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Authors: Fern Michaels

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Chapter 12
I
da careened around the curve, sliding off the shoulder, and yanked the steering wheel sharply to the left, almost hitting a vehicle in the oncoming lane.
“Oh, my goodness! Slow down! You're scaring the life out of me! When was the last time you were behind the wheel of a car?” Mavis asked as she dug holes in the dashboard with her nails.
“When I was fifteen. Why? Am I scaring you?” Ida shouted.
Mavis's pretty features crumpled into a look of horror. “Fifteen? Are you telling me you don't have a driver's license?”
The sleek Lincoln Town Car lurched around a second curve, only to fly through a four-way stop. They just missed being hit by a dump truck.
“Ida, I want you to stop this vehicle right now!”
“Hush! Let me do the driving,” Ida stated as she concentrated on keeping the car between the ditches.
“Ida, if you don't pull over, I'm going to . . . tell Toots that you don't have a license, and you had your thingamajig waxed today.”
Ida glanced over at Mavis as though she had lost her mind. “How do you know that?”
“I picked you up from the salon, remember? I heard them say that when they tallied up your bill,” Mavis said smartly. “Now pull over, please, before you kill us or someone else!”
Knowing this was a battle she wasn't going to win, Ida pulled over onto the side of the road, barely missing a yield sign as she did so. Mavis got out from the passenger side, walked in front of the car, then slid into the driver's seat as Ida slipped across the smooth leather seat to the passenger's side, where she should have been all along.
“I can't believe you would risk our lives like this!” Mavis said as she shifted into drive, carefully easing the Town Car back onto the narrow two-lane road.
“You didn't offer to drive after you picked me up. And I like being behind the wheel of her car,” Ida said. “As a matter of fact, this is my new goal. I'm going to get my driver's license and buy the fanciest car on the market.”
“I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Ida. Maybe you should consider driving lessons first.”
Mavis didn't want to hurt Ida's feelings, but her being on the road would be like skydiving without a parachute or flying a plane without a pilot's license. The first opportunity she had, she would explain this to Toots, telling her that not only was Ida risking her own life when she got behind the wheel of a car, but she was also risking other lives. Mavis hated the thought of being a tattletale, especially after all the humiliation Ida had suffered the past several months, but she didn't have a choice. As Sophie would say, Ida would get over it.
As Mavis carefully made her way through the winding roads leading to Toots's home, she admired the giant oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. The camellias were in full bloom along the side of the road, and the sweet smell of magnolias scented the late afternoon breeze flowing in from the crack in the window.
While Ida had been at the salon getting spiffed up, Mavis had found the local FedEx without any trouble, had shipped nine boxes, then had spoken with the clerk about arranging a daily pickup from Toots's home. This would save her having to make a daily trip into town. Plus she needed every free moment she could muster in order to produce her clothing for Good Mourning. She had checked her Web site one more time before they left and had seen she had another twenty-three orders. Lucky for her, they were all size tens and twelves. Still, that would leave her barely twenty-four hours to sew, iron, and pack tomorrow's orders. On a whim, she had told Catherine what she was doing. Catherine had offered to sell Mavis's designs in her shop, but Mavis had refused, telling her she wanted exclusive rights to her designs. Being a businesswoman herself, Catherine not only understood but agreed this was a good plan. Mavis told her about the factory she'd made contact with in California and also that she might have a supplier for a higher quality material than she was using now. Catherine agreed that soon Mavis would not be able to keep up with the demand.
If orders continued to come in through the Web site, Mavis would have no other choice. She would have to tell the girls what she was doing simply because she could not hide something that big, especially from Sophie, who already suspected she was up to something. It had been hard not to share her excitement with her friends, but until she proved to be successful or overwhelmed, whichever came first, Mavis decided it was best to keep her new venture a secret for as long as possible.
Mavis pulled through the wrought-iron gates leading up the winding drive to Toots's beautiful house. Ida hadn't uttered a single word since Mavis took the wheel.
Carefully, Mavis parked the car inside the garage, cramming the keys inside her purse so that she could return them to Bernice for safekeeping. It would do none of them any good at all if Ida were to get hold of the keys and decide to practice her driving skills.
