A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis: Good To The Last Death Book Three Page 3

  And Gideon? He simply grinned. The gorgeous man had my back for better or worse.

  And this moment in time landed in the worse column.

  “Listen up, dead people. There will be no reality TV for anyone if you don’t stop right now,” I yelled.

  “Game shows too, Daisy girl?” Gram asked, pausing midair to clarify my threat.

  “Game shows too,” I confirmed, slapping my hands on my hips and eyeing the dead who had finally slowed down to listen. “I’m serious. If you don’t cut this shit out and pick up your body parts, I’ll put on the news channel twenty-four-seven.”

  The shrieks were terrifying to those who weren’t used to the deceased. Even Gideon appeared taken aback. However, the ghosts despised the news. I didn’t blame them.

  “And I’d also like to say thank you. That was fairly magnificent in a revolting way,” I told them as they preened with delight at my praise. “Your unappetizing defense of myself and Steve humbles me. However, I’ve got this. If I need you guys, I’ll let you know.”

  Quickly and somewhat efficiently, my squatters floated around and tried to find their lost limbs. It was going to take entirely too long. Picking up a leg and an arm, I handed them to Gram, who luckily was still in one piece.

  “Take these,” I instructed.

  “They’re not mine,” Gram pointed out.

  “Yep, I know,” I told her. “Right now, it doesn’t matter. I need all the ghosts to go back downstairs. We can figure out what belongs to who later.”

  “Roger that, sweetie pie,” Gram said, herding the specters with a shrill whistle that could have burst an eardrum. “All righty, dead folks. You heard my Daisy girl. All the people missing a noggin, feel your way toward my voice. I saw about fifteen heads roll down the stairs so I’m guessin’ some of y’all can’t see shit from Shinola at the moment. If you need a buddy, raise your hand. If you don’t have one of those, then raise a leg.”

  “I can’t believe this is my life,” I said as I watched the ghosts make their way back to the first floor.

  Well, all the ghosts except for Birdie.

  “Hoooooooookaaah,” she sang.

  The crazy old woman tossed her head in the air, did a backflip and caught it as she righted herself. The move was impressive. Candy Vargo applauded.

  “Birdie, you and your head need to go downstairs with the rest,” I told her as the Immortals in the hallway watched me with great interest. “If you do as I say, you’ll be first in line to get your head reattached.”

  “Hoooooooookaaah,” Birdie yelled, pointing at herself.

  Glancing over at my audience, I held up my hand. “Give me a sec here.”

  “Take all the time you need,” Candy insisted. “This is the best damn evening I’ve had in centuries.”

  “I do concur that it’s fascinating,” Tim added.

  “Delighted to be of service,” I said with an eye roll as Heather laughed.

  Charlie shook his head and shrugged. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.”

  “It’s not always this dramatic… or rather, traumatic,” I assured him. “Birdie is special.”

  “That was very diplomatic of you,” Heather said with a grin.

  “Thank you,” I replied. “It’s my Southern genes talking.”

  “Hoooooooookaaah,” Birdie repeated, smacking her bony chest with her head and wanting my attention back on her.

  I squinted at her and mentally debated how to proceed. Pissing off Birdie could mean a foot under my pillow or even worse, an eyeball in my oatmeal. With Birdie, one never knew—not that her name was actually Birdie. I’d nicknamed her due to her excessive need to flip me off. She was in rough shape and had a bad temper. Although, she’d grown on me like a nonpoisonous fungus. She was a spicy-hot mess of rude and kept me on my toes. While I’d never admit it aloud, I’d miss her when it was her time to go.

  “You were a hooker when you were alive?” I asked, hoping I’d read her clues correctly. Inappropriate laughter or committing myself to an institution right now were two reasonable choices. The choice was simple.

  I laughed.

  Not because it was funny, but because I was talking to a woman holding her own head and telling me she was a lady of the evening. The absurdity was overwhelming.

  Birdie flipped me off.

  All was normal in my abnormal world.

  “Yausssss,” Birdie hissed, zipping up and down the hallway while holding her head and cackling like a loon. “Hoooooooookaaah.”

