CHAPTER EIGHT
The transport to the safehouse of Candy’s kids, along with Amelia and Missy and the Immortals, had gone smoothly. Gideon had sent them to France. His property there was magically warded and hidden well. Before they departed, Tim did a quick spell to erase the grotesque and frightening battle the children had witnessed. Amelia, June, Jennifer and Missy were well aware of the Immortal world that lived right under the unsuspecting noses of humankind. But the kids? Not so much, and it needed to stay that way.
Lura Belle, Dimple and Jolly Sue had opted to go as well. Even though the kids couldn’t see the ghosts, they believed their presence was necessary. I wasn’t as sure, but it meant there were three less people to worry about. I had no idea how long the trio could stay on this plane. If it were up to me, they’d stay as long as they wanted. It wasn’t up to me. We’d thought their souls had been obliterated when they’d been killed defending me. It has been glorious when they’d reappeared at my and Gideon’s wedding. However, they’d been sent to deliver a message from the Higher Power. With the Higher Power after Alana Catherine, it felt right not to have the gals anywhere near the vicious entity.
It was time to interrogate Shitty Ritchie. Did I think it would go well? No. Was it necessary? Yes.
“Shitty Ritchie,” I said, glancing up at the gathering storm clouds. “We need to chat.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he huffed rudely.
“Itty Ritty,” Alana Catherine grumbled at him. “Beee good!”
The tiny menace had the wherewithal to look embarrassed. My baby had some serious sway.
“You heard that baby girl,” Jennifer admonished him. “Can’t believe she can talk at her age. That’s some crazy sauce, but you best listen, little man. I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me wanna take you over my knee and spank that bottom raw. All these people here have been nothing but nice to you, and you’re backtalking like a little bitch. Not a good look. I divorced husband number two for far less offenses than that.”
“I like getting spanked,” Shitty Ritchie announced, pointing to his itty-bitty bahookey.
That admission dropped a huge and uncomfortable pause into the conversation. Jennifer just laughed and opened a fresh bottle of wine. As she always said, it was five o’clock somewhere. It was morning here, but I was tempted to join her.
Candy Vargo noticed the darkening clouds and went to flip them off. She stopped herself. That was outstanding. I wasn’t sure how much more self-flagellation she could take. It wasn’t fun to watch. “Hang on a ball wankin’ sec,” she commanded. “Everybody, stand back.” Her order was followed quickly and without argument .
She walked over the one-story tract house and demolished it with a flick of her pinky finger. Before I could yell at her, she clapped her hands and restored the house to its original glory. The sound of grinding stone and cracking wood was strange, but the results were welcome. I was tempted to ask her why she hadn’t done that yesterday, but didn’t. It didn’t matter. I was fast beginning to realize that stuff was just stuff. Material things would come and go. It was lives that were precious and irreplaceable.
As if on cue, the sky opened up and the rain came pouring down in sheets. Everyone hightailed it into the house, including my dogs, who had apparently spent the night in Gram’s trailer.
Gideon grabbed towels for everyone to dry off and set a roaring fire in the stone fireplace. While the house had been restored, the furniture was vintage Candy Vargo—slightly ratty but comfortable. Again, stuff was just stuff. We were dry and ready to get down to business. Tim had scurried to the kitchen to whip up some breakfast. That was terrifying but sweet. His cooking skills were worse than Candy Vargo’s taste in décor, but a good deed was a good deed. Granted, we’d be punished for eating a casserole consisting of hot dogs, cottage cheese and whatever else Tim could drum up in the kitchen, but it was the least of our worries.
“Threeeeeeeeeee,” Jimmy George Carrots squealed as he, Gram and Mr. Jackson hovered by the fire. “Threeeeeeeeee! Sooooah exciiiiitingg.”
There it was. Again. The number three. It was time to dive in.
“Jimmy George Carrots,” I said with a warm smile. “Can you tell me more about the number three, please.”
His words came fast and furious, but what left his mouth next was so garbled, I couldn’t make sense of it. I looked to Gram to see if she’d understood.
