Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One) (14 page)

I looked over his shoulder. The check was made out to Mara Stephens, in the amount of five thousand dollars.

“Do you have some kind of secret life I don’t know about?” Gus asked.

I hung up on the hold music and scanned the letter. “I don’t believe this.” I read it a second time, slower. “Remember Mr. Lyra?”

“You went back and gave him that blow job!?”

“Don’t be an ass.” I handed the letter over to Gus.

He read it out loud. “Dear Ms. Stephens, please accept my apologies. You were right. I went to the doctor and he removed five polyps removed from my colon. Consider this a token of my appreciation for the early warning. Perhaps you would consent to do another reading for me later?” Gus folded up the letter and looked at me. “Not bad. So, how much does that give us in the Mara moving fund?”

“More than I ever thought I’d have. Maybe I’ll spring for pizza.” 

Gus tucked my arm into the crook of his elbow and pulled me towards the door. “Seeing as how you’re rich and all, screw the pizza. Take me out for a real meal, woman,” he swooned and batted his eyes. “Before I faint from hunger.”

So, after a quick stop at the bank, I took Gus to the little Hungarian restaurant down the street. We had a delicious lunch of cherry soup and borscht for not much more than what pizza would have cost.

That afternoon, I blasted classic rock out into the courtyard, in defiance of Mrs. Lasio’s “no loud music” rule. May as well go out with a bang.

I put on a swimsuit and canon-balled into the deep end while Gus sat on the pool stairs, in a muscle beach tank top and white sarong, his legs in the water. I swear that boy was more fond of skirts than any woman I had ever met.

As I swam up to the surface, Gus looked at me from over his sunglasses. “Feel like doing some more laundry? I have a couple loads in the trunk of my car.”

“How can you possibly go through so many clothes? Do you change six times a day?”

“A man’s gotta look good. And just for you, I pulled in some extra from the neighbors. Are you basking in the love yet?”

“Feel free to hate me a little. Maybe you should get a wife,” I said, floating on my back.

He shuddered. “Gods forbid. Women were put on this earth just to test men.”

“Watch it, buddy. I may be an honorary member of the boy’s club, but I’m still a chick.”

“You don’t count. You’re a gay guy trapped in a chick’s body. Although you do have your little PMS moments.”

I flipped around and splash-kicked hard, completely soaking him.

“Hey! Not fair when there’s no towels out here.”

“Oh, crud. I knew I forgot something.” I climbed out of the pool and walked over to my apartment to get a couple of beach towels.

“Hey, Mara, guess what I am?”

I turned to look. He was standing next to the pool, on one leg, the other one bent behind him and his arms outstretched.

“Guess who I am. Go on, guess.”

“A stork?”

“The Hanged Man, Lord of the Crossroads. Cool, huh? Hey, we should copyright that. Tarot Card Charades. I can see it now. It’ll be big, baby. Get in on the ground floor.”

I laughed and headed into the apartment, while Gus plotted out his next card move.

I grabbed a couple of beach towels out of the linen closet and was heading back to the screen door, when I noticed the wrought iron gate opening and a young Fed Ex guy walking in, looking around for an apartment number. I had a feeling he was looking for me, but before I could open the door, Gus waylaid him.

My 80’s mix CD finished and in the sudden silence, I heard their voices echoing through the courtyard. I stood and watched through the screen door, wondering what was going to happen next. 

Gus, in his best upper class British accent: “I say, old chap. Are you looking for 1-C? She can’t hear you. Stone deaf, poor thing. But, no worries, I can sign for it. I’m her live-in caretaker.” 

The Fed Ex guy was staring at Gus, like he was some kind of exhibit at Cirque Berzerk. Then he looked down at the package he was carrying, flummoxed.

“Poor old girl. She’d be lost without me, really,” Gus continued. “Constantly forgetting where she puts her glasses, her teeth, if she’s had an enema or not. If it wasn’t for me, the old bat would be living in a pool of watery shite. So, come, come, my good man and let me relieve you of your duty. Chop, chop.”

Unsure and a bit grossed out, he cautiously gave in and handed the package to Gus. Gus signed and tossed the package on the picnic table while the Fed Ex guy beat a hasty retreat.

I emerged from the apartment, walked over to Gus and shoved him in the pool. He landed with a satisfying splash.

“Hey! What was that for?!” he sputtered, when he surfaced.

“Sorry, stone deaf, remember?” I eyeballed the Fed-Ex package on the picnic table. “Did you have fun with the delivery guy?”

“I enjoy my small amusements.”

“No doubt. He seemed kinda cute.”

“Not my type. Scares too easily.” He paused and thought about it for a second. “Yeah, good thing you’re moving. I’m pretty sure Fed Ex isn’t going to make any more deliveries here.”

I picked up the package. “A law firm in Wisconsin.”

“Maybe Lyra’s wife is suing you for the five grand back.”

“The way my month is going? Not out of the realm of possibility.”

I ripped it open. Folders, legal documents and Polaroids tumbled out.

I took one look at the pictures and grabbed onto the edge of the table, struggling to breathe. I was beyond light-headed — it felt like my entire body had gone numb.

“What? What’s wrong?” Gus asked, climbing out of the pool. He picked up a picture and looked at it. “Nice.” He put the picture down and stared at me.

The blood had drained from my face, leaving me pale, and I shook uncontrollably. I sat down on the bench and put my head between my knees. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“My psychic reactor must be tapped out, because I’m still not getting it. But if you throw up in the pool, you’re on your own with that bitch of a manager.”

I picked up a picture and shoved it at him. “It’s the cottage from my nightmares. I can’t believe it really exists.”

Gus sat down and flipped through the legal papers. “Who’s Tillie McDougal?”

