Ghost Trippin' Read online

  “Don’t you love the fresh air, the smell of the pine trees, the birds,” he would say as I swatted the mosquitoes that loved to attack me en masse.

  When I would ask if the cabin had cable or if he could drop me off at the mall I spotted on the way in, my dad’s cheerfulness would dissolve. It’s all beautiful and important but I don’t feel it, not the way that he did and that Mimi does now.

  “Do you like Star Wars?” Mimi asks.

  “Wait, what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Sure.” Then I remember the second movie which was really the fifth. I expect a Yoda moment here.

  Mimi leans in close and wraps an arm about my shoulders. “The way of the Jedi is they embrace the magic of the universe. They call it the Force in the movie and it’s the energy that binds everything together.”

  I instantly envision Luke’s plane coming out of the swamps and wonder if that’s in store for me.

  “It’s not just about moving things with your mind like in the movie,” Mimi says, which makes my heart stop beating. “It’s about being at one with nature so that all things are possible.”

  I’m about to ask her if she reads minds, but Mimi turns me toward the woods. “Start with hugging a tree. Or sitting someplace quiet in nature. Feel the force running through you.”

  She pushes me off in the direction of that owl, away from the crowd.

  “Yes, Obie One.”

  I don’t have to walk far from the police lights before the darkness envelopes me and that owl in the dead tree makes his appearance known. I shiver, definitely not the kind of nature connection I’m looking for. The wind picks up and rustles the trees above my head, causing me to jump. I don’t know why I have the heebie jeebies since the police have my back, but it’s that being a city girl thing and fearing dark rural areas.

  I turn to hopefully find Mimi nearby so I can ask how this shadowy wood makes one a witch, but she’s nowhere to be found. I swallow hard and keep walking until I find a tree that looks like it doesn’t have bugs crawling on the bark or something nefarious hidden inside a cavity. I give it a hug, reluctantly place a cheek on its trunk, and close my eyes.

  I remember when my high school performed A Chorus Line and one of the characters went to acting school and had to perform improvisational skits and she sang about how everyone got into the exercise but she felt nothing. That’s me right here. It’s comforting, this lovely tree providing oxygen to keep me alive, but I don’t feel the Force or some universal energy field.

  Maybe I’m not deep enough, I think, so I walk farther into the woods. The darker it gets, however, the only thing I’m feeling is fear. Star Wars imagery disappears and Jason with his hockey mask comes to mind. I look back at the crime scene, bustling with activity and TB and Wanda laughing at something, her hand on his forearm. I’m no use there, I think, and Mimi insists this is the place for answers so why not? But the owl calls out and I’m ready to flee.

  I spot a flash of white in the bush, followed by a meow.

  “Stinky?” I whisper.

  His cat eyes appear and he meows again and I’m feeling so much better having a friend nearby. I lean to pick him up but he heads deeper into the woods. I sigh, knowing he wants me to follow him.

  “You better not be leading me someplace creepier,” I tell Stinky and follow him into the woods against my better judgment.

  We’re not one hundred feet in when that damn owl hoots again. Then I step on a branch and it smacks me in the face. After I blow the leaves out of my mouth, my foot hits a depression in the mud and I fall forward, my hands outstretched as I slide into a bramble of vines. I sit up, untangling myself in the dark, hoping there’s no spiders or ticks or whatever lives in End-of-the-World Texas when she appears, those dark eyes pleading.

  “What happened to you?” I ask in English, wishing again that I hadn’t slept through high school Spanish.

  “Él me ayudó,” she says and I brand those words to memory.

  “Why did my father meet you?” I ask, although I doubt she understands.

  Elena points to a spot on the ground by my feet and it’s then I notice Stinky rolling in the dirt nearby. I want to ask Elena more questions but I also fear my cat dashing away. As I reach for Stinky, Elena vanishes.

  “Damn, Stinky, she’s gone.”