“Slow down there, boy!” Gram said, patting the one-armed and legless ghost on the head. “You got all of us as confused as farts in a fan factory.”
Jimmy George Carrots laughed and turned a few flips. I wished I knew where his appendages had landed. It would be an honor to put the silly man back together. Maybe, he’d lost them during the night. I’d have to check his trailer later.
“Jimmy George Carrots,” I said, gently pulling him out of the air and placing him on the couch. “Can you try that again?”
“Yesssssssah,” he told me.
The second time was as convoluted as the first. The third attempt wasn’t the charm. Although, Alana Catherine giggled and chattered right back at the ghost. Did she understand him? Sadly, that would remain a mystery. I knew that if I did a mind dive, I could talk to him, but that would take time I wasn’t sure we had. Time ran differently when I was in the minds of the dead. What felt like five minutes could be a week on the earthly plane.
Tim had come back into the great room with a steaming hot casserole that smelled like the inside of my track shoes from high school. I covertly gagged when I recognized sardines and peanut butter as two of the ingredients. Candy Vargo and Shitty Ritchie were the only ones who dug in and enjoyed it. The rest of us politely refused.
“Not to worry, dear Mr. Carrots,” Tim told the ghost when he looked upset that we couldn’t understand him. “I do believe that I have some information about the number three in my handy dandy notebook.”
Candy Vargo groaned. She’d been listening to Tim’s facts for thousands of years. Jennifer plopped herself down next to Tim and was ready to go. They were a nutty team that seemed to have been separated at birth. That wasn’t possible. Jennifer was sixty-five and Tim was… I didn’t even know how old Tim was. It had to be in the millions.
“Let me see,” Tim said, flipping through the pages. “Here’s a joke! What happened when the three blind mice went to see a play?”
“You got me,” Jennifer said, scratching her head.
“They couldn’t find their seats!”
Jennifer, Mr. Jackson and Jimmy George Carrots were the only ones who laughed.
“I got one,” Jennifer said. “The other day I pulled into my driveway and someone had painted a big number three on my garage door. Do you wanna know what I said?”
Shitty Ritchie was also game to play. “What did you say, oh, one, who enjoys swatting bahookeys?”
Jennifer winced, took a swig of wine then answered. “I said, that’s odd. Get it? Number three is odd!”
Good one, friend,” Tim said, giving her a thumbs up.
Shitty Ritchie laughed so hard, I thought he might choke. If he did, it was on him. I was pretty sure no one here wanted to give the turd mouth to mouth—especially with his past…
“Umm… not the kind of facts about the number three we’re looking for,” I pointed out.
“Of course,” Tim said, flipping a few more pages. “My apologies. Here we go. In numerology, the number three is very often associated with communication, optimism and creativity.”
Heather leaned forward. “Well, if we’re going this route, the number three has a lot of religious symbolism. The Holy Trinity from the Christian human bible teaches that the trinity consists of God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit.”
Gram chuckled. “Kinda like you, me and Alana Catherine when we visited Fake Bob Barker and Fake Monty Hall.”
Her comparison wasn’t lost on me. I’d thought the same thing. In order to get to the Higher Power, we had needed all three of us. The past Death Counselor—Gram, the present Death Counselor—me, and the future Death Counselor—Alana Catherine.
“Or the three branches of the human government, set in place for checks and balances,” Gideon said.
My smile was rueful. The irony was so obvious. The Immortal world could definitely use some checks and balances. The Higher Power was abusing Its authority in a big way with no one to stop It.
“Does the number three hold power in the Immortal world?” I asked.
Charlie appeared thoughtful. “Not per se,” he said. “However, there are many rules of three in all cultures. In plenty of art forms the rule of three is pertinent—story telling, comedy and magic. It’s said that the rule of three makes life complete.”
All of this was interesting, but I didn’t see the throughline. How in the heck did this pertain to whatever Jimmy George Carrots was trying to tell us? I glanced over at him. He didn’t seem upset by the conversation, but he wasn’t real involved either.
