A Match Made in Hell Read online

  "Oh, honey… I sold my soul to the Devil long ago, and it didn't hurt a bit."

  "Kelly, let's get out of here."

  I'd made a beeline for Mr. Bates's office without once looking over my shoulder. Hopefully, Psycho Barbie would stay in the ladies' room while I got my sister and her wheelchair out to the car. The office was empty, except for Kelly, and I started rolling her out without waiting for her reply.

  No dead guy filling her head with lies. Good.

  "You're being rude." Kelly grabbed the wheels with both hands, effectively stopping me in my tracks. "We haven't finished yet."

  "Trust me—we're finished." I wanted to get as far away as possible from Psycho Barbie. Her boyfriend would likely end up in Hell with no help from me.

  "I'm not leaving until we've picked out a casket. If you need to go, then go."

  "I don't have time to drive all the way back out here a second time." Now was not the time to explain about pissed-off mistresses and deals with the Devil—now was the time to get the hell out of Dodge. "Evan's waiting for us at the shop. We were supposed to pick out a nice outfit for Peaches to be buried in, remember?"

  Kelly shrugged. "I'm sure I can get Joe to pick me up and drive me back."

  She said it lightly, but I didn't take it that way. "Joe's hardly yours to command anymore, now is he?"

  "Well, he's not yours to command, either. The divorce papers haven't been signed yet."

  Before I could respond, Mr. Bates walked back in, rubbing his hands briskly. He looked entirely too much like a man who enjoys his work. I couldn't help but wonder where those clammy hands had just been, and repressed a shudder.

  "Well," he pulled out his chair, "made any decisions yet?"

  "No," Kelly said, while I said, "Yes."

  Cadaver-man checked in mid-sit, then let his weight carry him down. His chair creaked as he settled himself, but otherwise the silence was deafening. He gave us a fake sympathetic look and tried again.

  "I know this is a difficult time. It's not unusual for families to disagree on the final arrangements. I'm sure we can settle on something that's agreeable to all parties." Cadaver-man patted the casket book like it was an old friend.

  I leaned down and whispered in Kelly's ear. "I thought you liked the one with the guardian angel… um… thingies. Let's get it and go."

  "I can't believe you," she whispered back. "And I like the one with the pink lining better."

  Outmaneuvered and out of patience, I looked at Mr. Bates.

  He gave me a bland smile, knowing perfectly well that whatever disagreement we'd just had, I'd just lost.

  "Okay, okay. The pink one it is. Where do we sign?"

  "What the hell was that all about?" Kelly was holding tightly to the armrests of her chair as I wheeled her toward the car.

  I couldn't wait to leave Forest Lawn Mortuary behind. Just being outside was a relief, but I wasn't going to be satisfied until we were on the road.

  Kelly kept talking. "You were very rude."

  "You're not my mother, you know," I snapped. "I don't need a lecture." I was jittery, mildly hung over, and had no idea how I was going to discuss with Kelly the dangers of talking to dead people.

  "No, you need a chill pill or something." We hit a bump and she gasped, "Could you slow down?"

  I bit my lip and walked even faster.

  Kelly muttered something I pretended not to hear as I opened the passenger side door and positioned her wheelchair so she could lift herself into the seat. By the time I folded up the empty chair and stuck it in the back, she was buckled up and ready to go.

  I got in and started the car for the benefit of air-conditioning, but I wasn't going anywhere just yet. Might as well jump in with both feet.

  "We've got a real problem, Kelly. We need to talk."

  She looked at me, then sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry about the 'divorce papers' comment. It wasn't very nice, but you deserved it for the way you were acting."

  "That's not what I meant."

  "Then what?"

  "Have you been talking to man named Keith Morgan?"

  Her eyes slid toward the dashboard. "You know Keith Morgan?"

  "No."

  She shot me a glance. "So what's the problem?"

  "So he's dead, that's what."

  Kelly tried to laugh, but it came out wrong. "What are you talking about? He's not dead."

  Was it possible she really didn't get it?

  "You're the only one who can see him, Kelly. That's why he asked you for help."

  She laughed again, a little nervously. "Dead people can't ask for help."