  The cat doesn’t pause in his pleasure rolling in some nasty crap and once I get the vines off me I crawl over to him on my hands and knees. Just as I’m about to grab the back of his neck, I feel something large and solid beneath my fingers. I don’t know what it is, but I pull it out of the ground with one hand and grab Stinky with the other. The owl swoops by above us with something screaming in its talons and I don’t hesitate to rise to my feet and get the hell out of there.

  When I emerge from the woods and into the penumbra of crime scene light, Wanda and a few cops are looking for me.

  “Where have you been?” TB runs up, concerned.

  I’m not sure how to explain for I’m covered in mud and leaves, holding a large orange and white cat under one arm.

  In my right hand lies a bloody knife.

  Chapter Seven

  Portia’s pacing the floor and Mimi’s meditating on the couch. TB’s cooking up eggs again, but this time with groceries we purchased from the H-E-B grocery. I’m wondering — for not the first time, let me tell you — if there’s some way I can turn off this crazy ghost talent I’ve inherited.

  “How do we explain this?” Portia asks.

  How indeed? All hell broke loose the night before, me emerging from the woods covered in dirt with leaves and twigs in my hair, Stinky in my arms, forensics running up with latex gloves and plastic bags, grabbing the crusty knife in my hands. Wanda stared at me as if I’d lost my mind, but when TB took Stinky, placed him on the ground, and the two headed for the parking lot like Andy Griffith and Opie at the end of that Mayberry show, it was too much for Wanda to comprehend.

  “Why don’t y’all head back to the accommodations and we’ll talk in the morning,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I’ll have Officer Jackson follow and make sure you’re in safely.”

  Make sure we’re not going anywhere, I’m thinking, although if I were a suspect, why would I hand her the murder weapon?

  “Can we stop by a grocery store?” Mimi asked.

  At that point, Wanda threw her hands in the air, barked some orders to Officer Jackson, and headed to her car to no doubt call in new information about this group of Louisiana crazies.

  She wasn’t the only one thinking I’d lost my mind. If Portia could have disrobed me with words, I’d have been butt naked before we reached the car. The questions came flying fast and furious.

  “Leave her be,” Mimi said, wrapping an arm delicately around my shoulders since I was pretty gross.

  “That’s fine,” Portia retorted. “You witches can burn together.”

  She stormed off toward the SUV where TB was pouring water into a bowl for Stinky. That scene only made Portia more exasperated and I could hear a stream of obscenities from behind the vehicle. TB sent me a questioning look and I shrugged.

  “She did say witches and not some other word?” I asked Mimi.

  “Don’t mind her. She’s got her reasons.”

  That thought hung with me all night, because Mimi wasn’t talking about me finding yet another piece of evidence linking us to a murder. I broached the subject after Wanda released us and we returned to our hacienda, when Mimi insisted I take a bath before bedtime in the soaking tub of the master bedroom. She threw in herbs and flower petals — where she got these, I haven’t a clue — and added something powdery from a jar.

  “What happened out there? Why was Portia so upset? I realize me finding a weapon and possibly going to jail was enough but there’s more, isn’t there?”

  Mimi pulled back a sleeve and started swirling the water with her fingers graced with a variety of rings. “She had a tough childhood, sweetheart. Before you and Sebastian came along your pa
rents were quite the swingers, always having academic parties to go to and visiting professors to entertain. Your mom had it under control but your dad drank a lot.”

  She leaned back and I stepped into the tub, amazed that all those potions she placed in the water felt calming.

  “So, why be mad at me?”

  Mimi smoothed my hair back from my face, a gesture that warmed me to my toes. “She’s mad at the world, Sweetpea. And she’s resentful that you and your brother didn’t have to go through all that.”

  “Go through what exactly?”

  “That’s a story Portia has to tell. I will tell you this, never underestimate people or nature. Always look below the surface because you’ll be surprised what you’ll find. Reality is a funny thing, and it’s different for everybody.”

  Mimi tossed her head like she was finished with the conversation. Which she was.

  “I supposed you’re not going to elaborate on that.”

  She just smiled. “Now, how do you like your bath?”

