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  “She’s a smart-ass to everyone. You should know that by now, Mavis,” Toots reminded her friend. “Sophie wouldn’t be Sophie if she were nice like the rest of us.”

  Sophie took a loud slurp of coffee before answering. “Well, you can just kiss my wrinkled old ass! I am, too, nice. Just ask Goebel,” Sophie informed them. “He likes me just fine.”

  “Hey, stop that right this minute! That’s my line, and you can’t have it,” Bernice said as she entered the kitchen.

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Toots said, a grin the size of the moon on her face. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, a frown took its place. “You are not supposed to come downstairs without assistance. Next thing, you’ll have a broken hip. And then we’ll be changing your diapers.”

  Since Bernice’s bypass surgery, Toots and the godmothers had been super careful, making sure that Bernice wanted for nothing and did only what the doctor allowed. Walking up and down the staircase was not on the list. A stair lift was going to be a must.

  “I wanted a cup of coffee. If I waited on your lazy butts to bring it to me, I’d be as good as dead.”

  “She’s feeling better,” Toots said dryly. “And it isn’t even dawn.” Toots glanced over her shoulder, just to make sure. “Yet. You’re supposed to rest today, or did you forget that, too? We have an entire afternoon of rehab ahead of us. You need to be well rested, Miss Smarty Mouth.”

  “Just think of all the stress and strain you’re putting on your wrinkled ass. Maybe with all this rehab, you’ll firm it up a bit,” Sophie tossed in.

  Everyone laughed, including Ida.

  “See what I mean? She always has to speak of a . . . a body part! You really need to get a life, Sophia,” Ida said in her know-it-all voice. “You need something other than ghosts and goblins to occupy your time. Isn’t anyone interested in what else I have to say?”

  “Nope, not me.” Sophie turned to Bernice, who’d seated herself next to Mavis. Jamie poured Bernice’s coffee and plated a cinnamon roll for her.

  “Did I hurt your feelings, Bernice? Tell the truth.” Sophie asked, her voice laced with concern.

  “Oh, for crying out loud, you didn’t hurt my feelings at all. What hurts my feelings are those dirty plates next to the sink. If someone doesn’t hurry up and put them in the dishwasher, I’ll have no other choice but to do it myself.”

  Toots, Sophie, Mavis, and Jamie practically leapt across the kitchen, where they each took turns putting a dirty dish in the dishwasher.

  “Thank you. All of you. Well, not all of you,” Bernice said, directing her gaze at Ida, who remained at the head of the table, sipping her coffee.

  Again, the group of women giggled like a bunch of schoolgirls.

  Ida had the grace to appear chagrined. “Just so you know, I did bring the pot of coffee to the table.”

  Another chorus of laughter.

  As was the norm, Toots took control of the conversation. “And it’s appreciated, really. Now, I, for one, want to hear more about The Home Shopping Club deal. Who knows what it could lead to? Maybe you’ll become famous touting your old-age cosmetics.”

  “At least they’re not for dead people. That’s a real bonus,” Bernice stated. “How you can put makeup on a dead person is beyond my comprehension.” She shook her head and pushed the cinnamon roll aside. “Jamie, you know I can’t eat this.” Bernice moved her plate across the table, in front of Toots.

  Jamie’s face reddened. “Oh, Bernie,” she said, using her pet name for the older woman, “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I’ll make something for you later. A heart-healthy dessert. And I promise not to tempt you again.”

  Bernice waved her hand in the air. “Forget about it, kid. It’s up to me to resist temptation. But for the record, let me know when you’re baking. I’ll sit on the porch and keep an eye on Mrs. Patterson’s place. Something is about to take place over there, and it’s not gonna be pretty.”

  “You’ve been saying that since you came home from the hospital. What exactly do you mean?” Sophie asked for the millionth time.

  Bernice hadn’t been herself since the surgery, and they were terribly concerned about her.

  Bernice rolled her eyes. “I’m not psychic. That’s your gig, Sophia. I’ve told you all a dozen times. Something big is going on over there. For the hundredth time, I died on that damn operating table, and I don’t care what that doctor says. I died and was told to return so that I could keep an eye on that place.” Lest anyone doubt which place she meant, Bernice tilted her head toward the large property next door.