  “Mmkay. I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised,” I said. “Is there a reason I need to know this right now?”

  “Yausssss, hoooooooookaaah dieeah foooor yooouah.”

  Her statement was alarming and confusing. I didn’t know her when she was alive. “You died for me?”

  “Naawwwooo,” she bellowed with her overactive middle finger aimed at me.

  Heaving out a sigh of relief, I waited for more. Another few minutes with Birdie kept me from having to relive Steve’s death with an audience. “I’m not following what you mean,” I told her.

  “Dieeah foooor yooouah, hoooooooookaaah.”

  “I think she’s telling you she’ll die for you,” Gideon whispered.

  “I think you’re right,” I replied, wondering why in the heck she would offer such a magnanimous gesture when all she ever did was flip me off. “Birdie, that’s very sweet of you. However, you’re already dead. Plus, I would never ask you to die for me. I’m not that kind of girl. But I am asking you to go downstairs. We can continue this conversation later… or never.”

  “Hoooooooookaaah duuumb duuumb,” she announced.

  “Pretty sure she just called you stupid,” Candy said, seating herself on the hallway bench and getting comfortable. “Whatcha gonna do about that smack talk, Daisy the Death Counselor?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” I replied, closing my eyes and realizing the day would come when I would have to dive into Birdie’s mind. It was going to be terrifying. Thankfully, today was not that day.

  “Hoooooooookaaah duuumb duuumb assssssssssah,” Birdie announced.

  “She called you a dumb-ass,” Tim pointed out unhelpfully.

  “Yep. Heard that,” I told him. I grabbed Birdie’s foot as she whipped by and pulled her out of the air. “It’s kind of hard to converse with a headless hooker,” I chastised her. “You have a shitty mouth on you and you’re rude.”

  She laughed.

  Rolling my eyes, I pulled a tube of superglue from my pocket and dangled it in front of her. “This glue has your name on it if you haul your nasty butt downstairs immediately. You feel me? And if you don’t, you’re going to be headless for a long, long, long time.”

  “Looooogah?” Birdie asked.

  “Long,” I confirmed. “I’d also like to point out that it would be far easier to flip me off if you didn’t have to carry your head.”

  “Yausssss, hoooooooookaaah,” she replied, handing me her head.

  “Umm, nope,” I said, handing it back to her. “I have to help Steve right now. I promise I’ll help you soon.”

  Birdie hung her head in shame. “Ssssoooorrry, Daaaauusayy,” she said. “Ssssoooorrry.”

  “Birdie, it’s okay,” I said, gently touching her shoulder. I would have normally touched her cheek, but since she was holding her head, that seemed a little odd. “I’m not mad. I think it’s beautiful that all of you want to protect Steve and me. It’s the same way I feel about you even though you don’t make it easy.”

  “Daaaauusayy taaaaawlk hoooooooookaaah?” she asked.

  I nodded and smiled. “Yes. We’ll talk soon. You have my word.”

  “And her word is way better than John Travolta’s,” Tim pointed out as Clarence shot him an irate glare.

  “We should get started,” Heather said quietly.

  Again, I nodded. “Birdie, go now.”

  “Saaaaafeh,” she insisted as she floated away.

  I smiled and waved. Being safe wasn�
��t an option. Very little I did anymore could be considered safe.

  Living on the edge was my new modus operandi, and I was about to test my limits.

  “Are you ready?” Gideon asked, taking my hand in his.

  “I am.”

  My statement was strong. It wasn’t a lie. However, my insides were churning.

  “Do you want a moment alone with Steve before we join you?” Heather asked.

  I nodded gratefully. “I would. Thank you.”

  “Always, Daisy,” Heather said. “Let us know when you want us to come in.”

  Again, I nodded.

  What I wanted to do was cry, but that wasn’t an option. Thankfully my lady balls had increased in size lately. I was going to need them.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey, you,” I said, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed next to Steve and tucking the covers around what was left of him.