“Fairy tales and TV shows often have the number three in the title,” June offered. “Three Little Pigs, the Three Bears, Three’s Company .”
“Loved that show,” Shitty Ritchie exclaimed, then proceeded to sing the song that opened the show while doing jazz squares. Alana Catherine giggled, and Jennifer joined the little freak.
It was a silly break in between the convoluted mess we were trying to wade through.
“None of this explains why the unknown and very dead Immortals wanted June,” Gideon reminded everyone.
The silly time was over.
“Or me,” Jennifer said.
“And it sure as fartin’ testicle boobin’ hell don’t tell us why the Higher Power wants Alana Catherine.”
“I HATE THE HIGHER POWER,” Shitty Ritchie screamed as he continued to do jazz squares, but with much more force. “That’s why I live in a cave in the middle of nowhere. I don’t have any friends. I have never been able to fornicate or do the bongo bunny or get frogged or have horizontal refreshment or make any whoopie or…”
Candy Vargo couldn’t take it. She electrocuted Shitty Ritchie right in the bahookey. It shut the little freak up immediately. However, since no one was sure how he would retaliate, we all stood up and sprinted for the front door. I didn’t care that it was raining buckets outside. It was preferable to getting caught up in a tornado or having the house come down on our heads.
Before we could get a foot out of the front door, Shitty Ritchie screamed, “AGAIN. Do it again!”
Every single person froze and looked back. The tiny man’s butt was on fire and he was grinning from ear to ear. It was the weirdest thing I’d seen to date.
“Love it! Do it again, Candy Vargo!”
“What in the actual…” Candy muttered.
“I think he’s got a butt thing goin’ on,” Jennifer whispered. “Go on, Candy. Zap that ass again. It’s the first time I’ve seen that tiny booger happy.”
“Whatever,” Candy Vargo grumbled as she shot a second bolt of electricity at Shitty Ritchie’s rear end.
We stood in shocked silence and watched as he performed jazz squares along with a few leaps until the fire on his backside was extinguished.
“I’m old—like really old,” Gideon stated flatly. “Never in my years have I witnessed anything as disturbing as that.”
“Word,” Heather agreed.
“Invigorating,” Shitty Ritchie shouted as he swatted out any smoldering embers left on his blue sweatpants.
Miraculously, there wasn’t a big hole in the back of his pants. Seeing his bare bahookey wasn’t on my list of things to do today or ever. However, since the man was in good spirits, I decided to go for it.
“So,” I said casually as I walked back into the great room. “I wish that you would share why you hate the Higher Power.”
“You wish ?” he inquired, raising a tiny brow that was definitely in need of some grooming.
“I do,” I replied. “I wish .”
He sighed dramatically and plopped down on the floor. “You only get seven hundred and seventy-seven,” he informed me.
“Seven hundred and seventy-seven what?” I asked.
“Wishes,” he grunted. “After that you must pay.”
“Works for me,” I told the little guy and sat down on the floor in front of him.
“I’ll keep track,” Tim assured me, holding up his notebook. “Oh, Shitty Ritchie, what is the price if Daisy happens to go over the magic number?”
Shitty Ritchie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a spanking. ”
I swallowed my horrified laugh with effort. Candy Vargo did not.
“That there little turd knocker has some titanic testies and an industrial strength bahookey,” she said.
“Thank you,” Shitty Ritchie replied.
“Welcome,” Candy shot back.
The conversation had gone slightly off the rails, but no one had died. I considered that a win.
“Can you grant my wish?” I asked him. “And don’t resort to your catch phrase, please. We’ve been very kind so far. I mean, we don’t usually set people’s asses on fire… multiple times.”
Shitty Ritchie took in my words and considered them carefully. “Is that because I’m your friend now?”
I looked around for help. I wasn’t getting any. “Umm… yes. Sure.” I shrugged. “Although I’d have to say, conditional friend… for now.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “Define conditional.”