Mavis and Ida entered the house through the back door that led to the kitchen. Greeted by the scent of something burning, each took a deep breath.
Toots, Sophie, and Bernice were running around the kitchen like three chickens with their heads cut off. Bernice had a broom in her hand, waving it back and forth in the air; Sophie had two kitchen towels, swinging them around as though they were a lasso; and poor Toots was filling the dishwasher with cereal bowls.
“What in the world happened?” Mavis asked as she ran over to the sink to assist Toots. She dropped her purse on the counter and raised the window above the sink to allow the smoke to filter outside.
“Toots made dinner.” Sophie smirked. “She owns a bakery now, and somehow that convinced her she knew her way around a kitchen.”
“Are you talking about
our
Toots?” Mavis asked.
“The one and only,” Bernice added.
In the prim and proper voice usually reserved for a man she was trying to impress, Ida said, “I don't believe I heard you correctly. Did I hear you say Toots now owns a bakery? Please tell me it isn't so.”
“Unfortunately, if I did, that would make me a liar, and my nose would probably grow,” Sophie said as she continued to twirl the kitchen cloths in the air. Ida thought she resembled a majorette in a marching band, minus the baton.
Hands immersed in soapy dishwater, Toots called over her shoulder, “I don't see why everyone is making such a fuss. I tried to make grilled cheese sandwiches. I burnt them. Big deal. It's not like the house caught on fire. This stink will be out of here in no time.”
“Yeah, it's a shame we don't have any of those charcoal underpants you invested in. We sure could use those right now. Filter out some of the smoke,” Sophie muttered as she continued to march around the kitchen, waving at the smoke with the kitchen towels.
Mavis and Toots worked together at the sink while Bernice and Sophie continued to wave the smoke away. Ida sat down at the kitchen table, watching.
“Is it true what Sophie said? Did you really buy a bakery?” Ida asked.
“She bought that haunted bakery downtown,” Bernice informed her as she swung the broom back and forth.
“Careful with that! You might hit me in the head,” Ida shouted.
“Might do you some good,” Bernice muttered to herself.
“I heard what you said,” Ida replied.
“I was only teasing.”
Ida rolled her eyes.
For the next fifteen minutes, the five women—rather the four women, since Ida refused to offer any help—finished cleaning the kitchen. The scent of smoke lingered in the air, but that was the only remaining evidence of Toots's attempt to make grilled cheese sandwiches in the oven.
Once the mess was cleaned up, Mavis stepped into her usual role as caregiver, cook, and general Goody Two-shoes. She made a fresh pot of coffee while Bernice put together sandwiches of cold chicken left over from a rotisserie chicken she'd purchased yesterday. Sophie and Toots declined, saying they were both full. Between the two of them, they'd emptied an entire box of Froot Loops.
“So while I was trying to make dinner, what were you two up to?” Toots asked.
“I spent the day at the salon, getting pampered. I haven't a clue how Mavis spent hers,” Ida said as she admired the pale pink polish on her nails.
“Mavis? Bernice said Coco cried all day while you were gone. It's not like you to leave her for such a long period of time,” Toots said.
“Oh my gosh, I can't believe I forgot poor Coco. Sophie said she would watch her. Where is she?” Mavis looked in the corner of the kitchen where she'd placed her bed that morning, before she left.
Sophie couldn't help herself when she said, “We're eating her.”
The look of horror on Mavis's face was worth a million bucks. The little Chihuahua must have heard her mistress's voice, because she came running down the stairs, her tiny nails click-clacking against the hardwood floor.
“Sophie, that was a horrible thing to say,” Mavis complained as she stooped down to pick up Coco. The tiny dog slathered Mavis's face with kisses. “Poor baby.”
“I agree with Mavis. That's a terrible thing to say. I thought I told you to put that old bag in the drawer and leave her there. You are one crude woman,” Toots observed.
As was the norm, Sophie gave Toots and the others the single-digit salute.
“I'm sorry. That was out of line. Mavis, you should know better by now. I would never, ever harm Coco. I know how much you love her. Now, is anyone game for a séance tonight? I've learned something new, and I would like to practice tonight. Before we left California, I went to this New Age bookstore and ran across an old book that describes the best way to channel the spirit of someone in particular. You think you girls are up for this tonight?
