Ghost of a Chance: Other World Investigations

GHOST OF A CHANCE:

Otherworld Investigations

Carolyn Chambers Clark

Copyright Carolyn Chambers Clark, 2013

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1

My first-graders had given me a huge Valentine card today, I signed the papers for a divorce from my lying husband, and I bought a fabulous pair of stilettos on sale—so why did I keep thinking something bad was about to happen?

While I drove along the deserted beach road, the waves crashed in from the Gulf of Mexico, just as they always did, but then a dark cloud came across the full moon. I refused to take it as an omen and chugged along in my almost-paid-for, second-hand VW convertible, breeze messing my hair, salt spray on my face, and the smell of the sea everywhere.

When nausea grumbled in my stomach, and I started to see double, I knew my premonition had been right. Unable to grip the wheel, my car spun off the road and swirled across the hard sand. I felt so woozy and could barely keep my eyes open or my chin off my chest. That’s the part I didn’t understand. Why was I woozy? I hadn't had anything to drink, so it couldn’t have been that.

Next thing I knew, a huge cabbage palm jumped in front of my car. I tried to swerve, but it was too late.

My foot slid off the brake.

CRASH! A bright light shone down on me. No pain. No other sounds. Nothing.

Before I could get my bearings, I started to float up out of my seat. That was scary, being alone and knowing I had no control over what happened next.

My skirt billowed around me and a cold wind blew my hair into my face. This seemed more like a crazy dream than the real thing, so it was easy to pretend I wasn't scared.

Somehow I got up the nerve to peek down. I saw my house, the lights sparkling along Venice Avenue, and the surf pounding in. Mangroves and slash pines shivered below me along the Florida intra-coastal waterway and swimming pools sparkled.

Up, up I went, into the clouds and beyond. I’d always been an adventuresome sort, but this was ridiculous. Even my dreams weren’t this weird. I grabbed hold of a passing ladder and climbed to the top.

Welcome to Halfway Central, Sydney, a warm voice said.

Thanks, I think... I squinted beyond the mist.

A big guy in a brilliant white suit floated toward me through the sky. He motioned to me.

I stopped floating up and landed on a cloud.

When he got closer, a Heavenly light blazed around him, sort of like the one I saw after I collided with that tree, only this one was peaceful and calming. Gold cufflinks glittered at his wrists, and gold tap shoes gleamed on his feet.

Who was this guy and why was he welcoming me? I wanted to step back and get out of this whacky dream, but with such a little bit of cloud under me, I figured I might fall off into space if I moved.

Don’t be afraid. You’re safe here. He gazed at me with one of those eternal destiny looks, his eyes so deep blue I could have gotten lost in them—literally.

Umm hmm, I muttered. I was scared as I’d ever been, but not enough to keep my mouth shut when I knew I should. Instead, I pulled back my shoulders and stated the obvious. Excuse me, but did you just read my mind?

Call me Brinkley, and yes I did. I’m your otherworldly guide and you’ve been selected for a special mission. The only caveat is you must complete it in two weeks if you want to enter heaven. He danced across his cloud for emphasis.

This was some dream. I’d never dreamed about other worlds and special missions before, let alone a dancing, otherworldly guide.

I’m afraid it’s no dream. He gave me a look of concern. You died today at seven oh-one p.m. Eastern Standard Time.

What was that? What did you just say? I’d heard the words, but at that moment, I couldn’t trust my ears, not to mention I didn’t want to believe him.

You died, Sydney. That’s why you’re here.

I didn’t die. I couldn’t have— I almost reeled back on my cloud, but then I thought—go with the flow. You obviously ate too much Monkey Pie ice cream and now you’re paying for it.

I glanced down at my body. Except for the obvious damage---skinned shins, bruises on my arms, blood here and there—I looked okay. I don’t look dead, and I certainly don’t feel dead. A little hollow, maybe, but not dead. Not that I know what it feels like to be dead. I always thought it would just feel like nothing. Sorry if I’m rambling.

He smiled at me, a benevolent grin, the kind that made me think he might know what he was talking about after all. His smile broadened. That’s okay. You’ve had a big shock. But you did die. It’s been triple checked.

Wait—wait. I think I know what happened. You’re just a figment of my imagination. I have a pretty good one, you know.

Sorry, and yes you do, but this isn’t a dream.

But I’m only twenty-eight—well thirty really. How can I be dead?