  My old farmhouse was lovely. And the master bedroom was cozy and inviting just like the rest of the house. I’d done all the painting and some of the other manual labor, but Steve had been the one with the great decorating skills. All of the furniture was overstuffed and in soothing patterns and faded florals. The color motif of the bedroom was pale green and peach. It had always been my calm safe haven and was even more so now. Seeing Steve lying in the bed was tragically beautiful.

  The day Steve went into the light would be the last gift I would give to my best friend. The thought of losing him again didn’t undo me the way it had a year ago when he’d died. It would shred me to let him go, but it would also give me peace. Most importantly, it would give him peace and the afterlife he deserved. The injustice of what Clarissa had done by claiming his death was a suicide and trying to send him to the darkness would not stand when challenged. I believed it with every bone in my body. I had to. There was no alternative.

  Steve had been a handsome man when he was alive—dark curly hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. He was now a mere shell of his former self. It was difficult to find his beauty under the gray and papery skin, but it was still very clear to me.

  “Dausseeeeee,” Steve said with an attempt at a smile as I gently touched his face.

  His communication skills had improved lately, but his appearance had not.

  “We have a few minutes to talk,” I told him, forcing a smile onto my lips that I hoped looked sincere. I was a crappy liar. He knew it and I knew it. My goal was to show him my confidence. I was terrified, but that was for me to know and no one to find out. “I’m going to go into your mind and prove to everyone that your death was an accident. It won’t hurt.”

  I had no clue if what I promised was true, but I had a plan—possibly a very stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless.

  “Dausseeeeee,” Steve whispered in the lovingly stern tone I recognized so well.

  “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” I replied with a wink.

  I didn’t want to argue. I wanted him to be on the same page and I needed him to understand what was about to happen. However, a little gossip—at my painful expense—was also necessary.

  “Remember when I told you about John Travolta?” I asked.

  Steve made a sound and gazed up at me with an expression of confusion. “Chaawgeeeenge sssubjeectahs?”

  “Yep,” I said with a grin. “I’m changing subjects—kind of. It all relates in a bizarre way.”

  “Fiiiinah,” he said with the tiniest shake of his head. “Joooonha Traaavooooltah?”

  “Michael the Archangel,” I told him. “My boss, Clarence Smith? You remember him?”

  “Yausssss,”

  “He pulled a Darth Vader on me. He just admitted he’s my sperm donor.”

  “Naawwwooo,” Steve said, wrinkling what was left of his brow in shock.

  “Yep. A total Star Wars farked-up moment. Gram passed out,” I said, making light of what had just rocked my world off its axis.

  “Luuuukah, ahhh amma yooouah faaawtheur?”

  I couldn’t help myself. I laughed, and then I started to cry—an ugly snot cry. I wasn’t crying about John Travolta, but it was better to let Steve think I was. My best friend was in such horrendous shape, I was unsure if he would survive me entering his mind. Which I hoped was somewhat ridiculous since he was already dead.

  “Ohhhhhhh, Dausseeeeee,” Steve whispered, and then moaned softly. “Beeeeah oookaaay.”

  “I know,” I said, wiping my eyes and inhaling deeply. “Everything will be okay.”

  “Dausseeeeee ffeeewl?” he asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” I told him truthfully. “Angry, sad, empty, cheated. However, I’m going to change the subject again. Cool?”

  “Naawwwooo.”

  “Yes,” I said with a half-assed attempt at a smile to lighten the mood. “Did you know that Birdie was a hooker in real life?”

  Steve chuckled. It sounded more like a death rattle, but I knew the difference. “Naawwwooo.”

  “Yep, she informed me she was a hooker and that she would die for me.”

  “Reeeealllyah?”

  “Really,” I confirmed. “I told her thanks, but no thanks and pointed out that she was already dead.”

  “Meeeenah sooomthin eeelssse,” Steve guessed.

  “It could mean something else,” I replied, thinking through the possibility that I’d misinterpreted Birdie’s message. “I promised to talk with her later. I’ll figure it out. So, anyhoo,” I went on as if everything we had just discussed was normal. “Since John Travolta is my de facto pappy—in biology only—that makes me part Angel.”

