Happy Birthday, Marge Read online

  “His house?” Marge said as Gertie and Fortune headed outside. “I don’t recall leaving my house to a cat.”

  MARGE SPREAD OUT IN the back seat on the way to Mudbug. She hadn’t been in her trusted Jeep since a couple weeks before her death, and she’d never once sat in the back; she’d never trusted anyone else to drive it.

  “You took that turn too fast,” she said to Fortune. “I bet you reset all my radio channels, too, didn’t you?” Marge took a deep breath. “But that’s okay.”

  Neither Gertie nor Fortune responded. “Pothole,” Marge said. She counted down from ten to one, then braced herself as Fortune hit the gouge in the asphalt, causing Gertie to bounce a little in her seat.

  Gertie laughed.

  “What?” Fortune asked.

  “Marge would have hated you for driving her Jeep full on into a pothole. She was one of the toughest women I knew, but she treated her Jeep like a newborn baby.”

  “Damn straight,” Marge said. “But what you don’t know is that I predicted that pothole. Miss Mellette calls it a ‘ghostly premonition.’ Those flashes of the future I was telling you about. She said young ghosts like me often receive snippets of the future because we’re still tied to the living.”

  Gertie began wringing her hands. “I hope the party store was able to customize a piñata that looks just like Marge’s Jeep. I sent them a picture of it, but with my luck it’ll probably end up looking like a Prius. I probably should have just bought that Jeep piñata they had in the window when we went there for July Fourth supplies.”

  Gertie tapped her fingers nervously on the dashboard. “You remembered to mail all the invitations?”

  Fortune nodded. “Two weeks ago. All fifty of them. Just as I said I did the hundred times you asked me before.”

  “And you ordered the cake with Ally, per my instructions?”

  Fortune rolled her eyes. “Yeah. We already talked about the cake today. Several times in fact.”

  “Yes, but you’ve never confirmed you left the instructions specifically with Ally.”

  “Ally wasn’t in yet. I left the instructions with Fred.”

  Gertie gasped.

  “Fred?” Gertie and Marge said together.

  “He’ll mess it up,” Gertie said. “Jennifer Aubois has her birthday party the same day. He’ll give Jennifer Marge’s cake, I just know it.”

  “Word,” Marge agreed. “Fred’s an idiot.”

  “He repeated what I told him,” Fortune said. “He got it right.”

  Gertie put her head in her hands. “We’re doomed.”

  Marge shook her head. “We’re going to get one of those gluten-free cakes just like last year. Thank the Lord I can’t taste anything anymore.”

  “Would you calm down?” Fortune said. “You’ve been on edge for days about this party. What are you worried about?”

  “I just want everything to be right for Marge. We throw a party for her every year, and every year it seems that something goes wrong. The last few years she offered to plan it herself, but that just made me want to prove to her that I could pull off the kind of parties she always threw for me, the kind that went off without a hitch. A great party. She said it never bothered her, but I just want it to be perfect. Just once.” Gertie looked out the window and sighed.

  “Anything you do will be great, ‘hon,” Marge said. “Except, please don’t invite Cookie.”

  “Oh,” Fortune said, slowing down to make a turn, “I ran into Delphine on my morning run. She said she’s sorry but her mom, Cookie, got wind of the party and invited herself.”

  Gertie hung her head and wailed.

  Marge sank back in her seat and let out a matching wail. Cookie was just shy of a hundred and was the death of any fun gathering, barreling through in her motorized wheelchair like a battering ram, knocking into people she didn’t like, which was everybody, and sparing no one with her crude insults.

  “Yes, I can see this detachment is working for you, Marge.”

  Miss Mellette.

  Marge turned and found the ghost of her former home ec teacher sitting primly in the seat next to her, her hair in a neat bun on top of her head and wearing her favorite blue, green and yellow plaid dress with matching flats, clutching a small, yellow purse that just seemed silly to Marge. What in heaven’s name does a ghost need with a purse?

  Gertie stopped her wailing and lifted her head. “Did it just get really cold?”