  “You mean, how do I like my milk shake with leaves?”

  Mimi grimaced. “It’s not like that.”

  I can see my toes but the water’s murky and there’s all those herbs floating around. “What on earth am I soaking in?”

  Mimi moved from being on her knees to getting comfortable cross legged. “I guess it’s time for a lesson.”

  I sunk deeper into the water because the last thing I needed was a lesson on the “craft.” But then, the water felt so good. I’m down with being a witch if this is where it leads.

  “First of all, your aura needs cleansing. It’s about as dark as the Mississippi.”

  That brought me back from my road to nirvana. “What?”

  “There’s a lot of pain around you, honey, and things you need to let go.”

  “Like my father being murdered and haunting me, my husband in love with a real estate cookie, and my daughter….” I couldn’t finish that last part. “Oh, and me seeing a dead woman that may land me in jail.”

  Mimi reached over and grabbed an oversized plastic cup she must have borrowed from the kitchen. She dipped it into the water and I watched as the herbs parted ways, then flowed into the cup with the rest of the bath water. The scene mesmerized me so I didn’t see the deluge coming.

  “What the…?”

  Mimi doused me with the water, pouring the entire cup over my head.

  “One more time,” she said, and did it again.

  I wiped my eyes and spitted out a lavender sprig. Mimi sat back and took my image in, examining me in my naked glory. I suddenly felt exposed and wrapped my arms about my chest. I had to admit, I felt better.

  “Baking soda and Epsom salts,” she began. “The combination makes for a great detoxing bath, helps restore magnesium levels, heals muscle pain, and, in the witch circles, cleans your aura. I’m no scientist but I’ve been told there’s physics behind this, something to do with our energy fields.”

  “Great,” I managed as the drops of this elixir fell off the end of my nose.

  “You soak in it, naturally, but you must also pour it over your head. I prefer doing this three times.” And, without warning, I got another dose.

  As I was trying to regain my sight from the moisture in my eyes, Mimi placed two pieces of rose quartz in each hand. The transformation was immediate.

  “There are lots of stones you can use to ease depression and restore your equilibrium but I always go back to the standard.”

  I have always loved rocks, collected them as a child. And in Louisiana, you had to purchase them because our soil is nothing but mud. That came in handy for I had an exotic variety hailing from around the world and loved holding them in my hands, feeling the different vibrations. Katrina stole most of my collection, but I still carry around the ones I recovered, mainly black tourmaline and angelite, protective stones that repel negativity.

  “Rose quartz is like a bath for your emotions,” Mimi said. “It calms the soul, helps alleviate grief, anger, stress, trauma, and restores female energy.”

  I closed my eyes and the combination of Mimi’s science experience and the stones made me feel whole again. When I opened them, Mimi was smiling.

  “I put jasmine, lavender, and chamomile in the water, all great herbs for a calming, restorative bath and I highly recommend them.”

  I nodded. At that moment, I would have done anything she asked.

  “But, I think plants aren’t your calling. I’ll teach you the ways of herbs, but I think your talent is sitting in the palms of your hands.”

  This morning, I think of that delicious bath the night before as I watch Portia pace the living room, Mimi murmuring her mantra, and TB cooking up something smelling like heaven. I dip my hands into my pockets and feel those soft, polished quartz stones. My breathing slows and I feel more at peace.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I tell Portia. “Stop pacing and have some breakfast.”

  “Okay?” she bellows. “How can you not be concerned about this?”

  I sit down and start spooning out TB’s Cajun potatoes laced with red bell peppers, onions, and yes, spices. “What choice do I have? If she wants to lock me up, she will. There’s nothing to connect me to this crime except Dad, and he’s gone. Plus, she knows that if I killed this woman I wouldn’t show the police where the body was, then go retrieve the murder weapon.”

  Portia shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re so calm about this.”

  Me neither. Maybe Mimi should package that stuff.

  Plus, as much as I wish I could experience other ghosts, which would mean I’d see my precious daughter, my talent is water. I want to believe that I’m evolving, and seeing Elena would prove that fact, but so far into my SCANCy life that hasn’t been the case.