  “You should let Sophie read the tarot for you. She’s good, knows her stuff. If anything is about to take place, she’ll know. Right, Soph?” Toots asked.

  The old woman shook her head so hard that wisps of gray hair came loose from her tightly wound bun. “No! You know I don’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo. I know what I was told to do, and it didn’t involve a bunch of crazy old ladies with a deck of cards and a glass.”

  Mavis giggled.

  Ida raised her chin a notch higher.

  Toots and Sophie grinned, and Jamie, as usual, didn’t utter a word.

  Chapter 2

  “Crazy old ladies?” Sophie chirped. “I’m ashamed of you, Bernice. I saved Ida from being killed by that fake doctor, talked to Marilyn Monroe’s ghost, solved the JFK assassination, well, sort of, and found that silly starlet who caused Chris all that trouble. You think I can’t help you with a little . . . premonition? Give me a break!” Sophie reached for the coffeepot in the middle of the table and refilled her mug. “In short, I got it going on.”

  “Who said anything about a premonition, or whatever the heck you want to call it? I’ve been telling all of you for weeks now that something is going to happen at that place next door. I don’t care if you believe me or not. I died on that operating table. I distinctly remember hovering above my body, wondering what the hell was going on. That good-looking doctor, you know, the one Toots has the hots for, had his hands on my heart, and the next thing I knew I was observing my own surgery. From there, well . . . you all should know the story by now since I’ve told you girls a thousand times exactly what I experienced. But you still won’t believe me. What is wrong with you people? And to think, you call yourselves psychics.”

  “That’s Sophie’s department,” Toots corrected. “What I don’t understand is why you won’t let her read for you.”

  “I do,” Sophie interjected. “She’s afraid of the unknown.”

  Bernice had been home from the hospital for several weeks when Toots began to suspect that something was up with her. They were closer than sisters, and Toots had tried on several occasions to speak to her, to find out what was bothering her. She knew from her many conversations with Joe Pauley, her good friend and physician, and Dr. Phil Becker, Bernice’s cardiologist, that it wasn’t uncommon for people who came out of surgery to claim they’d had a near-death experience. Both he and Joe assured Toots that Bernice had not died during her surgery. Of course, Bernice disagreed.

  “I am not afraid of the unknown. I know something evil, bad, whatever you want to call it, is going to happen at Mrs. Patterson’s old place. When I was hovering between life and death, I knew it wasn’t my time when that beautiful bright being, and no, before you ask again, I don’t know what it was, but it was the brightest, most phenomenal experience I’ve ever had. I’ve told this story a dozen times. When I was pulled back into my body, the message I received was clear. It’s not your time. Go back. Watch the empty house next door. And I don’t give a flying hoot what you say. A tarot reading, a séance, whatever it is you all do, isn’t going to change things, isn’t going to prevent it, whatever it is, from happening. I’ll know when it happens. That’s all I can tell you,” Bernice said adamantly, then tipped her coffee mug back and drained the last of her cold coffee.

  Toots decided then and there they’d all be better off if they just went along with Bernice and her tale of a near-death experience.
Knowing the three g’s as well as she did, she knew that they would pick up on her cue. “I believe you, Bernice. So much so that I think it’s time we started observing Mrs. Patterson’s house. We can all take turns, each take a shift. Sophie, do you still have all your cameras and psychic mumbo-jumbo stuff?”

  “Now, wait just a minute,” Bernice contested. “I don’t want you to start playing ghost hunters. This is my problem, and I’ll . . . deal with it. Right, Jamie?”

  Flustered at being brought into the middle of a discussion she didn’t want to take sides in, Jamie raised her shoulders, as if to indicate no opinion either way. “This is your story, Bernie. You have to do what you feel is best.”

  “I don’t believe a stakeout is in order. I am supposed to watch the place, not move in,” Bernice articulated. “Now, can we discuss something else?”

