The First Ghost. Marguerite Butler
an appearance. She was staying away longer and longer. I had no idea where she went, but I was determined to get her crossed over, find a job and a new home for Billy and bag myself a doctor. Hopefully today. It’s good to have ambition.
But in order to call Aunt Susie, I needed Corinne. The card players had vanished during the night, and I could once more enjoy my kitchen table. I warmed my hands, wishing the sun would come out and bathe the room in golden light. Billy seemed impervious to the gloom and happily polished off his balanced meal. Then he entertained himself by savaging a terry-cloth wiener dog Corinne had insisted I buy for him. At least he was enjoying it.
I hate waiting. “Corinne?” I said sharply. “Where the hell are you?”
“Where do you think I am?”
She floated over my head. “Come down where I can see you without breaking my neck, please. We need to talk.” She drifted down, wafting from side to side like a feather settling. She seemed more ephemeral every time I saw her. “Do you still want me to call your Aunt Susie?”
“Yes, please. I need to know that she’s going to be okay.”
That actually sounded reasonable. “So when is a good time?”
Corinne glanced at the faux antique clock on my mantel. “She’s at work right now.”
“That might not be the best place. How about tonight? Will she be home?”
“How should I know?”
Corinne wasn’t going to make this easy. “Does she do anything on Thursday nights? Bowling league? Ladies’ Auxiliary? Gun club?”
“Of course not. She goes to bed pretty early.”
“Okay, then. Tonight, say six or seven o’clock, we’ll give Aunt Susie a call. Then you can cross over in peace.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight,” I said firmly. “You promised. Billy is taken care of, and after Aunt Susie there’s no reason to hang around here anymore.”
Corinne’s lower lip trembled. Hephzibah had been right. Here it came. She was going to ask me to solve her murder.
“What’s going to happen to me?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s something good. You seem like a good person.”
“Do you believe in heaven?”
“I guess so. I never looked at it that carefully.” In fact, I had spent my entire life running from the issue. I was afraid to look. You would think with a family in the death business I would be at peace with the issue of dying, but I wasn’t. Oh, I knew there was something more. I had always known there was more, but once people crossed over, I really had no idea. “My mother thinks so, and she’s been clairvoyant her whole life, so she should know.”
Corinne nodded. “I always went to church and I was pretty sure until...well...I’m sort of nervous.”
Where was Hephzibah now? I had no idea how to deal with these issues. This was why I hated working in the funeral home. “Perfectly understandable,” I said. “But I think it’s time to find out. Tonight.”
Corinne nodded. I could tell she was crying even though no tears streamed down her cheeks and she didn’t make a sound. “It’s just...never mind,” she mumbled.
“Tell me.”
“Somebody killed me. And now he’s going to get away with it.” Her shoulders shook, and she ducked her head, letting her honey-colored hair hide her face.
No, no, no. Not this conversation. “Do you have any idea who killed you?”
The hair curtain swayed as she shook her head. “I don’t know who. I don’t even know why.”
“Maybe it wasn’t murder. Maybe it was an accident.” I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to kill Corinne.
“That isn’t possible.”
“Maybe the police have solved it.”
She lifted her head. “Could you find out? Please? That would mean a lot. I don’t want him to get away with it.”
Against my better judgment I said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
What else could I say?
* * * *
The day stretched ahead of me, long and empty. I had made a promise to Corinne, and I really had no idea how to fulfill it. I had made promises to myself, but the prospect of job-hunting filled me with terror. I’d rather face another demon.
So I did the only thing I could think of. I called Harry.
An hour later, Harry picked me up in a blue Mahaffey-Ringold van. I hoped it didn’t have a body in it. The big hearses are mostly for funerals. The van does the bulk of pickup and delivery.
He frowned when I climbed in. “Did you have to bring the dog?”
“I didn’t want to leave him alone all day.” I was afraid of further damage to my bathroom door or unabashed howling.
“You’ve gotten weird on me. Don’t you think it’s time you got another car?” He shifted gears.
“That might be hard.”
“Oh?” He stomped on the accelerator with such ferocity I had to close my eyes. If Harry on the freeway was a scary prospect, Harry dodging pedestrians and city traffic was truly a near-death experience.
I gave him the CliffsNotes version of losing my job. He made appropriate brotherly noises and then asked the dreaded question. “Is that why you wanted me to pick you up? You’re coming back to work for Mother and Walter?”
“No, absolutely not.” I was so horrified I made the mistake of opening my eyes. A large semi bore down on us at a terrifying speed. Harry wrenched the van back onto our side of the street just in time. The truck driver laid on his horn indignantly. Harry beeped back at him and careened around a corner.
I had one arm holding Billy in my lap and another gripping the armrest. Billy stood with his front paws on the dash, snorking happily.
“I need to talk some things over with Mother. Mother-daughter stuff.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Drop you off and disappear. Don’t worry. I need to take Mrs. Hazelthorne to the crematorium anyway.” He jerked his chin toward the back of the van.
* * * *
Harry let me off at the side door and peeled out as though it was a dire emergency to deliver Mrs. Hazelthorne within the next thirty seconds. Good thing most of Harry’s passengers were already dead.
The bell tinkled as I went in the employee entrance. Mother was entertaining a “client” in her office.
“Oh hello, dear,” she said. “Mrs. Hazelthorne, this is my daughter, Portia.”
Mrs. Hazelthorne was plump, but in a shapely way, with gray hair fluffed about her head like a huge cotton ball. “Two of you? Dear me, this is my lucky day. So very nice to meet you, Portia.”
Mrs. Hazelthorne sat in a chair poring over the pages that Mother turned for her. She didn’t appear to have mastered the art of floating yet.
“Mrs. Hazelthorne is newly deceased,” Mother offered. “We’re finalizing her funeral plan before her husband arrives.”
“Definitely the pewter urn,” Mrs. Hazelthorne said. “The living room is very nautical, and pewter would fit right in with all the blue tones.”
“Now about the hymns,” Mother said.
“Let me see.” Mrs. Hazelthorne tapped her chin. “I always liked Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me, and Rescue the Perishing. Those would be nice, don’t you think?”
“Oh yes,”