Happy Birthday, Marge Page 2

  Ida Belle nodded. “It’s all assembled. Once they vote ‘yes,’ all we need to do is take it to the park and place it near Marge’s favorite tree. It won’t take but an hour. We can do that when we get back after going to the party store in Mudbug.”

  Marie rolled her eyes at Gertie. “So you can come to the airport with us and give me a proper goodbye.”

  Gertie shook her head. “I have things I want to talk over with Fortune. I have a full day.” She gave Marie a long hug. “There’s my proper goodbye. You two run along.”

  We watched from the porch as Ida Belle squealed away from my curb, Marie’s head pitching back into her seat.

  Gertie shook her head. “Marie will need a sedative after riding with Ida Belle.”

  “Okay,” I said, “what did you want to talk with me about?”

  She shrugged. “Just want to finalize plans for Marge’s party.”

  “We went over all of that. I got the beer, ordered the cake, sent the invitations.”

  “But did you get Marge’s favorite beer? The one with the black label?”

  I nodded. “The second fridge behind the house is filled with it.”

  “Okay, then.” Gertie sighed.

  “What’s really on your mind? You’ve been jumpy the past few days.”

  Gertie shrugged and was about to respond when Bones interrupted with excited barking from the living room.

  “Merlin had better not be taunting him,” I said as Gertie and I rushed inside.

  Bones stood at the base of a leather recliner, barking furiously at the empty chair. No Merlin.

  “Damn, just a second ago he was collapsed inside his dog bed. What’s got him all riled up?”

  “Marge,” Gertie said softly.

  “What?”

  Gertie took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “It’s Marge. That was her favorite chair. She’s here. I just know it.”

  “What do you mean, she’s here? Like as a ghost?”

  Gertie nodded. “Ghost. Spirit. Soul. Revenant. Spook. Call it what you’d like. But she’s here. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Chapter Two

  Marge

  THE GHOST WAS INSULTED. “Spook? And what’s with this ‘call it what you will’ business? When did I become an ‘it?’”

  But they didn’t hear her. Marge still wasn’t used to the one major downside of ‘passing away.’ You pass a little too far out of most people’s earshot. Bones, on the other hand, wagged his tail and kept barking. When Marge had passed from living body to the ether, she realized she possessed the ability to understand different communication styles. Including animals. What Gertie and the young Yankee were hearing right now was barking. What Marge was hearing was Bones begging her to take him for a ride.

  “Bones,” Marge said, “we’ve been over this before. I’m dead. I can get in the car, I just can’t drive it.”

  He howled a mournful wail. Dog for: Dead? Oh crap, I forgot.

  “Did you hear that?” Gertie asked.

  Young Blondie drew back from the sound, cupping her hands over her ears. “Yeah, I’m standing right here. Hush, Bones.”

  Marge sighed, realizing she needed to come back more often so Bones would become accustomed to her non-corporeal presence. Not that it was easy to zip in and out whenever she wanted. Just as babies are not born with the ability to walk and talk, ghosts don’t arrive in the next world knowing everything there is to know about being in spirit form. The rules of otherworldly quantum physics apply and each new spiritual entity needs to learn them.

  Counting the day she passed into the spirit world, this would make the sixth time she’s made the journey to the world of the living. Well, if you don’t count the times Marge came back to sleep in her own bed at night. And, yes, ghosts sleep if they want to. Marge had paid a pretty penny for that high-end, memory foam, remote-controlled adjustable bed, and she was damned sure she was going to get her money’s worth.

  “By the way, I’m ditching class,” Marge said with delight, even though she knew they couldn’t hear her. “‘Alternative Mobility’ is the name of it. Sort of an intro on moving around in the physical world without a body. And get this—my ghost teacher is Miss Mellette, our old home ec teacher. Just as crotchety as ever.” Miss Mellette had caught Marge sneaking out of class to come to Sinful for her birthday. Not that ghosts couldn’t leave. Class wasn’t mandatory, but offered comfort to spirits who chose to ignore the ‘light’ and remain earthbound.