  Toots, always the leader of the group, spoke up first. “We’re not talking about a stakeout, just one of us paying extra close attention to Mrs. Patterson’s place. Since it’s empty and has that huge FOR SALE sign in the front yard, I’m thinking there could be vandals. If we’re watching the place, and something happens, we’ll just report it to the police. I really don’t believe something evil is going to go down. What about you, Soph? Is your gut telling you anything?” They all knew that Sophie’s gut instinct was almost always spot-on.

  Sophie, her brown hair trailing down her back, shook her head vigorously. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. For a few minutes, the kitchen/dining area was completely silent. Suddenly, Sophie’s large whiskey-colored eyes opened wide. “Oh my—”

  “What? Do you see something?” Toots asked.

  “No, I just have to pee really bad. I’ll be right back.” Sophie practically flew out of her chair and up the stairs, leaving the other women clueless.

  Bernice broke the ensuing silence. “Why, I swear, if I were in better shape, I’d run after that old girl just so I could smack her in that smart mouth of hers.”

  Seconds later, Sophie ran downstairs with an armload of books. “Damn, this getting old sucks. I thought I was going to pee all over myself. Now”—she plopped the stack of books on the table—“I’ve had these for a while. I just haven’t gotten around to reading them yet. So, Bernice, you believe you’ve had an NDE, correct?”

  Mavis’s face reddened. “Oh, please tell me what you just said. Isn’t that . . . well, you know, that pump thing that George needed?”

  They all broke out in hysterical laughter. Mavis had met a gentleman while they were in Malibu. He owned a string of dry cleaners across the country. He and Mavis were just getting ready to take their relationship to another level when he mentioned he would need to use a VCD, a vacuum constriction device, if they were to become intimate. Mavis had been mortified, and she’d broken it off with George, sparing herself his inability to rise to the occasion, so to speak. They’d all had quite a few laughs over that incident.

  “You’re talking about that VCD, right? No, this is something entirely different. Not a sex aid, Mavis,” Sophie explained, a mile-wide grin spread across her face.

  “None of you will listen to me, and yet as soon as . . . Miss Cleo appears with her magic books, you . . . you”—Ida sniffed—“give her your undivided attention. I was going to ask all of you to act as my models on The Home Shopping Club. Now I think I’ll consult a modeling agency and give other senior citizens the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  All the chatter stopped instantly. Toots, Sophie, and Mavis focused their gaze on Ida. Bernice rolled her eyes, and Jamie could not help smiling.

  “Okay, you have our undivided attention,” Toots said.

  Content now that she had their complete attention again, Ida blotted her obviously fake tears with a napkin, then spoke as though she’d never been interrupted. “As I said, The Home Shopping Club wants to help launch my line of new cosmetics. In order to demonstrate, I will need real women to show how well my product works. Of course, you all are my best friends and were the first women I thought of when I was approached by their CEO.”

  Ida paused, waiting to see what, if any, effect her words had on her longtime friends. Seeing that she still had their undivided attention, she continued, “For the next four weeks, once a week, I get to highlight my products live on national television. I’m so sure of this that I’ve guaranteed the executives their sales will reach record highs.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit much? Every beauty product on the market makes similar claims,” Toots said, an edge coming into her voice.

  “Not at all. I believe I have a big advantage, something that will put Seasons right up there with Estée Lauder, Lancôme, and many of the other high-end cosmetic companies. As I was saying, I’ll be using live models. Each week, we will show their progress live on television, nothing like those still shots from infomercials that have been airbrushed. This is going to be the real thing, no gimmicks, not one stroke of an airbrush. So”—Ida grasped her palms in front of her, then rubbed them together—“are you girls in or not?”

  Toots weighed her words before she spoke. They’d been involved in so many projects the past few years. Wasn’t it time for them to settle down a bit? Enjoy their golden years? Stop running all over the country in search of excitement?

  Hell no!

  “I’m in. Just tell me what I have to do,” Toots all but yelled.

  “OMG! I knew you’d agree to this. You vain old woman,” Sophie announced. “I guess if Toots is willing to show the world how ugly she is without her makeup, then I can, too. I’m in, Ida, but just so you know, I do not under any circumstances want to be referred to as ‘seasoned,’ ‘ripened,’ ‘aged to perfection.’ We’ll have none of that crap.”