  Fortune reached for the console and fiddled with the temperature dial. “Yeah. Maybe there’s something wrong with the air conditioner. I’ll turn the fan down.”

  Gertie turned and looked into the back seat.

  “Hello, Miss Hebert,” Miss Mellette said, though Gertie couldn’t see or hear her. “You have the same look on your face as that time I caught you taking a sip of the cooking sherry in class.”

  Gertie sighed and turned back to face the front.

  “Miss Mellette, why are you here?” Marge asked.

  “To take you back to class. You’ve failed your assignment. You’re still as controlling in death as you were in life. Perhaps more meditative reflection is needed. And a comb through that mullet of yours wouldn’t hurt either, as would a splash of color in your wardrobe. Camouflage, my dear, is not a color choice for young ladies.”

  Marge ran her hand through her hair. The Jeep bounced as it sped over another pothole. Marge smiled. “Aha! See, I’m getting better. There was a pothole and the Yankee here didn’t slow for it. And did I get upset? Absolutely not.” Marge tossed Fortune a look and smiled through gritted teeth. “Even though it will probably ruin the alignment.”

  “Your aura is brick red,” Miss Mellette said. “I’d say you are indeed upset.”

  Damn aura, Marge thought. Since spirits were pure energy, every emotion showed up as colors in the ghostly aura. Only a ghost experienced in the ways of manipulating energy could fool Miss Mellette’s trained eye.

  “It’s my opinion that further reflection in the spiritual realm can help you work on your controlling nature more than a visit to Sinful. If you like, you can pop back in while everyone’s wishing you a happy birthday. Come now.”

  Miss Mellette disappeared. Marge didn’t follow. Instead, she was distracted by Fortune’s eyes as they looked in the rear-view mirror. Something about her eyes caught Marge off guard and she was hit with a wave of shivers.

  And then the visions came. Snippets of the future.

  The flash from a gun.

  Fortune slumped on Marge’s bedroom floor.

  She’d been shot.

  In the vision Fortune was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. One of Marge’s. Hawaiian shirts were what everyone attending her party would be wearing. This could mean only one thing. Fortune was going to be shot at Marge’s birthday party.

  Miss Mellette popped back into the back seat. “I noticed you didn’t follow me. Let’s try this again.”

  Marge sat straight up. “I’m getting one of those visions again. I see Fortune’s eyes. Only they’re not happy eyes. They look afraid.” Marge leaned in between the seats. “Now I see her being wheeled into a hospital room. Stop the car!” Marge screamed. It made no difference. They didn’t hear her.

  “I said, stop the car!”

  Gertie shivered. “It’s chilly again. You mind if I turn off the air and open the window?” Before Fortune could answer, Gertie reached over and turned off the air conditioner then opened her window.

  “Oh yeah, that’s much better,” Fortune said, her voice dripping in sarcasm. “Nothing like a blast of Louisiana August air.”

  Marge turned to Miss Mellette. “Can you see the vision I’m seeing?”

  “I’m afraid not. You have a stronger connection to them.”

  “I have to stay. The girl’s life could be in danger.”

  “Hm-hm,” Miss Mellette said, nodding her head. “I see. Or, this could be an extension of you wanting to control things, which is something your life’s review indicated was your biggest issue.
I have a beautiful harpist waiting in the wings to provide you some meditative music, Marge. Mustn’t keep her waiting.”

  “Miss Mellette, you said yourself in class that many spirits remain earthbound to help guide loved ones and provide them comfort. That they can’t move into the light until their mission here is complete.” Marge pointed to Fortune. “Saving this girl’s life might be my mission.”

  “Marge, your snippet is just that. A snippet. You don’t know what happens after that. You could be making a mission out of nothing. And you could make things worse. Did you ever think of that? This might be one ‘mission’ you should abandon until you gain further information.”

  Marge stiffened. “Miss Mellette, I was a member of an elite team of intelligence officers during the Vietnam War. Often we had to act in emergencies based on incomplete intel. If we had waited until we knew every detail, people would have died. I never abandoned a mission then or during my days as a member of Swamp Team Three, and I won’t do it now.”