  “She thinks I’m too attached to my former earthly life as Marge Boudreaux, which is a total crock.” Out of the corner of her ghostly eye she spotted several of her trophies on the mantel. “You have those out of order, by the way.”

  Gertie lowered her voice and asked Fortune, “Have you noticed any... presence since you started living in Sinful?”

  “Of crazy people, yes,” she answered. “Of Marge’s ghost, no.”

  Marge got up from the chair and tried to grab one of the trophies with her hand. She huffed in frustration as her hand went through the brass. Bones offered to reposition the trophies before he remembered he lacked opposable thumbs.

  “Do you see that?” Gertie asked. “Bones is now staring at Marge’s trophies. What if she’s here to check up on things? She always was a bit of a control freak.”

  Marge folded her arms. “I was not. That’s exactly what Miss Mellette said and she’s wrong. And that’s why I’m here, to prove her wrong. To prove I can come here and observe what’s happening and just detach from it. That word is big with the members of my new club, the formerly living. Detach. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Just then the cat padded into the living room, jumped a straight vertical into the air when he spotted Marge’s ghostly form, made a beeline for the stairs and hauled his cat butt up the steps. This made Bones howl with laughter, though Marge knew it didn’t sound like laughter to Gertie and the Yankee. Gertie’s eyes widened as she slapped her hand over her mouth.

  “What the hell got into him?” Fortune asked.

  Marge was still getting used to the Yankee being in her house and pretending to be her niece, Sandy-Sue. And using her things, particularly her guns. Every time Fortune touched one of her babies it gave Marge a twinge of jealousy that she could no longer feel the cold stainless steel of a Beretta in her hand.

  Detach, Marge, detach.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Gertie asked Fortune, who was still staring in disbelief at the way her cat had taken those giant leaps up the stairs.

  “Well, if you mean do I believe there’s somewhere else we go after we die, or a different type of consciousness, I guess I’d have to say, ‘yes.’ Though I don’t know that I believe in ghosts. Merlin probably just saw something we couldn’t. Maybe some rodent came inside or something.”

  “Bones isn’t barking at some rodent,” Gertie said. “Did you ever feel your mother around you after she died?”

  Fortune nodded. “Yeah, but whether it was her spirit or I was just missing her, I don’t know.”

  “I saw my granddaddy after he died. My grandma, too. Scared the crap out of me. I don’t care whose ghost it is, I don’t want to see it.”

  Marge sighed. “There you go, with the ‘it’ again. How do you think it makes me feel that you don’t want to see me? I’ve seen you at some of your worst moments, like that time you were in that porta potty at the parish fair and old Cookie drove into it out of spite and toppled it over with you inside. Who helped get you out?”

  Gertie crossed her arms and shivered. “I just feel something strange. And now I have this image of a porta potty in my head.”

  “Aha!” Marge pointed her finger at Gertie. “That was from me.”

  “How does a porta potty relate to Marge?” Fortune asked.

  Gertie ran a hand through her hair. “Not a story I care to repeat.”

  “But it’s a doozy, as many of the stories involving Gertie are.” Marge moved from the mantel and stood a few inches f
rom her old friend. “If you could see me, you’d note a few changes. Number one, I’m not that sick old lady you cared for. If I say so myself, I look pretty damn good. I chose to zip around as the ‘me’ at age forty-five. I loved that age. Old enough to know better, but young enough not to care. Where I live now you can change looks the way I used to change socks. And I have my mullet back. Best damn haircut Cindy Lou ever gave me.”

  Gertie folded her arms and took a step back. “Did it suddenly get cold to you?”

  “No,” Fortune answered. “And why would Marge want to come back for her party?”

  Gertie shrugged. Marge placed her ghostly 45-year-old hand on her friend’s shoulder. Gertie swallowed hard.

  “A part of you knows I’m here,” Marge said. “It’s the fear that’s holding you back. Look, I know that in the past I may have tried to micromanage you when it came to planning my birthday parties, but in the spirit of detachment, I’m just going to observe, even if things start to go sour.