  In her sweetest voice, Ida cooed, “Why, I would never refer to you as anything but . . . beautiful. Though the line is called Seasons, we can let the consumers assume whatever they want. When ladies of our . . . experience see how well my products work, women both young and old will line up just to get a sample of my cosmetics. So, Mavis, are you game? You’re almost as expert as I am with a makeup brush. Do you want to model, too?”

  Mavis smiled. “What about our other work? Are you saying you don’t want to continue with Drop-Dead Gorgeous? I have no intention of putting a halt to Good Mourning. I’ve become a very rich woman and have all those workers making garments. I just couldn’t put them out of a job, especially in this terrible economy.”

  “I’m not giving up anything, Mavis. You should know me better by now,” Ida said. “I love what I do. As a matter of fact”—Ida raked her gaze over each one of them—“the more I do, the better I feel about myself. I’m happier now than I’ve ever been in my entire life. So, there. Now, Mavis, are you in or out?”

  Mavis took a deep breath and reached for Coco, who’d slipped into the kitchen without making a sound. She scooped the little pooch onto her lap. “If Toots and Sophie are in, then count me in, too. We don’t need to sleep that much. I only need three or four hours as it is.”

  Ida turned to Bernice and Jamie. “Bernice, would you like to join us? We have room for another pretty face.”

  Bernice’s eyes doubled in size. “I can’t believe what I just heard. Toots, did I hear what I think I heard?”

  “You did,” Toots said.

  “So I’m to assume that you think I’m . . . pretty, Ida? And that I need to work? And that people would want to turn their television sets on and look at my wrinkled ass?” Bernice started to laugh, then Toots. Jamie giggled, followed by Mavis. Sophie laughed so hard, she snorted and choked.

  And Ida wore the biggest shit-eating grin ever.

  Chapter 3

  “It’s a lovely thought, but I don’t have time. Remember, I was allowed to live in order to keep an eye on Mrs. Patterson’s place. I don’t think I’ll have time to do anything else. Between that and physical therapy, I’m just too danged busy,” Bernice said.

  Ida smiled. “I understand. But if you change your mind, you know where
to find me.”

  “So now that we’re all official models, aren’t we supposed to start jet-setting around the world, changing our clothes every three hours, eating celery sticks, and having affairs with married men? Isn’t that what models do when they’re not modeling?” Sophie teased.

  Basking in the attention, Ida replied, “I wouldn’t know. Of course, I would expect that you ladies would always be on your best behavior while representing Seasons. None of that flipping Toots the middle finger, Sophie. That isn’t the image I want to create.”

  “Yep. I got it, Ida. I promise not to pick my teeth in public, and I’ll be sure never to say ‘Shit,’ even when I have a mouthful,” Sophie retorted.

  “Good grief, that’s trashy even coming from you, Sophia,” Toots admonished. “I know you’re just trying to yank Ida’s chain, but the visual is disgusting.”

  “On that note, I’d better go. Lucy will wonder what happened to me if I’m not there soon,” Jamie announced. “I’ll make the cinnamon rolls tomorrow and take note of the customers’ reactions.”

  “Perfect. Do tell as soon as you can. I’m anxious to see if the rest of Charleston’s sweet tooth is as bad as mine,” Toots said. She realized she hadn’t mentioned anything about her going to work at the bakery. Later, she thought. When this modeling stint was over. Lucy’s position was safe for now, not that it was ever in jeopardy. Froot Loops and coffee were Toots’s only claim to culinary fame.

  On her way out, Jamie stopped at the screen door. “I’ll call or stop over and let you know.” Without another word, she left the others to continue their discussion.

  Cutting straight to the chase, Sophie asked, “So when does this modeling job begin?”

  “Right now,” Ida said succinctly. “The sooner the better. I want all of you to start using the products immediately.”

  “I think she meant to ask, when will we make our television debut?” Toots corrected.

  “Yep, that’s exactly what I meant. When do I need to make sure my legs are shaved and my upper lip is waxed?” Sophie asked.