  I swallow. “Elena died by water, Portia. The knife I found in the woods last night didn’t kill Elena.”

  TB pauses at the stove and looks my way. My desire to “evolve” is what caused a split between us last week and I’m admitting this as much for his ears as to convince myself. Only I can’t help but still be hopeful I’ll be able to one day talk to Lillye.

  Portia continues her fussing, Mimi recites a mantra, and Stinky begins to howl as I hear a car pull into the driveway. The thought of a quiet jail cell suddenly seems enticing.

  “She’s here,” Portia says after looking through the living room window.

  Mimi, TB, and I join her and all four of us stare as Wanda exits her car. She heads to the other patrol car containing the officer hired to keep an eye on us. She tells him something and he starts up the engine and drives away. Wanda stares off at the disappearing car.

  “What is she waiting for?” Portia asks, while Stinky howls again.

  After a few minutes, Wanda walks to the passenger side of her car and opens the door. A middle-aged woman dressed much like Mimi emerges and the two head for the house.

  “This could be good,” Mimi whispers.

  Portia shakes her head. “I don’t see how. Might be social services come to lock us up in a mental ward.”

  TB doesn’t wait until the duo knocks on the door. He opens it and welcomes both women inside, explaining that breakfast is ready if they’re hungry.

  “That’s kind of you, but we’ve eaten,” I hear Wanda say all business-like before she crosses the threshold. Once she does, however, I can tell she smells TB’s creation. “Although if you have extras….”

  I almost laugh, but think better of it. Stinky, much to my surprise, heads over to Wanda and the other woman and starts rubbing up against their legs. Wanda doesn’t appear to enjoy the contact but the other woman leans down and begins massaging him, telling him sweet affections in Spanish. The cat eats it up, rolls on his back, and closes his eyes.

  “This is my mom, Juanita Juarez,” Wanda explains.

  Juanita looks up from her place at the floor and smiles and we all sigh with relief. The energy in the room shifts like someone opened a curtain and sunlight poured in.
/>   Mimi is the first to offer a hand in greeting. “Mimi McKay. A pleasure.”

  Juanita rises and shakes Mimi’s hands while Wanda finishes the introductions. Stinky whimpers in protest at having his massage interrupted.

  “And that’s Stinky, our special cat,” I offer.

  Wanda stares at Stinky for the anomaly that he is and Stinky winks.

  “There’s something not right with that cat,” Wanda mutters.

  “Why don’t we all sit down and have something to eat,” TB asks.

  “Great idea,” Mimi says a little too enthusiastically and I’m not sure if she’s nervous or excited that another person with woo-woo powers is among us. I doubt we told her that Wanda’s mother reads tea leaves, but I suspect she knows by some form of universal guidance.

  The five of us fill up the dining room table while TB pours us coffee and places bowls of goodness in the center. Even though having her mother present eases my heart and gives me hope that Wanda believes my psychic abilities, she’s sending me a look that says nothing will explain the scenario of last night.

  “That wasn’t the murder weapon,” I say, thinking why not just throw it all out there and she can start the insanity procedures. I hope McAllen has a nice mental hospital. “Elena drowned.”

  Wanda laces her hands together on the table and doesn’t say a word.

  “Elena showed me the knife but I don’t know why. I only see ghosts that have died by water. I saw all ghosts when I was little but I repressed it and then Hurricane Katrina….”

  “You’re a SCANC.”

  This floors me silly. Now, I’m gazing at Wanda like she’s a freak. “You know what that is.”

  Wanda’s countenance never changes. It’s unnerving but effecting. She’s likely good at her job. But I’m not talking. I haven’t a clue what to say.

  Finally, she relents, nodding toward her mother.

  “You’re a SCANC?” I ask her mom with the same expression and Portia grimaces. “I mean, not a skank but someone who can talk to specific dead?”

  Juanita laces her fingers through her coffee cup, embraces the warmth and smiles. “For me, it’s fire.”