  "Can't they?"

  She looked at me, and this time I was the one who broke eye contact. I put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space.

  "What did he ask you to do for him?"

  "He didn't ask me to do anything," she answered, sounding a little testy. "I met him very briefly, at the hospital. Apparently he'd been in bad car accident, too, where somebody…"

  Kelly's voice trailed off, so I finished for her. "Died."

  She glared at me, but I kept talking.

  "I'm telling the truth, Kelly, whether you wanna believe it or not. That guy was a ghost with some unfinished business, and he wants you to finish it for him."

  Silence.

  Reluctantly, I went on. "Listen, I know it's gonna sound crazy, but something happened to me about a month ago." If we were gonna share a house—share a life—particularly a life as strange as mine, then we needed to share some truths with each other, right? "I found out the hard way that I have a minor heart defect. That's how I met Joe, actually. He was the emergency room doctor on call that night."

  "Oh." Kelly seemed relieved at the apparent change of subject. "What do you mean you 'found out the hard way'?"

  "I died."

  "You died." The skeptical note in her voice sounded familiar. We were twins, after all.

  "White light, long tunnel, shadowy figures, music… the whole stereotypical near death experience, right down to the 'it isn't your time' speech." Kelly was staring at me, but I didn't dare look at her now, and kept my eyes on the road. "I was sent back. And when I woke up, I found out I'd been sent back with a little something extra. Something I'm apparently stuck with." Keeping my voice as light as I could, I said, "To quote the creepy kid in the movie, 'I see dead people.'"

  "But you just said that I was the one who saw dead people."

  I frowned. "It seems you do, too. I never said I understood it. It's complicated."

  Kelly lowered her head and raised a hand to her face. Her dark hair spilled forward, so I couldn't see her expression even if I'd wanted to. I heard a muffled noise and glanced over. Her shoulders were shaking.

  "Hey, you're not crying, are you?"

  Kelly lifted her head. She was laughing.

  "I get it." She threw back her hair, looking younger when she laughed, even with the bruises. "Joe put you up to this, didn't he? He knows I'm a sucker for the paranormal. What a way to get me back for running off to Santo Domingo with the Peace Corps." She shook her head, still grinning.

  Unbelievable. This chick thought it was all about her. She actually thought Joe would bother to play a practical joke on her after what she'd done.

  "He used to make so much fun of me when we were in college—the biggest scaredy-cat in the world, fascinated by ghosts and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night."

  "You are?" Jealousy took a backseat to curiosity. Somehow I hadn't expected Kelly to have an interest in the occult. She seemed like such a goody-girl.

  "Oh, yeah." She was nodding now. "Unexplained phenomena, ESP, séances, Ouija boards. You name it, I've read about it or tried it. I love that stuff."

  "You do?" I couldn't seem to form a sentence more than two words long.

  "Absolutely." Kelly was looking out the car window, watching the Georgia countryside go by. "Vampires, witches, poltergeists, hauntings… everything. Well, except Bigfoot. I've never really bought thos
e stories about big, hairy 'skunk ape' sightings."

  "Huh." Now I was down to one word sentences.

  "And UFOs. My internal jury is still out on aliens from outer space." She gave me a curious glance. "Don't know much about near death experiences, though. I'll have to read up on those." Kelly was grinning at me. "So you see dead people, huh?"

  She didn't believe me.

  Hell. I could hardly believe it myself.

  "Tell Joe his little joke almost worked," she said. "That's too funny." There was a pause while she laughed to herself. "But I'm sorry about the heart thing. Are you okay? Is it serious?"

  I decided I'd rather talk about my irregular heartbeat than be laughed at. Unless I missed my guess, she'd be convinced sooner or later, with or without my help.

  "It's called mitral valve prolapse," I said. "And it's usually benign. An infection from some dental work affected a wimpy heart valve. Now that I know to take antibiotics and watch myself, I should be fine."

  "Did you really have a near death experience?"

  "Yeah, I did." She was serious now, curious, but I'd said enough. I was feeling off-balance, and I didn't like it.

