Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Jeopardy soundstage on the Higher Power’s plane was identical to the one on human TV. As expected, there were three contestant podiums on the right side. The host stand was on the left, and the category board was in the middle on the back wall between the two. However, the board was dark, and no categories were listed. There was no audience in the studio like with Wheel of Fortune . Not trusting that, I kept my eyes peeled for a new set of armed mammals. I found nothing. The bleachers were empty.

“ Jeopardy!” Gram exclaimed. “I love this show.” She was positively giddy, considering the circumstances.

I wasn’t giddy at all. The ‘no category’ and ‘no audience’ thing made me uneasy.

My gaze went to the setup on the empty stage.

“It’s deserted in here,” Alana Catherine pointed out with a small shudder.

“Not for long,” I guessed. “You okay with all the guests inside you?”

She gave me a thumbs up. “Got room for a few more.”

I knew what she was talking about. There were three more of the dead on my porch who hadn’t been accounted for yet— Sister Catherine, Agnes and Steve. Something was gnawing at me. Why weren’t there more? If there was a tear in the Light wouldn’t millions of souls be milling around in confusion? Wouldn’t they have come looking for the Death Counselor? Wait. Not necessarily. Not all souls needed a Death Counselor. Most people didn’t have unfinished business that kept them on the earthly plane after death. But… I’d helped send far more than six people into the Light. And over time, Gram had sent hundreds into the Light. Why hadn’t they all come back?

And where in the hell was the Higher Power? Cecily said she’d seen It immediately. Granted, she hadn’t known it was the Higher Power at first. Had that happened to me as well? I’d be hard-pressed to believe Fake Pat Sajak or Fake Vanna White were the Higher Power. That left the harried assistant whose name I didn’t know. Alana Catherine had been firm in her belief that the woman wasn’t the Higher Power, but if she wasn’t, then who was?

As I wrestled with my thoughts, Gram took my hand in hers and gave it a quick squeeze. “Come on back from where you went, darlin’,” she said. “We need to stay focused on the now. I’m expectin’ Fake Alex Trebek to show up any minute now doin’ the hula in his birthday suit.”

I squeezed back and smiled. “You’re right—although, I really hope he’s not naked.” I looked around again. We were still the only people here. “What should we do while we wait for whatever crazy is headed our way?”

“Welp, I say we keep our minds as sharp as tacks!” Gram said, pushing me over to the podiums. “A little practice never hurt nobody. Alana Catherine, get your cutie patootie over here. We’re gonna bone up.”

“Yikes,” Alana Catherine said as Gram led her to a podium.

“Now, y’all can call me Alexa Trebek!” Gram said with a giggle as she stepped behind the host console. “I’m gonna give out an answer, and you’re gonna give me the question. Got it?”

“Got it,” I told her.

“Alrighty then,” Gram said, clearing her throat. She took her game shows seriously. When she started humming the theme song to Jeopardy, I had to groan. The old lady was tone-deaf. When she finished, she took a bow in front of the imaginary audience and then shouted at the top of her lungs—"This is Jeopardy!”

Apparently, we were ready to start.

“The answer is… Whale of Fortune,” Gram announced with a mischievous little grin.

“Did you say whale?” I asked, unsure if I’d misheard.

“Daisy,” she admonished me. “That right there would get you disqualified. If you ask a question, it’s gotta be the question to the answer.”

I scrunched up my nose and glanced over at my daughter, who seemed as perplexed as I was.

“I’m pretty sure she said whale,” Alana Catherine told me.

“Ain’t no conspirin’ with the other contestant,” Gram yelled. “Lordy have mercy, ain’t y’all ever watched Jeopardy ?”

“Actually, no,” Alana Catherine said with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never watched any TV at all yet.”

“That’s true,” I said. “You’re only a little over a month old. You’re more interested in my boob and your thumb than TV. And it’s been a while since I’ve watched Jeopardy.”

Gram slapped herself in the forehead. “My bad, sweeties. I feel like we’ve been busier than a cat coverin’ up poop on a cement floor. I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. Lemme take both parts of the first clue to help you understand how the game is played.”