“I wouldn't want to force any of you. I think we have a much better chance of channeling whomever we call if we follow the instructions in this book to the letter, or that's what the lady in the bookstore told me.”
“So we're back to séances and ghosts again,” Toots said. “I still don't know what Mavis did all day. I guess she can tell me later. You will, won't you?”
“Of course. Let me feed Coco and get changed. Maybe we can make contact with Herbert tonight.” Mavis, with Coco clutched to her chest like a life preserver, raced out of the kitchen and upstairs to her room.
“So, is everyone game?” Sophie asked. “Give me a few minutes to prepare the dining room. Then we'll get started.”
Bernice and Toots gave Sophie a high five. Ida, still frightened by her last experience, was reluctant to participate in another séance. She said so to Sophie.
“You can sit next to me, and I'll hold your hand. And I promise not to let anyone, and I mean anyone”—Toots gave Sophie the evil eye—“hurt, harm, or intentionally frighten you in any way, shape, or form. If anyone does, they'll have to deal with me.”
“Oh, all right,” Ida said, “but I can promise you one thing. If I feel the least bit uncomfortable, I'm out of there. Is that a deal?”
“I say we shake on it,” Toots said.
As three of them had done for more than fifty years, each placed one hand on top of the others'. When the four women, minus Mavis but plus Bernice, who'd known about their secret handshake for years, had stacked their hands as they always did, they threw their hands into the air and shouted, “When you're good, you're good!”
Chapter 13
O
nce they gathered in the dining room, Sophie explained her new and hopefully improved version of a séance. It was quite a procedure, and she wanted to make sure the girls knew what they were getting into before they started. This new means of channeling required the participants to . . . participate, by dressing the part. It was sort of like an off-Broadway play.
“The book says that by following the required steps, we have a much better chance to attract a specific person. In any case, we won't have to rely on that damn water glass to see who is actually coming through when we can get straight down to business. I mean, shoot, do you really think someone wants to come from the other side just to tell us who they are? I'm sure they have more important things to do. So if any of you have any reservations, let's hold them back for now and give this a try.”
“Sounds good to me. I want to say something like this was on TV. Except for the fact that the person performing it was a fraud, I think we might have a better chance of calling someone in particular. I think it'll be fun,” Toots said.
Mavis, who normally appeared excited and more than willing to participate in the séances, seemed unusually frightened.
“Are you okay with this, Mavis? I've gone through a lot of preparation, and setting this up is very much an ordeal. If you're uncomfortable, let me know now,” Sophie instructed.
“I'm fine, really. What exactly do we have to do different this time around?” Mavis asked, her voice exuding false cheer.
“First of all, we must show respect to the ones whom we want to channel. Now, I know I'm not supposed to know about this, but I do, and let's leave it at that. In the book it says we should wear whatever we would normally wear when attending a funeral.”
Sophie let that bit of information hang in the air. She was looking directly at Mavis as she said this. Mavis's eyes widened, and she looked from left to right. “What are you referring to?”
“All those dark clothes you have? I think if we all were to wear those mourning colors you're so fond of and have so many of, well, let's just say this. Dressing appropriately will show the person we are attempting to contact that we are truly in mourning over losing them.”
“You want to wear
my
clothes?” Mavis asked.
“I want all of us to wear those dark, depressing outfits. Just out of respect for the dead,” Sophie explained succinctly.
Flustered, Mavis wasn't quite sure what to say. “I'm not sure about this. Why can't we each wear our own clothes?”
“Look, Mavis, it's not like we are going to be dripping hot candle wax on them. We just need them for a few hours. Give us a break. We need the freaking dresses, and you are the dressmaker, so why don't you trot your little ass upstairs and see what you have? I know that in the last year you've been several sizes. Surely you have something that will fit each of us.”
“Sophie, I can't believe you! You actually expect us to dress like we're going to a funeral? And even worse, you want us to wear Mavis's clothes?” Toots stated in total amazement.