I leveled him with a hard gaze. “You can’t blow stuff up or we won’t be friends. You can’t harm any of us, and for the love of everything disgusting, you can’t eat humans anymore.”
“What in the actual fuck did you just say?” Candy Vargo shouted. “That little shit stain eats humans?”
“I used to,” Shitty Ritchie squeaked in a pitch that it made my brain hurt. “AND I didn’t know it was wrong! Living in a cave for seventy million or so years can do that to a fella.”
Candy Vargo drummed her fingers over her lips. “Did I just say fuck and shit stain?”
“You did, friend,” Tim told her.
“Be right back,” she said, marching out of the house and into the rain.
The explosion that came next rocked the house. When the silence that followed lingered, I worried Candy Vargo hadn’t survived the blast. It wasn’t until she walked back into the house completely bald, naked and smoldering that I let out the breath I’d been holding.
With his eyes firmly shut, Gideon waved his hand and dressed Candy Vargo. He’d stayed true to her fashion sense and clothed her in a sweatsuit with mismatched socks and tennis shoes that had seen better days. She was still bald, but she was dressed.
“Thanks, corn nut,” she told Gideon. “Them flames got me this time.”
“Candy Vargo,” Gram said, flying over with a horrified expression. “You gotta stop that crap NOW! You got me so worried that I’m losin’ years off my life, which is pretty dang hard to do since I’m dead. Blowin’ yourself up over some potty words makes me think that you could throw yourself to the ground and miss. From here on out, when you mess up, you just say you’re sorry. You hear me? I don’t wanna have to go and cancel your dang birth certificate. Just chaps my bahookey that you’re so mean to yourself.”
Candy Vargo hung her head. No one could get through to her like Gram. That’s what love did to a person. Candy loved Gram something fierce, and Gram loved her right back. I wasn’t sure if Candy ever had a mother. I’d never asked, and she’d never volunteered the information. However, she had a mom now.
“I don’t wanna wear a cute sweater set, pearls and kitten heels,” Candy admitted morosely. “Decided that maimin’ myself would get me out of that.”
“That’s what this is all about?” Gram asked, throwing her hands in the air. “No worries, child. The threat of proper clothes is off the table. You’re doin’ real good with getting’ off the poop words. I’m right proud of you. ”
“You are?” Candy asked, peering up at Gram with delight.
“Yeppers! Just keep workin’ on it and quit settin’ yourself on fire. I’m dang tired of that.”
“Will do, Gram,” she promised. “I’ gettin’ kind of tired of it too.”
“We all good here?” I asked the two women.
“We are,” Candy said.
“Great.” I turned my attention back to Shitty Ritche. “Grant my wish.”
Shitty Ritchie fluffed the shock of gray hair that stood straight up on his head for a minute or two while he decided how he wanted to answer me.
“Truth or lies?” he inquired.
I rolled my eyes. “Friends don’t lie to friends.”
He was doubtful about this new information, but seemed to accept it. “It wants me dead.”
“Why?”
Shitty Ritchie stared at me in silence.
Tim chimed in. “Daisy, I believe you need to frame each question as a wish.”
“Right,” I said, twisting my curls in my fingers. Immortal rules and quirks were hard to keep straight. “I wish to know why the Higher Power wants you dead.”
“You have to ask It,” Shitty Ritchie ground out. “I have no tooting, farting, constipated diarrhea idea why that sharty, bad breathed miscreant wants me offed. I’m a great guy.”
“Debatable,” Jennifer mumbled.
While I agreed with her, I was thrilled that Shitty Ritchie hadn’t overheard. If the tiny man didn’t know why he was being hunted, we’d come to a standstill. I wasn’t sure where to go now.
“Geeetah tooooooooo knooooowah eeeeeach oooootherah,” Jimmy George Carrots insisted.
“Yay!” Alana Catherine shrieked and bounced in Gideon’s arms. “Yesssssssss!”
I looked a Gideon. He looked at me and gave me a lopsided grin.
Welp, it looked like we were all going to get to know each other. It felt like a waste of precious time, but with nowhere else to go… we were going there.