“Excellent thinking, Gram,” Alana Catherine said.

“Okay, so if the answer is Whale of Fortune, then the question you should ask is, ‘What game show do fish watch?’ Get it?”

“Sadly, yes,” I said with a giggle. “Try another.”

“And the answer is, Cat-has-trophy.”

Alana hit the buzzer first. “What do you call it when a cat wins Jeopardy ?”

“YES!” Gram squealed.

I glanced over at my daughter in awe. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

She nodded. “Tie my shoes. You haven’t taught me that yet.”

“Yes! There is something I can teach you,” I said, pumping my fists over my head.

My beautiful child laughed. “Yes, there is, mom. However, I wouldn’t be pumping my fists over my head if I were you… So far, I’m winning this round of Jeopardy .”

I raised a brow. She copied my look. There was no way in this Universe I could love her more than I did right now. “Fine. Challenge accepted. Gram, throw out another answer.”

“Will do! The answer is, Let’s Make a Dill!”

Alana slapped her buzzer. “What is a pickle’s favorite game show?”

“Heck to the yeseroonie!” Gram squealed.

“How did you come up with that?” I asked, wildly confused. “You’ve never seen Let’s Make a Deal.”

“Logical deduction,” Alana Catherine replied. “Gram loves game shows, so I figured all the questions would be game show-specific. She loves pickles, referenced by her use of the phrase, that just dills my pickle. She also told a pickle joke to the skunks. I figured with the word dill in the answer and Gram’s love of pickles that I was on the right track.”

“Freaking genius! My daughter is a freaking genius.”

Alana Catherine rolled her eyes, but her smile was wide. She was getting a pet skunk even if Gideon didn’t want one. He wasn’t the only one she had wrapped around her finger.

“Darn tootin’,” Gram agreed. “You sugar pies wanna do a couple more to get into the rhythm?”

“I think we’d better since mom is losing so badly,” Alana Catherine stated, then pursed her lips playfully.

“Get ready to go down, little girl,” I challenged, waggling my brows.

“I’d like to see you try,” she shot right back with a grin.

“And the answer is, Wheel of Fortune Cookies,” Gram announced.

“I know,” I shouted as Alana Catherine slapped her buzzer.

“Whoopsiedoodle,” Gram said, wagging her finger at me. “You gotta use the buzzer, little missy. Alana Catherine, what’s the question?”

“What do you call a game show in a Chinese restaurant?”

“WOOHOO!” Gram yelled as she did a little boogie around her console. “That’s the correct question. Three to nothin’. Our baby girl is winnin’!”

I didn’t care if my baby girl beat me at games for the rest of her life. It would make me proud. However, Gram was smart to have us practice. I wasn’t good at this at all. “One more,” I begged. “Give me the chance to redeem myself just a tiny bit.”

“Not a problem,” Gram said, scratching her head to come up with another. “Try this one on for size! The answer is, The Newly Web Game.”

I slammed down on the buzzer and came in barely before my child. She winked and graciously gave me the floor.

“What’s a spider’s favorite game show?” I crowed, taking a bow before Gram could confirm my answer.

Alana Catherine clapped and Gram ran over to give me a high five. “Correct,” she yelled.

Our celebration was cut short by the harried woman with the headset from earlier. “For the love of losers,” she muttered, looking us up and down with disgust and dismay. “You three again? You couldn’t have changed your clothes?”

Her attitude was starting to chap my ass. While it would have been satisfying in the moment to have a vicious go at her outfit, I went right back to my Southern roots. Winning the long game was better than getting gratification in the short one. “Well, bless your heart. It must seem like we don’t know whether to check our asses or scratch our watches, but you know all about that since that’s obviously the way you live.”

She was confused. It was glorious. I kept going.

“And I don’t care what anybody says, it’s fine to think you’re pretty in your own way. And it anyone tells you that your biscuit isn’t done in the middle, just ignore it. They might be right, but rude is rude. You get me?”

“Umm…” The gal was at a loss for words.