  She took the hint, and we drove to Handbags and Gladrags mostly in silence. Once we got into the rabbit warren of narrow streets and funky shops that was Little Five Points, it wasn't even awkward anymore.

  The first street performer I saw was one of my favorites, a silver-painted ballerina who posed as a statue for the tourists. Her "artiste" name was Tina Ballerina, but her real name was Angela. She was perched atop an upturned bucket in Findley Square, a shaded courtyard of bricks and benches, the best place for tips.

  "Wow," Kelly said. "She looks like a real statue. People pay her for that?"

  "She's a college student, earning extra money for a boob job." Imagine, a delicate, graceful girl like Angela working her butt off for a big set of hooters. "She's a performance artist."

  Kelly didn't answer, too busy taking in the extraordinary sights of my everyday world. I drove slowly down Moreland toward my normal parking spot, letting the first-timer look her fill.

  Kelly pointed at the mural on the side of Blue Screw Tattoos, a vivid burst of psychedelic colors and images. "Look at that… and that!" She'd just spied the huge grinning skull whose front teeth formed the entrance to the Vortex, one of the neighborhood's hottest after dark spots. "Is this some kind of an artist colony or something? Everything's so…" She groped for a word. "… so unusual."

  That might not have been the word I would've chosen, but she was right. The people who lived and worked in this funky old neighborhood were nothing if not unusual, which is exactly what gave it such a bohemian charm.

  It was good to be home.

  "Oh my God, that's hideous! What were you thinking?" Despite the jingle of wind chimes over the front door, we could hear Evan's outrage loud and clear. Luckily, he wasn't talking to a customer, but to himself.

  "Are those feathers in Courtney Love's hair or is it an actual bird's nest?" He held up the latest issue of Faboo magazine and waved it indignantly in our direction, not even bothering with a hello first.

  "You mean the 'I just rolled out of bed in a crack house' look is already over?" I pushed Kelly's wheelchair through the doorway with no help from him, grateful for the cool rush of air-conditioning. It was September, but in Georgia the heat of summer tended to linger. "Maybe she passed out in a chicken coop."

  "All that great bone structure just going to waste." Evan looked truly upset. "The woman needs to put down the lipstick and fire her stylist!"

  "Oh, wow," Kelly said, unfazed by Evan's fashion fit. "What a great store!" She gazed around, taking in the clothing racks, the colorful hats and beaded purses, the glassed-in jewelry counter. "Is that Audrey Hepburn? Oooh, Marilyn Monroe! What a great idea!"

  Nothing she could've said would've made Evan and me happier. The store mannequins at Handbags and Gladrags were our pride and joy. One of Evan's artist friends had turned bland figures into glamorous replicas of early film stars, and we kept them dressed accordingly. I tried to play it cool while Evan turned to mush.

  "Kelly, hon." Evan put down his magazine and hurried over, giving me no attention whatsoever. "You're looking so much better." He leaned down and gave her a quick squeeze, which she returned. I wasn't surprised by the spontaneous affection so much as I was by Evan's unconcern about wrinkling his shirt. "First day out of the hospital, hm?" He beamed at her, patting her hand like she was an invalid or something.

  Which she technically was, but whatever.

  "Have you been to the house yet? Has Nicki shown you the guest room?" He took the handles of Kelly's wheelchair as if he'd done it a million times and wheeled her toward the counter. "Butch and I picked out the bedding ourselves, so don't let her tell you any different." Evan gave me a little wink as he passed, making it impossible to be mad at him. "Egyptian cotton will feel so much better on your skin than those cardboard sheets they use in the hospital. I hope you're not allergic to goose down."

  "Ahh… you're such a sweetheart," Kelly said. "A nice, soft bed sounds great. I've got bruises in places I didn't know I had." I was amazed at how easy these two were with each other.

  My best friend and my sister—one I'd known forever and one I'd never known.

  "We haven't been to the house yet. Nicki and I went straight from the hospital to make the funeral arrangements for Peaches."

  Evan's eyes flew to mine, horrified. He'd obviously forgotten.

  Kelly's voice sounded strained. "Then we came by here to find her an outfit to be buried in."