It happens. He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

A big sadness hit me and I wondered why I was being so calm about this. I turned to look in the big guy’s eyes. I shouldn’t be making jokes, should I?

Everybody handles the news of their demise in a different way. That’s why we think of you mortals as such unique creatures.

Mortals. I really was with some otherworldly guy. Then you’re positive it’s not a mistake. I pinched myself just in case I really was dreaming, but Brinkley was still there and so was I. By then, I really started to worry.

He shook his head at me with an expression of eternal patience on his face. That’s when I knew no matter how much I protested, I was dead, and nothing was going to change that.

This is for real, but you get a second chance. Sort of. I’m sending you back to Earth to find out how and why you died.

You don’t know?

"There’s been a little glitch in recordkeeping and you’re going to help us with that.

A little glitch? I'd say so, I gazed down at the blood on my skirt and the heel torn off my shoe. I tried to flick off the stain, but it was ingrained in the fabric.So that’s my mission? You’re sending me back to Earth and I’ll be alive again?

Not exactly. You’ll still be dead.

I considered the pros and cons. If I was going to be helping him, no reason why I couldn’t request a few essentials. I suppose that’s better than nothing, and I hope I’m not being too bold, but could you give me a new body and something better to wear?

"Of course. Did you have something in mind? A Lady Gaga look alike or maybe a super model?

Hmm…No, I want my own body, just new and revised. I’ve never been able to lose those last few pounds, and I’d for sure never be able to afford this in real life—but what about an Anne Klein with one of those cute jacket coats that’s longer than the skirt—you know the Boy Met Girl thing that I can wear with tons of mascara? Maybe belted with a patent leather flower?

He snapped his fingers and a full-length mirror appeared in front of me. I looked ten pounds thinner, and now wore a new teal-colored silk suit much too fancy for my teaching salary. Another snap of his fingers and he’d coiffed my usually unruly red hair into the latest fashion.

Very nice, and I hope you don’t think I’m too bossy, but what about my stilettos?

Your what?

My shoes. Manolo Blahnik’s are probably too much to ask for, but what about a nice pair of Maria Lya with the extra pointy toe. Better make those half a size larger. The heel’s torn off one of mine, and I must have lost the other somewhere between here and Earth. I’ll need a whole new pair.

He snapped his fingers again and when I looked down I wore a pair of sexy knee-high Blahnik boots with stiletto heels.

As much as I hated to say it, because they were beautiful, I had to. I appreciate your effort, Brinkley, but I don’t think boots are going to work. It’s too hot in Florida to wear them. I pointed down to Earth.

He snapped his fingers again and I wore a pair of sleek, classy, leather dress pumps with a stylish stiletto heel.

I admired my feet. These will do nicely. And they’ll make my legs look terrific, too. Thanks.

He sniffed and rolled his eyes. I don’t see what it matters. No one’s going to see you unless they want to.

So you’re saying I’ll be invisible? You’re sending me back as a—a ghost?

You could call yourself a ghost. I prefer a special otherworldly investigator with certain powers. And before I forget— He snapped his fingers again and a bell hung from a little charm bracelet on my wrist. Ring the bell to get their attention if they don’t hear or see you, and just squeeze the little flower next to it to dispense jasmine. The smell is known to attract mortals.

You said otherworldly investigator with certain powers.What powers did you mean, or is it just the bell and the smell?

Oh, no. There’s more. You’ll be able to transport yourself a lot faster than mortals, and you’ll be very creative about how to fix things between people. Your family and best friend are going to need a lot of help in that area. The people closest to you will be very hurt once they find out you’re dead.

As if I knew anything about investigating a murder, let alone helping my family and best friend. Especially in my current state. I could tell from the tone of his voice and the firm set of his jaw that my objections weren’t going to cut any ice with Brinkley.

I gazed up, looking for a glimpse of the Pearly Gates. Nothing. Nada. To get anywhere near them, I’d have to do well on this assignment. Of that, I was sure. That’s a lot of pressure on a neophyte investigator, but I took a deep breath and tried to look confident. Inside, whatever was in there felt like jelly.

Then, out of nowhere, he says, Music and dancing will help.

I must have given a totally confused look because he added, Don’t worry. All things will come to you as you need them. Just don’t get romantically involved with the deputy in charge of your case.

Why not? He had to know that when somebody told me not to do something, I just wanted to do it even more.

Brinkley cleared his throat. Because it’s forbidden, that’s why.