I was not. Gram was loving it. She’d taught me well. “You know, you might be a little rough around the edges, but I heard there was one person who said you have got just the best personality.”

“What?” she asked, trying to figure out if I was complimenting her or insulting her.

“You just keep marching to your own drummer,” I told her, giving her two thumbs up and the most insincere smile I had in me. “Good for you! Good for you!”

I’d flustered her. She opened her mouth twice to come back at me. Twice, she closed it. As she turned to leave, she called out over her shoulder. “Five minutes until the show begins.”

The board lit up, and my head began to throb. There were only three rows. One row was labeled Sister Catherine. The next was labeled Agnes Bubbala, and the third was labeled Riddles.

The face of Sister Catherine popped up in my mind. My daughter’s middle name was in honor of the lovely woman. Before I really knew Sister Catherine, I’d nicknamed her the Tasmanian Devil. She was batshit nuts as a ghost and totally out of control. She’d been forty-seven when she’d died of cancer. It broke my heart how young she was when she’d died. She had no regrets. Said she’d lived a very full and happy life. She’d been a nun. At first, it had been hard to reconcile that the gal who liked to moon people and pop out of my silverware drawer when I least expected had been a woman of faith.

Through talking with each other and eventually diving into her mind, I determined that Sister Catherine had no unfinished business. None. Nothing. She was the one who realized she was here to help me. She was unselfish and all about others in life. She was the same way in death. It was with tremendous joy and gratitude that I named my child after her.

Sister Catherine’s final wish before she’d gone into the Light was to be mooned by all of us. It was the most bizarre and hilarious request I’d gotten from one of the dead. I was all in. Of course, Candy Vargo had been delighted to show her ass. Even Gideon very reluctantly agreed because of his friendship with the nutty nun. It was a moment in time that would be etched in my mind and heart no matter how long I lived.

Alana Catherine was named for my mom, Alana, and the infamous Tasmanian Devil who I adored. It was a good strong name for a beautiful and strong young woman… who used to be a baby less than a few hours ago. Part of me was desperate for her to still be a baby when we got back home. But part of me would miss the young woman I loved just as much as her baby version.

Glancing over at my daughter, I tried to memorize her face so that if she reverted back to a baby when we got home, I’d remember. She was staring at the board. I joined her.

Agnes Bubbla’s name was the next row over. The dead woman was someone I considered a friend. Agnes was a New York Times best-selling paranormal romance author. She was also Candy Vargo’s favorite writer. Candy had flipped her shit when she’d realized Agnes was with us. She’d driven Agnes nuts, but the woman was a good sport about it. She was kind-hearted and funny as heck. Her personal style had gotten stuck in the 1980’s—dyed blonde hair with bangs that defied gravity. Her terms of endearment still made me smile—puddin’, cupcake, sweet pea and pumpkin were my faves.

My dear Agnes had been murdered by the psychotic son of a bitch, Micky Muggles. She’d died of a heart attack caused by a potassium overdose. That bastard was gone now. He wasn’t in the Darkness and he wasn’t in the Light. He wasn’t even good enough for Purgatory. He was just gone, never to be heard from again. Hatred was a strong word and took energy. Normally, I did my best not to feel hate in my heart. But Micky Muggles was the exception. Him… I hated.

Agnes belonged in the Light. She might be dead but her books would make her as Immortal as a human could get.

Squaring my shoulders, I left memory lane behind and planted myself firmly in the present. I was going to win back Sister Catherine and Agnes. And after I’d fixed the tear in the Light, I would send them back home. Period.

A booming male voice came over the speaker, and the lights hanging over the stage brightened.

“This is Jeopardy ! Entering the studio… Well, crap. They’re already on the stage. Who’s running this shitty show?”

I glanced around to see who was talking, but no one but Gram, Alana Catherine and me were here.

“Anyway,” the male voice snapped. “Today’s rude contestants are the three women standing on the stage. Where in the hell are my notes?” he bellowed. “I’m supposed to have notes with the names of the damn contestants on them. Somebody is getting FIRED.”

He stopped talking for a second. My guess was that the voice was either composing itself or went to go find his notes and fire the staff.