  Evan's face changed. Now it looked as if he was the one about to cry. He reached out and snagged me with one arm, pulling me close, and put his other hand on Kelly's shoulder.

  "It would be an honor," he said, "if you would allow me to help. What did you have in mind?" He gave me a reassuring squeeze, and I squeezed back, knowing I was comforting him as much as he was comforting me, the little drama queen. I was already mentally debating between a peach chiffon or a dark blue brocade. Both dresses were appropriate, and equally lovely.

  "Pink," Kelly said. She glanced up at me over her shoulder. Then she leaned back to look at Evan and said again, very decisively, "She liked pink."

  "Pink it is, then," Evan said.

  I sighed, not even bothering to argue. Evan wheeled Kelly toward the better dresses while I sank into the chair behind the counter.

  "Don't get too comfy in the catbird seat, young lady," Evan called over his shoulder. "You can help, too."

  The cushion beneath me was still warm from Evan's body heat. It had already been quite a morning, and there was a lot more of the day to get through. "You two go ahead. I'll be right here."

  Evan shot me a look, but I gave him a bland stare in return. Let him take this one—he was the one who insisted I be sisterly, after all. Let him play nursemaid for a while.

  "So," Evan's attention returned to Kelly and the clothing racks, "tell me about Peaches."

  Kelly hesitated, then said, "She had dark hair."

  Evan started sifting through the dresses. "Okay, dark hair, liked pink. What size do you think she wore? Eight, ten, twelve, maybe?" He held up a blush-colored suit dress with a short jacket, very Jackie O.

  "Ten or twelve, I think." Kelly shook her head at his offering. "But that's way too conservative. Peaches was no wallflower. She was more like Nicki."

  Evan's eyebrows shot up. He looked directly at me. "Oh, really?" he said to Kelly. "Do tell."

  Kelly was looking at me, too. I was so surprised I kept my mouth shut.

  "She liked bright clothes and she wore too much makeup"—Kelly smiled, though her eyes were shiny with tears—"and she was funny—I mean, really funny—without even meaning to be."

  Evan's mouth dropped, and so did my heart. At least for a second… then it did that fluttery thing.

  I wasn't sure I wanted to hear this—I'd been treating Peaches Boudreaux like a stranger. It seemed easier that way.
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br />   "We talked on the phone a lot the last couple of weeks, before she… well, you would've liked her." Kelly was still talking. "And she would've liked you."

  To my horror, I teared up. I hate to cry—absolutely hate it—and I'd done enough of it the last few months. I wasn't about to join in a group hug, so I jumped up and went into the back office. I needed a minute.

  "Hey, are you okay?" Evan followed me right in, baby blues full of concern. The man had a sweet side a mile deep.

  "Yeah." I snatched a tissue off the desk and dabbed at my eyeliner, already finished with the waterworks. "I just didn't expect to hear that, you know?"

  He tilted his head, and in typically blunt fashion pointed out, "But isn't it great? Now you actually know who you take after."

  I shot him a look. "I take after myself, remember?" I'd always made it a point of pride to be different, unique. My adoptive parents and my upbringing might be pure middle-class Georgia, but not me.

  Evan waved a hand in dismissal. "Style is one thing, girlfriend, genetics is another. If I'm not mistaken, that's your twin out there, and she just told you that you're a lot like your mother. That's pretty cool."

  Trust Evan not to let me hide from myself, even when I wanted to. I changed the subject.

  "I saw another ghost today."

  Evan blanched. He hadn't gotten over what happened the last time. "What? I thought that was done and over with?" His eyes darted around the office.

  "Not here, silly. At the funeral home." I lifted the coffeepot and checked the contents. Still hot. I poured myself a cup while I told him the rest.

  "A woman in the ladies' room was looking for her married boyfriend… some local bigwig. They were both killed in a car accident." I stirred in some sweetener. "She said if she had to go to Hell, she wasn't going without him. They'd been having an affair for years, and she was pretty pissed about winding up dead instead of married."

  I turned, and there was Kelly behind Evan, her wheelchair filling the open doorway.

  Evan saw where my eyes went and attempted a graceful save. "Kelly, would you like some coffee? Nicki's feeling better now."