My cloud trembled—or maybe that was just me—reacting to the stern sound of his voice. Okay, no ogling the deputy, I reminded myself.

He also pointed down to a flaming place below Earth and mentioned something about an evil force that might try to intervene, but I wasn’t really listening, I was trying to eyeball an angel—a really cute guy who reminded me of Freddie Prinze, Junior—who happened to be flying past in the other direction. By the time I snapped to, Brinkley was staring at me, waiting for me to answer.

Even though I had no idea what I was talking about, I said, Evil force, umm hmm, I can handle those.

Good. Then I guess you’re ready.

Before I could answer, I felt myself floating down through the clouds. It happened so fast, you’d think it’d be stressful, but it wasn’t. It felt sort of like being inside a little capsule where I heard soft music and my hair didn’t even blow around. Much better than going up. Or maybe it was because Brinkley was with me.

An instant later or so, I really couldn’t tell because I wasn’t used to supernatural travel time yet, we stood by a mangled car half-wrapped around a tree. I recognized it as my own—the car, not the tree.

In life, I at least had the power to speak and be heard—and I had the power to send kids to the principal’s office. Now, I had neither. I was at the mercy of people. According to Brinkley, people had to want to see and hear me for my presence to be known. After some of the messes I’d gotten myself into down here, how likely was that? And I didn’t think a bell and a lot of jasmine would do it either. Knowing full well this wasn’t going to be an easy assignment, off I went.

For starters, I looked at the tree my car hit. I examined the gashes on the trunk and the drooping branches, trying to pretend I knew what I was looking for, and how to figure out why and how I’d died. Brinkley hadn’t exactly given me many details about what had happened to me. He must have thought it would do me good to find out for myself. I always was an adventuresome type, but I wasn’t sure if I was up to this.

Standing with my hands on my hips for greatest dramatic effect, I said, What a mess. My convertible’s all smashed up.

It’s one thing to look at someone else who’s dead. Especially if you don’t know the person. Looking at my dead body made me feel sick. I gulped and thought I might cry, but I didn't seem to have any tears. Still, I hiccupped a couple of times and my shoulders bounced up and down with grief. I felt really sad at what I saw.

There's so much blood on my face and chest and I'm not breathing, I told Brinkley.

I gazed down and saw my green suit all ripped and torn and my face with gashes and blood all over it. In life, my hair had been as rebellious as the hard head it covered. If it stayed the way Brinkley had fixed it, I’d never have a bad hair day again. I took a deep breath and congratulated myself. At least death had some compensations. And maybe if I kept joking, I wouldn’t feel so terrible about all this.

Here comes the deputy now, Brinkley said. His name is Daniel Keely. He's just about to find you.

I saw Brinkley's disembodied hand point to a familiar byway that curved around the Gulf of Mexico. I gazed down Shore Haven Road and saw the sheriff's white car approaching. The driver pulled to a stop opposite my vehicle. A man in a dark green uniform got out, and headed in our direction. I liked the way he walked with a quiet economy of effort, full of confidence. Pretty cute. I found myself gawking at the man.

It's okay to admire him from afar, as long as you're sizing him up for a friend, Brinkley said.

Of course, of course. Only from afar. Umm-hmm. Where is he from? I felt ashamed Brinkley had caught me. How pitiful. Dead and still looking. Was this maybe the result of that evil force my otherworldly guide had mentioned? It sure felt like it

He's a sheriff's deputy in your hometown. As I recall, that's next to Venice—as in Florida, not Italy. And this is your local beach.

Correct. And here’s something for you to contact me with in case you need help. Just open the case and it dials me in directly. He handed me a pink plastic phone.

Before I could say goodbye, the air swirled around us, and Brinkley faded away. Although I wanted to shout a hundred questions about what to do and how, by then he'd disappeared. On my own now, eerie and lonely feelings filled me up. but I told myself to make the best of it. I had Deputy Keely and he had me. And I had a bell and a flower and a cell phone that connected me straight to Brinkley.

I shoved the phone into my pocket and glided forward until I found myself standing next to Deputy Dan Keely, or so his name tag read. His boyish face reminded me of my high school boyfriend, so that was reassuring. He also had red hair. We redheads have to stick together, Deputy. That was me over there. Now I'm an investigator in training or something. My name's Sydney. I shook my wrist and the bell gave out with a nice little tinkle.

He paid no attention and walked over to my car. I peered at the muscular deputy. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and had a great tan. Something flickered deep in his eyes as he gazed down at my dead body. He probably never let that kind of thing show when he was with the other guys in the department.

