and out—tiny with wild curls and perfect mocha-colored skin. Her fashion sense was Boho-chic slash artsy-fartsy slash I’ll-wear-whatever’s-clean, evidenced by the mini skirt, combat boots and gauzy shirt she was wearing. It was November, but somehow Missy made it work and look fabulous. Her normally dark curly hair was enhanced with bright green braids today.

  “I’m looking for a book,” I told her, wanting to change the subject. Getting deep was off the table right now. I was about to drown.

  “You’re in the right place, dude. It’s a bookstore,” she answered with a smile.

  “Obnoxious much?” I asked, putting my coffee down on the counter and smiling back.

  “You’re an easy target,” Missy pointed out. “What kind of book?”

  Walking over to the reference section, I bent down to examine the spines. “I’m looking for a book on the Sumerian language.”

  “You and everyone else,” Missy said, shaking her head. “Surprisingly, I had three. However, I sold all of them. That’s why I was in the back of the shop. I was about to order more.”

  My chest tightened. I stood up and leaned on the bookshelf so my knees didn’t buckle. Who else wanted to learn Sumerian? Was I about to add to the mental list of those who never died?

  “Bizarre,” I said, keeping my eyes on my fingernails, which were in desperate need of a manicure.