It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis (Good To The Last Death #1) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,46
it when she’d brought him up.
“I’m great,” I muttered.
“We will talk,” he informed me. “This evening. At your house.”
“I’m busy,” I shot back, glaring at him. “You’re not my boss outside of the law firm.”
“Get unbusy,” he said, turning and walking away. “I’ll be there at ten.”
“I might be there. I might not,” I called out to his back.
“You’ll be there.”
Closing my eyes, I tamped back the urge to hurl a profanity-laden insult. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. I hadn’t heard a car door and I didn’t see anyone pull away. He’d seemed to disappear just like Clarissa had.
While I might not be completely insane, there were still all sorts of things not quite right.
Forty was going great. Not.
Chapter Twelve
“Listen up, dead people,” I yelled over the loud and bizarre chatter. “There’s a sign-up list now.”
The blank and confused stares weren’t promising. The first thing I’d done when I’d gotten home was order a Ouija board. I had no clue if I’d use it—or even how to use it—but it couldn’t hurt. Of course, it wouldn’t be here for a week or so, but I’d made it work so far without one.
“Umm… I know writing can be a challenge since coordination is iffy and some of you are missing fingers,” I went on, ignoring the snickering. At least that’s what I thought it was. It could have been gagging or possibly choking. Thankfully, they were dead and I wouldn’t have to Heimlich anyone. I knew how to do it. I’d just never had to do it. My first time wasn’t going to be on a ghost.
Donna barked and wagged her entire bottom. It was very nice to have someone in my corner. She was a dog, but she was adorable and far better than no one at all. In the past few hours, I’d finally realized I wasn’t nuts. The squatters didn’t get the memo. They were looking at me like I’d lost it.
“Fine,” I said, slapping my hands on my hips and glaring at the mass of floating specters invading my family room. “It would be really nice if you people could cut me a little slack here. I’m kind of winging it and I’m new to the job. I totally understand that this is the first and… umm… only time you’re going to die, but a bit of patience would be appreciated. You guys feel me?”
I was ninety percent sure they were nodding yes.
“Forget the list,” I said, pulling a new plan out of my butt as I spoke. “How many of you could move on if I sent a letter to someone on your behalf?” If it worked for Gram, maybe it would work for me too. It was worth a shot.
A few arms dropped to the floor. I assumed they’d been raised and then fell off. I should buy stock in superglue immediately. Picking up the appendages, I held them up in the air so the owners could claim them. I refused to glue a body part back on unless I was certain it was the right person I was reattaching it to. I wasn’t Dr. Frankenstein.
“Hang on to your arms,” I told the ghosts who came forward to retrieve them. “I’ll glue them back on after lunch. Do not leave them lying around. While my gag reflex has lessened, it’s still there. Plus, leaving your parts around is rude… and gross.”
I paused and replayed my last sentence in my head. I laughed. Ridiculous and absurd had become my new normal. Embracing it was surprisingly easy. Not sure what that said about me, but I was going with it.
“Let’s do it like this,” I suggested. “If your problem can be solved with a letter to a loved one then go over by the fireplace. If it can’t, go to the kitchen.”
The air instantly turned to a thick gray mist. The ghosts fluttered about like strange liquid confetti trying to decide which group they belonged in. They moved so fast, a strong breeze blew my hair around my head and I grabbed onto the back of the couch for purchase. It was a big decision and my oxygen-deprived squatters were taking it seriously.
The wind stopped and the air cleared. Counting them was useless, but there was a large group of dead people by the fireplace. It kind of seemed like all of them were hovering by the fireplace. Could it be this easy? Had I risked jail time for no reason this morning?