  “Along those lines, I’ve gotten a snippet that something’s off with my cake order. Us ghosts, we sometimes get flashes of the future, and I’ve been getting the feeling that something’s wrong with the cake. No big deal and I’m totally detached from the outcome, but for your sake you might want to look into that. You don’t want to end up with Jennifer’s gluten-free cake by mistake.”

  Bones padded over and stood next to Marge, wagging his tail.

  Gertie looked down at him. “Is that her, Bones? Is Marge here?”

  “Maybe Bones needs to go to the bathroom,” Fortune said.

  Gertie nodded. “Yes, that’s it. You want to go out and go to the bathroom, Bones? I’ll take you. Let me go get your leash.”

  She headed for the kitchen and the ghost followed. “It’s still early, in case you want to call Francine and double-check your order,” Marge said. “Not for me, for you, because I don’t care. Oh oh, and did you find the guest list I left for you? You can invite anyone you want, of course, it’s just a suggestion from the old me.”

  Gertie looked around for the leash.

  “And just out of curiosity, were you able to land a magician? He or she doesn’t have to do much, a few card tricks, pull a coin out of your ear, that sort of thing. The leash is on the counter.” Marge shook her head. “Not where it belongs, of course. See that hook by the door? That’s where Bones’s leash goes.” Marge held up her hand. Detach, Marge, detach.

  “There it is,” Gertie said to herself as she crossed to the counter to retrieve Bones’s leash.

  She joined Fortune in the living room and held up the leash. “Okay, I have it. Marie said he’s gotten into the habit of only doing his business if he walks for a bit. Do you have a poop bag?”

  Fortune shook her head. “Picking up dog poop is not part of my job description.”

  “Well, I’m not picking it up. Dog poop is dangerous to people my age,” Gertie insisted.

  “Says who?”

  “Some guy on Facebook.”

  They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

  “I’m Marge’s fake niece,” Fortune said as she stepped toward the door. “I’ll pick up fake poop, and that’s about it.”

  Gertie folded her arms. “Uh, huh. And is that Marge’s fake Jeep you’re driving? Or her fake house you’re living in?”

  “Touché,” Marge said, flashing a thumbs-up to Gertie.

  Fortune sighed. “We’ll take him to Celia’s yard and make him go there. I heard she just adopted a dog. She’ll think it’s her dog’s poop. That way neither of us will have to pick it up.”

  Gertie smiled. “Works for me.”

  Fortune looked through the peephole.

  “Who is it?” Gertie asked.

  “A couple. Never seen ‘em before.”

  Marge stuck her head through the door, got a look at the couple and pulled her head back inside. “Don’t recognize ‘em.”

  Chapter Three

  BOTH MIDFIFTIES. HE a lean five-foot-nine and she a petite five-three. Leaning on a cane, he’s dressed in khaki shorts and a striped polo shirt. She wears white polyester capris with a bright-yellow top. Both have short, gray hair. His straight, hers curly. Neither holds a Bible, so they aren’t here to help me find God. Threat level: low.

  “May I help you?” I asked.

  “We’re the Gidleys,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Barton, and this is my wife, Eleanor. Is Marge Boudreaux available?”

  “I’m sorry, but Marge passed away several months back.”

  Mrs. Gidley held her hand to her mouth. “No. Oh my. That’s such a shame.”

  The man appeared at a loss for words.

  “Are you friends of Marge?”

  Barton cleared his throat. “Well, we’re related. I mean, my wife is.”

  Gertie rushed up beside me. “You’re relatives?” Gertie stuck out her hand and shook his hand, then hers. “I’m Gertie. I’m Marge’s best friend. Or, was, anyway. This is Fortune, Marge’s great-niece.”

  “Oh,” Eleanor said. “Then I suppose I’m related to you as well.” She shook my hand.

  “I know most of Marge’s relatives, as least by name,” Gertie said. “I don’t remember her mentioning anyone by the last name of Gidley.”

  “Eleanor is related through Marge’s maternal grandmother’s line. They share great-grandparents,” Barton said, tapping his fingers on the wooden handle of his cane. “We decided to finally shake Eleanor’s family tree, and Marge fell from one of the branches.”

  Eleanor laughed. “I took one of those DNA tests and posted it on that Ancestry site and I was matched up with Marge.”