“I’m back,” the voice shouted. “And now… entering the fucking studio like he’s supposed to do, is the host of Jeopardy ! Alex Trebek.”

And what to my wondering eyes should appear? A mostly naked Alex Trebek wearing a hula skirt. I gave Gram the side eye.

“This is your fault, old lady,” I told her, trying to bite back my laugh of horror.

“I know that,” she said, shaking her head. “But you did conjure up them skunks.”

“True,” I confirmed. “But they were a hell of a lot cuter than Alex in a grass skirt.”

“Fine,” Gram said with a giggle. “You win, Daisy girl. But Alex does have a nice smattering of gray chest hair, if I do say so myself.”

I raised a brow. “You’re courting Mr. Jackson,” I reminded her.

“A girl can still look,” she told me with a grin.

“Welcome to Jeopardy, assholes,” Alex Trebek said in a voice that was not Alex Trebek’s.

We were back to the fakes. I just hope this Fake Alex Trebek wasn’t as randy as Fake Pat Sajak. I didn’t think my digestive system could handle it.

“Here’s the deal,” Fake Alex said sounding like he was about to take a nap. “I give the answer. You ask the question. You stupid idiots have to get all of them correct or you don’t win your ghosts back. Capiche?”

“Yes,” I said. “Do we get to pick the category?”

He gave me a scathing glare. It made me want to electrocute the jackass. I refrained. It was difficult but doable. I wanted to set a good example for my daughter. Just because someone was a douche didn’t mean that one should immediately resort to violence. Of course, if Fake Alex threw the first punch, I’d take him out without breaking a sweat.

“Are you braindead?” he demanded, pointing at the board.

There was only one row lit up now. The Agnes and Sister Catherine rows were gone. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t feel right.

“When I got here, there were three categories. Where did they go?” I questioned the nasty man.

“I guess they fell apart,” he replied with an evil laugh. “You got a problem with that?”

“Potentially,” I replied. “However, I guess we’ll just wait and see.”

He yawned. “I guess we will.”

Gram was very disappointed in one of her favorite hosts. She wore the expression of a woman who’d just swallowed a lemon. Alana Catherine was calm and composed. I was teetering close to losing my shit, but at least I wasn’t wearing a hula skirt.

“Get to it!” the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers.

“I am,” Fake Alex yelled. “First answer, what comes but never arrives?”

Gram hit her buzzer first. “What is tomorrow, Alex?”

“Correct, imbecile,” he said. “Next, what can be broken but never held?”

Alana Catherine was quickest on the draw. “What is a promise, Alex?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s the right answer, halfwit.”

Fake Alex Trebek was a dick. My podium was in the middle, between my gals. Pulling them close, I gave them the new modus operandi. “If he’s a dick, we’re going to dick him right back. Got it?”

Alana Catherine grinned and nodded. Gram gave me a thumbs up and a giggle. It was time to dick the dick.

“Next,” Alex said with his eyes closed.

Was he about to fall asleep? This was crazy.

He scowled. “What goes up, but never comes down?”

I Buffalo Billed my buzzer and came out on top. “What is age, shit stain?”

Old Alex woke right up after that one. His eyes narrowed and he looked like he might throw a tantrum. The jerk could dish it out but clearly couldn’t take it.

“That is correct, simpleton.”

“Thanks, douche canoe,” I replied.

His eyes opened wide and the announcer laughed through his mic.

“Moron,” he snapped.

“Cocksucker,” Alana Catherine chimed in, much to Fake Alex’s horror.

I winced at the word ‘cocksucker’. Where in the heck did she learn that? It had to have been Candy Vargo. I was going to help Gram wash Candy’s mouth out with soap in the very near future.

“Ignoramus,” Alex growled.

“You can kiss my go to hell,” Gram ground out. “You peckerhead.”

Fuck this,” Fake Alex said, throwing his notes into the air. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this shit. You cretins win. You can have your fucking ghosts. What do I care?”