  “Niiiiice,” Steve said with a tilted grin.

  “Nope,” I corrected him. “Not nice. I’d rather be a Demon. Angels suck. That being said, turns out that pappy can touch me while I’m inside your mind and telegraph what I learn to the others.”

  “Whhhhyah?”

  “Because John Travolta doesn’t believe that I’m neutral where you’re concerned,” I told him, and then paused. “And even though I’ll never admit it to the Immortals, I’m not. I’m not neutral where you’re concerned at all. Apparently, taking Clarissa down is a huge deal, and I can’t freaking wait.”

  “Dausseeeeee,” Steve said, trying to reach for me.

  I saved him the trouble and lay down next to him, careful not to knock off a body part. Steve was literally falling apart.

  “What?” I asked, cautiously laying my head on his shoulder.

  “S’oookaaay. Beeeeee nuuuuutraalah,” he said.

  “I won’t have a choice,” I pointed out. “The Immortals will see what happened at the same time I do.”

  “Assciideeent. Waassah assciideeent.”

  My head jerked up, and I stared at him. Holding my breath, I became light-headed and needed to clarify that I’d heard him correctly. “Are you sure? You remember? It was definitely an accident?”

  “Reeemawbah soooomeah,” he said. “Waassah assciideeent.”

  A massive boulder had just been lifted from my shoulders. Excitement coursed through my veins and the light at the end of the dark tunnel grew brighter.

  “Okay,” I said, rolling off the bed and pacing the room. Movement helped me think. “Don’t tell me any more. Save your energy. When I go into your mind, we can speak normally. But remember, we’ll have an audience.”

  “Whoooo-ah?”

  “John Travolta, Charlie, Heather, Tim, Candy Vargo and Gideon,” I told him, kicking off my heels and pulling my dress over my head. I quickly searched the laundry basket for some yoga pants and a sweatshirt.

  Mind diving took a lot out of me. I didn’t want to pass out in the dress I’d worn to Gram’s funeral when I came out of Steve’s memories. Hell, I should probably put on PJs. With what I had tentatively planned, I might sleep for a week when I finished.

  Steve was quiet. His silence unnerved me a bit, but I was so damned relieved he was sure it was an accident, I wanted to cry.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “Arrruh yooooouah?�
�� he shot back.

  “I am. My lady balls are huge and I’m wearing my favorite sweatshirt—only a few paint splatters on it,” I said with a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’ve got this. You just have to trust me.”

  “Baaawlls.”

  “That’s right, baby,” I said as I gently kissed what was left of his forehead. “Everything will be okay. And remember, when we talk in your head, they can hear us.”

  “Roooouger thaaatah.”

  * * *

  “Nice to see you got dressed up for the occasion,” Candy commented as she walked into my bedroom and glanced around.

  “I’m taking a page out of your book,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes and daring any of them to gasp at the state Steve was in.

  “Where would you like us?” Charlie asked, sucking in a barely audible breath of pity when his gaze landed on Steve.

  He’d known Steve when he’d been alive. All of them had except for Gideon. I was well aware it was upsetting to look at him. His gray skin and partial head were all that were exposed, but it was heartbreaking to see.

  “Why don’t you all find a seat. I don’t know how long it will take,” I said.

  Heather clapped her hands and an array of chairs appeared. The magic stuff still freaked me out. I had no clue why, considering I lived with ghosts and could knock over large trees with my bare hands. Everyone took a seat except for Clarence Smith, aka Darth Vader, aka John Travolta, aka Michael the Archangel… aka my father.

  He stared at Steve in surprise and shock.

  If he made even one rude comment, I would head-butt him and enjoy it. My Southern manners didn’t exist where Steve’s feelings were concerned.

  Donna and Karen trotted into the room, hopped up on the bed and settled themselves at Steve’s feet. It was clear that Donna wasn’t pleased with the unfamiliar people who were in my bedroom. My Hell Hound had excellent instincts.

  I wasn’t thrilled either, but I was also thankful they were here. It was the only way to win.