  Gertie nodded. “Oh sure, Marge was always interested in genealogy. She told me she wanted to find the horse thieves and the crazies in her line. She always felt her family was way too boring and she wanted to spice things up a bit.”

  “Well,” Eleanor said, “I’m afraid she’d be disappointed in me, then. I tend toward the boring side as well.”

  “Oh I doubt that,” Gertie said. “Marge would have loved to meet you. She put her tree online hoping someone would connect with her before she passed. For years she said she’d never make her tree public or do the DNA test. Marge was always so concerned with privacy. But the older she got she realized she’d never meet any distant relatives if she didn’t put her information out there.”

  Eleanor looked up at her husband. “I wish we’d done this sooner, before she died. It would have been nice to meet her.” Eleanor looked back at me. “I lost my parents early in life and have no brothers or sisters, and neither of my parents had brothers or sisters, so... no cousins.”

  “Oh... sorry.” I knew what that was like.

  Eleanor reached forward and squeezed my arm. “But it’s nice meeting you, Fortune. I can at least say I met family.”

  Another moment of uncomfortable silence. I felt for this woman, but I wasn’t her family. Sandy-Sue Morrow was.

  “Hey,” Eleanor said, “it’s Marge’s birthday coming up, isn’t it? At least, that’s what the information on the family tree showed.”

  Gertie nodded. “We’re having a little party for her this Saturday to honor her.”

  Eleanor touched her hand to her chest. “That is so sweet. Well, I will certainly be thinking of her tomorrow.”

  I glanced over at Gertie, hoping she wouldn’t feel compelled to invite them. It was bad enough I had to host a party for the Sinful Ladies, some of them still not trusting me because I was a Yankee, but the more time Eleanor spent with me the more she’d think of me as her family. Another lie I’d have to feel guilty about.

  Eleanor cast her hopeful eyes at Gertie.

  Don’t cave in. Don’t cave in. Don’t

  “You want to come to the party?” Gertie asked.

  Damn her Southern manners.

  Eleanor’s face brightened. “Are you sure? You don’t mind?”

  “No. The more the merrier. And you’re family. Marge had a ton of research she did on her family.
I’m sure Fortune would love to share it all with you. Right, Fortune?”

  I forced a smile. “You bet, Gertie.”

  “Tomorrow at noon,” Gertie said.

  Eleanor swooped in and enveloped me in a bear hug. “It will be so good getting to know you, Second Cousin Twice Removed Fortune.”

  Once we said our goodbyes, I closed the door and turned to Gertie. “You invited them to the party?”

  “What was I supposed to do? She kept giving me those sad eyes.”

  “She thinks I’m her long-lost relative. She’ll be all over me at the party.”

  “So make her happy and tell her some family stories.”

  “Like what?”

  Gertie waved me off. “Marge has a bunch of family stuff written down.”

  The sound of a crash behind us drew our attention. Merlin shot out from behind the sofa and made a beeline toward me, where he took refuge between my feet.

  Gertie rushed to the sofa and peeked behind it. “One of Marge’s trophies fell.”

  “You,” I said, pointing my finger down at him, “have been a really bad cat today.”

  “What if it wasn’t him?” Gertie whispered.

  Chapter Four

  Marge

  MARGE STOOD BY THE mantel looking down at the trophy, which had broken away from its wooden base. She shook her head. “Wouldn’t you know it? The class I’m missing today is called, ‘How Not to Break Things.’” She looked over at Fortune. “Don’t blame the cat. It wasn’t him. I was so mad that I’m missing out on meeting a long-lost relative that I just felt compelled to put my trophies in the right order and have a little control over things. Miss Mellette was right. I have an attachment-to-life disorder. Starting now, I’m detaching. But if you could please put them in chronological order, that would be nice.” She sighed, knowing they couldn’t hear a thing.

  “What if Marge is here and trying to tell us something?” Gertie whispered.

  “Merlin’s just having a hissy because a dog is in his house.” Fortune took the leash from Gertie. “Let’s take Bones to do his business before we leave for Mudbug.”