The man-baby stomped off the stage, but right before he was out of sight, he turned back and smiled. It was oily and vicious. “Your ghosts are behind the board. You’ll have exactly five minutes to put the pieces together and remove them from the studio or they’ll turn to dust. Good luck, wankers.”

And on that note, Fake Alex left the building.

“What was all that gibberish about?” Gram asked. “I tell you what, that man was so nasty I wouldn’t walk across the street to piss on him if he was on fire.”

“That’s very colorful,” Daisy said, putting her arm around Gram.

“Thanks, darlin. I’m good that way.”

I moved quickly to the area behind the board. What I saw made me furious and want to sob at the same time. There were two piles on the ground—piles of body parts. One belonged to Sister Catherine and the other to Agnes Bubbala.

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” I said, dropping to my knees and snapping my fingers to conjure up some superglue. “I can do this. I have to do this.”

My stomach dropped further when I realized the piles might not be correct. It was difficult to tell what belonged to Agnes and which parts were Sister Catherine’s. Whoever planned this was psychotic.

Less than four minutes were left. Staring at the piles wasn’t going to work. “I’m just going to start gluing and hope for the best.” My voice was thick with unshed tears. Why in the world would anyone be this shitty?

As I desperately searched for a hand that would match the arm I held, I felt my daughter’s gentle touch on my back.

“Mom, stop,” she said.

“Can’t,’ I told her as I crawled into the middle of the piles and searched harder. “I can’t let them turn to dust. It’s not fair.”

“Mom,” Alana Catherine said in a sterner tone. “Stop. Now.” I turned my head to look at her. Her voice may have been harsh, but her eyes were gentle. “Do you trust me?”

Immediately, I nodded. “With my life.”

“Then you have to stop and back away. I’ve got this,” she said.

Stepping back wasn’t in my nature, especially when something so dire was on the line—like the afterlives of two of my friends. However, I did. I stepped back and held my breath.

Without a second to lose, my daughter—the future Death Counselor and apparently the future Soul Keeper—went to work. Alana Catherine got down on her knees and gathered all the parts together with care. She then waved her arms above the broken bodies of the two women.

It wasn’t fancy. It didn’t include any bells or whistles, but… it worked.

In less time than it took me to blink, Agnes and Sister Catherine were whole. I wanted to scream with joy and talk to them for hours, but that wasn’t on the agenda. There was one minute left in the five that Fake Alex Trebek had given us. If we didn’t get the gals out of the studio, they’d turn to dust.

“We have to go,” I insisted. “Agnes, Sister Catherine, this is my daughter, Alana Catherine.”

“It’s nice to meet you ladies,” Alana Catherine said.

“Same here, puddin’,” Agnes said as clear as day with a big smile on her face.

She was a ghost, but didn’t sound like one.

“Oh my,” Sister Catherine said as she wrapped her transparent arms around me. “Thank you very much, my friend. I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing,” I told her as I corralled the two ladies towards my daughter’s open arms. “Not only is my child the future Death Counselor, she’s also the future Soul Keeper.”

“Yep,” Alana Catherine said with a warm smile. “And I’d be honored to host you for a bit until we can safely take you back into the Light.”

“Sounds like a plan, pumpkin,” Agnes said, floating straight into my child’s arms.

“I’m good with that,” Sister Catherine agreed.

“Hurry up, friends,” I insisted. “We’ve got less than a minute to get out of here.”

The ladies listened. They were safely inside my daughter.

“Have to get out of here,” I said, grabbing my grandma and daughter’s hands.

“Where to?” Gram asked as we stood in the middle of the stage.

Glancing around wildly for the right way to go, my eyes landed on a door. It was lit up like the Fourth of July. The answer was obvious. What was behind the door wasn’t. I knew how to find out.

“Everybody ready for round three?” I asked, running to the exit with my girls by my side.

“Hell to the yes,” Gram yelled. “Bring it on!”

“What she said,” Alana Catherine added.

Three was our magic number. I knew in my gut three things—One, this would be the final test. Two, I’d find Steve behind that door, and three, it was time to end the Higher Power’s games. I just hoped the coward would show up because I had a hell of a lot to say.