  Miss Mellette rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me, Swamp Team Three was you and your hooligan friends, Gertie and Ida Belle. Well, I’ll give you extra credit points for a clever moniker.” She sighed. “Fine. It’s your afterlife. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. A snippet is just that. A snippet.”

  Miss Mellette faded out, leaving her yellow, patent-leather purse on the seat. An arm reappeared, snatched the purse and disappeared in a puff of ghostly mist.

  Gertie looked back and scanned the back seat.

  “What’s wrong?” Fortune asked.

  “I thought I felt something.”

  “You really have to chill out,” Fortune said. “This party’s going to be something that honors Marge. Everything will turn out great.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  Marge leaned in between the seats, directing her words at Gertie. “Or it could be the death of your young friend. Until I receive further intel, I think it might help if you cancel the party. No party. No shooting. What do you say?” Marge tried poking Gertie in the shoulder, but her hand went clear through her.

  Gertie gave a shiver. “Maybe a sip of cough syrup will steady my nerves.” She pivoted in her seat to grab the cough syrup from her purse, which sat on the floor behind Fortune’s seat. As she turned, her nose poked through Marge’s eye.

  “Aaaaah!” Gertie cried, pulling her head back and flailing her arms around, one of them knocking into Fortune.

  The car swerved to the left before Fortune corrected with a hard swing to the right. “What’s wrong with you? You almost made me drive into the bayou.”

  “My nose. It felt like I stuck it in a beehive.” She swiped at her nose, as if trying to wipe the sensation away.

  “A beehive?” Marge asked. “That was my eye you were sticking your nose into. And I’ll have you know it was worse for me than it was for you. I got a close-up look of your sinuses. Damn, I thought I was being sucked into a hairy cave.”

  “I felt the air buzzing around,” Gertie said, rubbing the tip of her nose. “I think it’s Marge.”

  “I think you’d better hurry and get the cough syrup in you,” Fortune said.

  Marge tried to will another snippet of the future to flash before her, but she knew that wasn’t the way it worked. These flashes came when she least expected them.

  She didn’t have to wait long. The second they arrived in Mudbug and stepped inside the party store she was getting that feeling again. Another snippet of the future was on its way.

  The store manager greeted Gertie and held up one of the party hats she’d ordered: cone shaped, with blinking “happy birthday” lights affixed to the ends of thin, metal rods connected to the hat.

  “They’re perfect,” Gertie said as she fashioned one of the hats on her head.

  “Oh lordy,” Marge said, as the snippet played in her head. “I just saw a man point a gun at Fortune. And he was wearing that hat. Now I see her slumped on the floor.” She looked at Fortune. “You need to get Gertie to cancel my party.”

  Gertie took off her hat and asked the manager, “Were you able to find a magician?”

  The manager shrugged. “Still trying. This Saturday seems to be popular for birthdays.”

  Gertie’s shoulders drooped with disappointment. Marge stepped next to her. “What a shame. Now, cancel the party.”

  Gertie took a step back from Marge and said to the manager, “We’ll pay double.”

  Just then a man stepped out from a row of party invitations. Middle aged and tall, with thinning brown hair and a pronounced beer belly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but did you say you were looking for a magician?”

  If Marge had physical eyes, they’d be popping from her sockets. “That’s him!” she screamed. “That’s the man with the blinking hat. He’s at the party. You can’t hire him. I saw him pointing a gun at Fortune. I saw Fortune slumped on the floor.”

  The man stuck out his hand. “My name is Andrew. Or, as I’m known in the world of magic, ‘The Amazing Andrew.’”

  Gertie looked at his hand skeptically. “Uh-huh.”

  He kept his hand extended. “I trained as a magician. Card tricks, vanishing coin, levitation, Indian rope trick. And, the trademark, ‘Amazing Andrew Switcheroo.’ I’m just passing through but can stay long enough for your party.”

  Gertie’s eyes widened. She grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. “Well, nice to meet you, Andrew. I’m Gertie. Gertie Hebert. And this is Fortune.”