“My Aunt on my mom’s side. Technically, she’s my Great-Aunt. I don’t really remember her, just what I’ve heard from my dad. Aunt Tillie and Uncle Owen were the last ones to see my mom, before she vanished.”

“Looks like you’re her sole heir. She left a living trust and the order of succession was your Uncle Owen, your mom and then you.”

I sat up and looked at him. “So they’re all dead?”

“Looks like.”

I felt the world swirl around my head and go black.

Chapter Sixteen

When I came to, I was laying down on the picnic table with Gus’s pool-water soaked tank top draped over my forehead. Gus was looking over the papers from the Fed Ex packet. He glanced over at me. “You back?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t pass out on me like that again. I don’t like it. And you’re a bitch to lift. Talk about dead weight.”

“Sorry,” I croaked.

“Did you hit your head? Do you see two of me standing here? Should I take you to a hospital?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Good. Remember to keep breathing. I’ve been looking through this stuff and, while it sucks for your Great-Aunt Tillie, this is your lucky day.”

“How do you figure?” I slowly sat up and placed my feet on the picnic table bench.

“Listen to this.” He stood up and started pacing, as he flipped through the papers. “As last remaining heir, you inherit everything. Except for the possessions and assets that were liquidated to pay hospital costs, property taxes, etcetera. But everything else is yours. Your aunt had set it up through a living trust, so there’s no probate. And there’s no mortgage. She owned the house outright. Looks like it’s been in your family for a long time. And now, it’s yours. Devil’s Point, Wisconsin. How perfect is that?”

Suddenly, Mrs. Lasio came tearing through the front gate. “You,
brujo
, put your clothes on. This is a polite courtyard.”

Gus looked up at her, a bit flummoxed. “We’re sitting by the pool. I have a sarong on. What the hell is your problem?”

 ”In the pool you wear swimsuit. Out the pool, you wear clothes. This is not a whorehouse.”

I took the wet tank-top off my forehead, looked at Gus and started to laugh.

“I am wearing clothes. A sarong counts as clothing.”

Mrs. Lasio was still bellowing. “I don’t want to see that. No one wants to see that.”

“It’s okay, we’ll go inside.” I said, climbing down from the picnic table.

Mrs. Lasio slammed into her apartment.

Gus turned to me, flummoxed. “What the hell was that about?”

I laughed. “Your sarong is very thin, very white and it’s wet. And you’re standing in the sun. So you, Mr. Commando, are a 1950’s peep show.”

As we gathered up all the papers, Gus grinned at me. “At least you’re not hyperventilating anymore. So my humiliation is having an up side.”

“That’s because I’ve decided it’s impossible.”

“What is?”

“This whole thing. It’s all impossible.” We walked into the apartment. I closed the door and turned on the air conditioning. “It’s just another dream. I must have fallen asleep while I was packing boxes.”

Gus reached over and punched me in the arm. Hard.

“Ow! Fucker! That hurt. What the hell was that for?!”

“Every time you look at that bruise, you’ll know you’re not dreaming.”

I glared at him. “You do that again and you’ll wish you were dreaming.”

Gus put up his hands in surrender and dropped the papers on my dining room table.

“Are you spending the night?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Love to, but I’ve got a date. Speaking of, did I leave my black trousers here?”

“You did. They’re hanging in the closet. And I have a bottle of that shampoo you like, if you want to hit the shower first.”

Gus looked down at himself. “Think I should?” He sniffed at his armpits. “Oh, yeah. That’s ripe. Why didn’t you tell me I was a walking Stilton cheese?”

“Why do you think I’ve stayed on the opposite side of the courtyard?” I took a bottle of Jack Daniels from a cabinet poured a shot of bourbon. “Go on and get out. I don’t want you here anyway.”

He laughed, kissed me on the cheek and trotted off to the shower.

A few minutes later, I walked into the bathroom, sipping my bourbon. “Am I allowed to turn down an inheritance? I’m thinking living in my car is a better bet.”

“That seems silly.” Gus said, over the sound of the water.

“Not really. That cottage has been haunting my dreams. I’m thinking anything that wants me there so bad, should probably not get what it wants.” I sat on the toilet and put my drink on the countertop. “Maybe I can cash it in. Is there some kind of real estate service that’ll take it off my hands?”

“In this economy? You won’t get anywhere near what it’s worth.” Gus shampooed his hair and yelled over the water as he rinsed. “Let’s think about this logically. You saw the place when you were a child, maybe heard stories about it from your mom’s family. Flash forward to now. You get evicted, and you start dreaming about a cottage that your family owns, that your conscious mind forgot. It’s simple, straightforward, psychology. Maybe your sixth sense picked up that Aunt Tillie was getting old, ready to kick the bucket…”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil. And maybe tonight I’ll dream the winning lottery ticket numbers.”

Gus opened the shower door and frowned at me. “You’re a witch, dear heart. Why is it so impossible for a witch to dream what’s going to happen in the future?” He ducked back into the shower to rinse off the shampoo. “And if you flush, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m not peeing, goof. I’m just sitting. Thinking. Notice that the lid’s down. I normally don’t pee on the lid.”

“I don’t trust you. You’re a woman.”

Just for that, I flushed. Gus screamed as he got blasted with cold water. “Bitch! Just wait ‘til I get out of here.”

“There’s a problem with your logic, McFreud. This cottage that I’ve inherited? I’ve never been there. I’ve never seen it. But it was the last place my dad ever saw my mom alive. So it kinda freaks me out. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Gus opened the shower door and poked his head back out. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about your mom?”

“I spent enough of my life chasing after a ghost. Ironic, huh? Now it seems like ghosts are chasing after me.”

“Nothing is ever as simple as it seems.”

“No kidding,” I snorted, in agreement.

Why’d you stop looking for her?” he asked, stepping out of the shower.