That's good. You can feel things. You're not all closed off like some guys. I squeezed the flower a couple of times. That had about as much effect on him as the bell did.

He was going to be one tough customer. That made me wonder if I was up to this mission. If I wasn't, I'd never see the Pearly Gates.

Chapter 2

On the beach with the moon shining down, Deputy Keely leaned over and looked more closely at the blood on my face and body. It was a gentle look, if there is such a thing, a look that said, too bad you had to die so young.

Yes, isn’t it? I sobbed for a while over that. This being dead thing wasn’t going to be easy either. Time to get to work. My mom always said that work overcame grief. I hoped she knew what she was talking about.

I turned my attention to him. The poor guy. He must have lost somebody important to him, or maybe he was new to the department, and hadn't been hardened yet to such developments. That might not be so good for me, especially if he was just learning about detective work. In my present state, my ability to affect things investigative registered zero on my mental crime-o-meter.

He shook his head at my bloodied body, then spoke into a radio attached to his shoulder, reporting my car crash and our location. He radioed for an ambulance, even though both of us knew I was dead, or at least the physical me. A hundred ambulances couldn't help that.

I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder. I heard it wasn't an accident. What do you think? If he couldn't feel my hand, maybe he could hear me.

He leaned forward and listened.

Do you hear something? Probably just me. I think I’ll be crying a lot for a while.

Maybe I could find out about my death just by tagging along with him. This learning to be a crime investigator was going to be mostly trial-and-error—and error, and error.

About then I decided to keep things formal between us and call him Deputy Keely or the deputy. It just seemed a little presumptuous to call him by his first name when we hadn't even been introduced.

I listened in on him on the radio talking to his supervisor. Traffic accidents belong to the Highway Patrol, but I think I can handle it with another deputy.

Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. I'll start the investigation and turn it over to HP when they arrive. He tightened his jaw and looked pissed. Probably because he wasn’t in total charge. It's a redhead thing.

He didn't let the fact the HP would be coming by stop him from proceeding on his own. That's a redhead thing, or maybe it’s just me, but I’m the same way. He took a camera out of his vehicle and took pictures of my physical body from every angle imaginable.

A dark cloud swirled in my direction. Out of the swirling mass, a mouth appeared. Don’t let him take your picture. Your hair’s not even combed. Stop him.

I stared up at the ugly cloud. Who are you, some kind of fashion monster?

Whatever it was didn’t answer, just swirled away. Must have been that evil force Brinkley told me about.

I turned back to my charge, Deputy Keely. Don’t you see that cloud? You better watch out, this is going to be some case. By the way, do you ride a motorcycle? You look the type. Kind of rough and tumble and like the excitement of the open road? No? Maybe you’re too neat and tidy for that. Give me a clue what you like, will you? Myself, it's popcorn and old movies, and dancing in the moonlight. At least it used to be.

Sirens whined in the distance and he headed back to his car. A Florida Highway Patrol vehicle pulled up, followed by an ambulance, and a fire truck. Two patrol officers got out of their car and examined the dead me. I sneaked over to listen.

A young woman with messy hair and a stern look on her face jumped down from the ambulance. I guess I'd look that way too, if I was driving from disaster to disaster. She ran over to my body to check my pulse and verify, that yes, I was dead.

I shook my wrist and squirted some jasmine around, but to no avail. Please be careful, will you? I said to a tall patrolman with a mustache and the smell of cigarettes about him who put on a pair of latex gloves to check the pockets of my jacket. I didn't like him rummaging through my clothes. It didn’t seem right.

The patrolman picked up the purse lying next to my dead body, and deposited my compact, driver's license, comb, some change, and a set of keys in an evidence bag. I stared at him. What are you going to do with that? Aren’t you making assumptions here? I used to watch CSI, you know.

Send all of this to the lab to be tested, Mr. Tall Patrolman said. Who knows what caused her to ram into that tree. For all we know, somebody put something into her cosmetics.

What would somebody put something in my cosmetics, and what would they put in there--poison, or maybe some kind of virus that clouded my brain so I banged into a tree? I had no idea, and I bet he didn’t either.

By then I’d realized I could say whatever I wanted and do whatever I wanted to and no one cared. The downside was I was pretty much talking to myself. Sooner or later somebody’d have to believe in me, and then I could have a conversation again. Until then, I’d keep trying. I was nothing if not persistent. Every once in a while, I choked up about my current state and sobbed for a while.