  Fortune awkwardly stuck out her hand and shook with Andrew. He then withdrew a deck of cards from his pocket and held them up. “I left my magician’s kit in the van, but I can show you some card tricks if you like.”

  “You can’t hire him,” Marge screamed in Gertie’s ear. It did no good. Her old friend just swatted at her ear as if she were swatting away a fly. “This isn’t me being controlling and obsessed with my former life on Earth. This is me trying to stop Fortune from joining my club. Because once you join my club, that’s it. It’s forever.”

  The Amazing Andrew began dazzling Gertie and Fortune with an array of card tricks. Marge tried to direct her energy toward blowing Andrew’s cards out of his hand, but as a newly minted ghost her abilities were hit or miss. In this case she missed and the only thing that blew away were a few greeting cards on display that no one even noticed.

  Marge watched helplessly as Gertie hired the magician and gave him directions to the house, her house, then loaded up the Jeep with party essentials. If she were a mature ghost, she’d probably be able to do all sorts of things to get a message through to them that something was amiss: cause the tires on the Jeep to deflate; start the windshield wipers; keep the doors locked; write a message on the windows. She possessed none of those skills. But she had to do something. No way was she letting Fortune leave this Earth so soon.

  The door to the party store swung open and Andrew the magician stepped outside. “Can I help you load up?”

  “We’re good,” Fortune responded.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  “If you need someone to saw in half,” Gertie said to him, “I’ll see if I can round up our mayor.”

  Andrew laughed.

  Gertie looked at Fortune. “He thinks I’m kidding.”

  The magician looked nice enough, but Marge knew that looks could be deceiving. But, then again, her snippets of the future could also be deceiving. They were just snippets and might not even be connected. But there was no mistaking what she saw. Fortune slumped on the floor and being wheeled on a gurney.

  Gertie and Fortune waved to Andrew and stepped inside Marge’s Jeep. Only this time, Marge didn’t go with them. She needed to see what kind of man they had just hired. A magician who would liven up the party or one who’d be the death of it?

  When Andrew opened the door of his van, Marge slid into the passenger seat. Time for a little intel. After pulling onto the highway, the magician plucked his phone from his shirt pocket and made a call. After a few seco
nds he said, “Teen, this is Jeff.”

  So ‘Andrew’ was now a ‘Jeff.’ This wasn’t sounding good.

  “Snagged another gig,” he continued. “For a bunch of senior citizens. Should be easy pickings. Meet me at the motel so we can coordinate.” He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, the phone passing through Marge’s ghostly form.

  “Whatever plans you might have,” Marge said to the magician, “I’m going to mess them up big time. I’m not going to let you anywhere near that party. You think putting one over on seniors is easy? Number one, you’re dealing with Sinful Ladies. Number two, you’re dealing with a dead Sinful Lady, the most dangerous kind.”

  Or maybe not.

  The thing about being dead is that spirits are often drawn instantly to loved ones who are thinking intensely about them. Mature ghosts can pick and choose where they’re going. Young ghosts such as Marge, however, often don’t have the command of their energy yet to decide their destination.

  And that’s how Marge suddenly found herself propelled from the magician’s van to a waiting lounge at the New Orleans airport. This particular waiting area was empty, except for Marie, who sat in a chair and stared at a small, purple silk, zippered pouch that she held in her hand.

  “Well, Marge, in just a half hour I’ll be boarding the plane to go scatter you in the Caribbean,” she whispered to the pouch.

  It took a moment for Marge to adjust to her change in location. This had happened to her once before when she’d been propelled from Ida Belle’s house to Gertie’s house while the two were reminiscing over the phone about how much they missed her. She’d bounced between the two like a pinball.

  Marge focused on the small, purple pouch. “I assume I’m in that.”

  “Oh Marge,” Marie whispered, “I really miss you.”

  “I miss you too, Marie, but I was in the middle of surveillance.” And she wasn’t quite sure how to get back. She didn’t have a strong, emotional attachment to the magician, so just popping over to him was out of the question.