“It's like I said in the beginning, this is different. Either you're in or you're not. Your call. I'm not going to force anyone to do something she's not comfortable with. I just think if we follow the rules in the book exactly as they are stated, who knows? Maybe we can contact Elvis. Or better yet, Michael Jackson. They're still not sure how he died. Maybe his ghost, spirit, or whatever you want to call it, can clarify a few things. So, Mavis, are you willing to lend us some outfits?”
“Okay. But if anything happens to them, I'm going to hold you down and pour hot candle wax on your head. Then I'm going to yank out all that beautiful dark hair you're so proud of. That will ruin any chance you have of finding a new husband. Get the picture?”
This tirade was so unlike Mavis that the others could not prevent themselves from bursting out laughing. Again, it seemed that with every pound Mavis had lost, she had gained ten pounds of intestinal fortitude.
“Mavis, dear, you're beginning to sound just like the rest of us,” Toots chided.
“Just for the record, I am
not
in the market for a new husband,” Sophie insisted. “No way, José.”
Mavis stood up, shifted her shoulders back, and lifted her chin a notch. “I'm going upstairs to sort out the clothes. Is there anything else?”
“We'll meet you in your room in five minutes,” Sophie said.
Once Mavis had gone upstairs, the others looked at one another in astonishment.
“Who woulda thunk it?” Sophie said. “The mouse has turned into a lion.”
Ida, Toots, Bernice, and Sophie retreated upstairs to don their mourning attire. As they walked down the hall to leave what they had on in their bedrooms, each felt a bit of trepidation, not knowing what to expect as they were all entering uncharted territory. Even though they'd made contact before this, they had never called forth a specific person.
Five minutes later, in Mavis's bedroom, they acted like giddy schoolgirls at a slumber party as they giggled and put on the dark gray dresses. Though jovial on the outside, Sophie, being extremely intuitive, could feel the fear emanating from her dearest friends like water from a spigot.
To lighten up the mood, she said, “You know, girls, if we're able to do this, it could open up a whole new business opportunity for us. Just think how many women there are out there who would like one last chance to tell their late husbands what pieces of crap they were. I think we might be onto something here.”
“That would be the perfect job for you, Sophie, since you never have a kind word to say about anyone. Bad-mouthing dead men, seems like that's right up your alley,” Ida observed.
“Better than what you would do to them,” Sophie said.
“Exactly what is that supposed to mean?” Ida snarled.
“Stop it, you two! Arguing over dead men? Give us all a break. Quit sniping at each other. Sophie, let's go downstairs and prepare for tonight's séance. And not another word about anyone!” Toots commanded.
“You're no fun,” Sophie said as she made her way down the hall. “You realize we haven't had a cigarette in the last half hour?”
“I've been chewing your nicotine gum. Now that you mention it, let's go have a smoke before we get started. It could be our last,” Toots said dryly.
The two women grabbed their packs of cigarettes from the kitchen table, went outside, and sat down on the steps, where they each lit up. After two cigarettes apiece, they went inside, where Bernice, Mavis, and Ida looked like matching pigeons in the slate gray outfits.
Toots had a brief thought. If Abby or Chris saw them now, they would have them committed for sure. Five old women dressed like doves as they prepared to speak to the dead. But, the bottom line was this: They were having the time of their lives. And for now, that was enough.
Sophie retrieved the candles and wineglasses from the hutch in the kitchen. Holding her book in one hand, she read the instructions on how to properly place the glasses on the table. She followed the instructions to the letter.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Ida asked.
“Put the tablecloth on first. Once the glasses are rimmed with salt, you know, kind of like a margarita, we'll place them on the corners of the table.” Sophie poured table salt on top of a dinner plate. “Supposedly, this salt is to ward off any evil spirits we don't want to come through.”
Once the table was properly set, the candles lit, the salted wineglasses placed in their proper position, Sophie, Toots, Mavis, and Ida proceeded to take their places around the table, each one of them sitting at a corner representing a cardinal point of the compass. Bernice sat between Toots and Sophie.