Deputy Keely leaned forward again. You guys hear something?

They shrugged.

Sounds like crying, but it’s coming from far away. Did this woman have a baby? That’s what it sounds like—a baby crying.

The tall patrolman grinned. We don’t hear nothing, Deputy. He gave the other officers a look as if to say, this guy’s not all here.

I don’t hear a baby, I said to the deputy. Maybe you’re hearing me. Gosh, I sure wish you would.

Somebody take a good look in the car and search the water. Two officers went off to do what the deputy requested.

A short patrolman with an annoyed look on his face watched while Deputy Keely bagged my stuff. Above him, the evil cloud swirled. I could almost see that cloud putting ideas into the patrolman’s head. The next thing I knew, I heard him say, You watch too much TV. She rammed into a tree, maybe even on purpose. Case closed.

Don’t listen to him. He’s under the influence of that black cloud. I'd never kill myself. Then again, maybe my life had taken a turn for the worse, and I'd thought that was my only out. I made a mental note to check into my history before I died.

That's not the only possibility, Deputy Keely said. She could have fallen asleep at the wheel or maybe she tried to help the baby.

Thank you, Deputy, for being on my side. I did feel a little woozy, but I sure didn’t have a baby with me.

When they finished, two paramedics took my body out of my car, set me down on a gurney, and did a quick exam. The woman looked at my arms for track marks, and sniffed around my mouth.

I didn't take drugs or drink any alcohol, so don’t go off on that tangent.

Even after ringing my bell a few times, the young woman ignored me and put a sheet over my body. At least they didn't put me in a body bag.

Deputy Keely came to talk to her and she told him, The patrolman says take her to Sarasota General. They have a cold storage area there until the ME can see her.

Cold storage and worse. I did not want to see any medical examiner, either. They worked in chilled rooms, dissecting people.

Deputy Keely stepped back to let the patrolman take over the examination of the car crash. I suspected my physical me was on my way to be declared dead. I planned to stay with the deputy and follow his investigation. He seemed a lot nicer than the other people, but I still had to find a way to get his attention. This would go a lot smoother if he could hear me. Seeing me and that evil cloud would be even better, but when you're dead—come to think of it even when you're alive—you can't have everything.

I scooted up to Deputy Keely and watched him stare at the skid marks on the pavement. The patrolmen leaned near my car, taking measurements.

Something went wrong and I couldn't step on the brakes, I said to him. Please try to hear me.

The deputy eyed the patrolmen who measured the black smudges along the road and took even more photos.

Doesn't look like foul play, does it? I said.

One of the patrolmen examined the outside of my car, probably trying to find evidence I'd been pushed off the road. I've watched a few Perry Mason movies on TV in my time so I'm not completely ignorant of these things.

The deputy walked over to one of the patrolmen who searched through my glove compartment.

I glided forward and thought about tripping one of them to get their attention, but I restrained myself. Looking for Homer's name to notify next of kin that I’m not coming tonight--or any other night? Don't bother calling my husband. He won't be there. And please watch out for my silk scarf, it was a present from my Aunt Jean and has a lot of sentimental value.

Deputy Keely bid the patrolman adieu, got into his car, and started his engine. Right behind him, I stepped through the side of his car and took the passenger seat.

When we pulled up to a stoplight, I tried to get his attention again. If I'm going to do this job right, I have to be able to talk to you. You’re sitting right next to me---let’s share information, talk a bit. Decide where the investigation should go.

Deputy Keely pulled away from the stoplight with not so much as a glance in my direction.

Okay then, I’ll do it on my own. I had no idea what I was doing, but I squeezed my eyes shut and pictured my house. The next thing I knew, I stood inside the kitchen.

For starters, I looked at the tree my car slammed into. I examined the gashes on the trunk and the drooping branches, trying to pretend I knew what to look for, and how to figure out why and how I’d died. Brinkley hadn’t exactly given me many details about what had happened to me. He must have thought it would do me good to find out for myself. I’d always been an adventuresome type, but being dead and an investigator might just be too much for me to handle.

Standing with my hands on my hips for greatest dramatic effect, I said, What a mess. My convertible’s all smashed up.

It’s one thing to look at someone else who’s dead. Especially if you don’t know the person. Looking at my own dead body made me feel sick. I gulped and thought I might cry, but I still didn't have any tears. Still, I hiccupped a couple of times and my shoulders bounced up and