Sophie opened her book and began to read out loud. “Spirits of the dead, hear us in our hour of mourning. We're looking for the spirit of Walter Manchester. Bastard and drunk that he was. Walter, if you are here, please give us a sign of your presence. We are in grief over your loss.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “We wish you to come through tonight. North, south, east, or west. Walter, wherever you may be, find your way toward us and grace us with your presence.”
The room remained silent. Other than the ticking of a grandfather clock, nothing could be heard.
They remained in total silence, waiting for Walter to make his presence known. After several minutes, when nothing happened, Ida spoke up. “What do we do now?”
“The book says we should offer something meaningful, something this spirit might have cherished in life.”
“Well, you gave him your virginity, so that's out of the question. Not that it was ever anything of value,” Toots added with a smile.
In a harsh whisper, Sophie said, “You think so?”
“I know so,” Toots remarked.
“If this is going to be nothing more than a pissing contest, I have better things to do,” Bernice groused.
The dining room radiated a warm golden color from the flames of the many candles. If one were inclined to believe in such things, this was the perfect setting to receive spirits, ghosts, or an entity of any kind.
“Let's join hands. We'll give it a few more minutes and try to channel our energy. The book says this makes us a stronger unit.”
“Oh, Lordy, Lordy. I don't believe we're doing this,” Toots said.
Sophie kicked her beneath the table. “Hush!”
Suddenly, the room chilled. It was so cold that each of the women shivered.
“Did you feel that? I think something is happening.” Sophie scanned the room.
“I felt it. It was a cold breeze, and I heard it, too. It was the air conditioner kicking on. I honestly doubt we've accomplished anything tonight. I suggest we end this foolishness and try it the way we did before. At least we made contact then,” Toots suggested.
“I agree with Toots. Let's just start over tomorrow night. This doesn't seem to be working. Maybe the spirits don't like this house,” Ida suggested.
“You may be right, but let's not leave just yet. If that skunk of a husband of mine doesn't want to make his presence known, I say we make him an offer he can't refuse. Toots, do you remember the wedding gift you gave me when Walter and I married?”
“No, not really,” Toots replied.
“Well, I do. One of the gifts was a bottle of wine. You told me it came from Christie's, you know, the auction house in New York City?”
“Surely you're not talking about that bottle of
Château
Mouton Rothschild Jeroboam? Please, don't tell me Walter got his hands on that.”
“No, he didn't. I've carried it with me all these years. I've been saving it for a special occasion. You don't know how hard it is to hide alcohol when you're living with a drunk. I knew it was a very expensive bottle of wine, something Walter would have given his eyeteeth for. He might've been a drunk, but a cheap one he wasn't. He only drank the best. I told him one of the girls at the office purchased it at Woolworth's, and the dumb ass was too snookered most of the time to realize that Woolworth's didn't even sell wine.”
“If Walter is going to make his presence known, he better do it real quick. I'm ready to call it a day,” Ida said.
“Let's give it one more serious try, and if nothing happens, we'll call it a night,” Sophie suggested.
Suddenly a foul scent blew gently throughout the room, followed by a loud banging noise that startled them.
“What was that?” Mavis said, her voice filled with fright.
“I hate to say it, but I think it's the shutter. It's banging rapidly, and it sure as hell isn't from the wind,” Toots said, all traces of humor gone. “There isn't the slightest breeze out tonight.”
Sophie looked from left to right. “Walter? If that was you, let us see or hear a sign of your presence. A sign that we cannot mistake for anything or anyone else. If you're here, make yourself known. Now!”
Just as the words left Sophie's mouth, she felt a force near her, then a silence that was deafening. Out of nowhere, all five glasses suddenly toppled over and started rolling on the table. Then, as fast as they started, they stopped.
“Bernice, go in the kitchen and bring back a corkscrew and an extra wineglass. We're going to open this now,” Sophie said calmly.
“Sophie Manchester, you realize that bottle of wine is worth more than one hundred thousand dollars?” Toots said in utter amazement. “I hope . . . Never mind, it was a gift. You can do with it as you please.”
Bernice raced back into the dining room, corkscrew in one hand, a wineglass in the other. Sophie took the opener and proceeded to open the bottle of sixty-year-old wine. She reseated all five wineglasses, wiped the salt off the rims, then filled them with the exquisite wine.

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