A Ghostly Reunion by Tonya Kappes

Author:Tonya Kappes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-12-27T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

“Lawzy bee.” Granny scooted to the edge of the chair and lifted her arms in the air like she was in Sunday morning worship at Sleepy Hollow Baptist and she just got the spirit or something. But we weren’t sitting in church, we were in Charlotte Rae’s office.

I sucked in a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever was going to come out of Granny’s mouth. She’d been a ball of Southern spitfire the entire way here. Quite frankly, I was surprised I even got her here. Especially with the repass happening tomorrow. She had a lot of food to prepare.

“Please, please, please let me die before anything happens to Emma Lee.” Her body slipped down the fancy, high-back mahogany leather chair as she fell to her knees with her hands clasped together, bringing them back up in the pleading-to-the-big-guy-in-the-sky motion. “I’m begging you.”

“Are you nuts?” My voice faded into a hushed stillness. I glanced back at the door, in fear Charlotte Rae would walk in seeing Granny acting up. “You just need to remember why we are here. Sign the papers so I can keep the sideboard.”

I sat in the other fancy, high-back mahogany leather chair next to Granny’s and grabbed her by the loose skin of her underarm. “Get back up on this chair before Charlotte Rae gets back in here.”

“What?” Granny quirked her eyebrows questioningly. “I do want to die before something happens to you. I can’t imagine my corpse being in a big ole place like this.”

“That is exactly why I need her to sign the papers. If she has any stake in Eternal Slumber when you croak, she will try to move your body. I’m telling you.” I had resorted to using scare tactics with Granny. “We aren’t here to talk about your death. So focus, Granny.” I gave her the two-finger gesture pointing between our eyes. “Tell Charlotte to sign the papers.”

“Well, I ain’t lying! I do hope and pray you are the granddaughter that will be doing my funeral, unless you get a flare-up of the ‘Funeral Trauma.’” She sucked in a deep breath and got up off her knees. She ran her bony fingers down the front of her cream sweater to smooth out any wrinkles so she’d be presentable like a good Southern woman—apparently forgetting she was just on her knees begging for mercy a second ago.

I was glad she at least dumped the gown and looked a bit normal.

“Flare-up?” I sighed with exasperation. “It’s not like arthritis.”

The “Funeral Trauma.”

“I’m fine,” I huffed, and took the pamphlet off Charlotte Rae’s desk, keeping my gift to myself.

“You are not fine.” Granny rolled her eyes. “People are still going around talking about how you talk to yourself.” She shook her finger at me. “If you don’t watch it, you are going to be committed. Surrounded by padded walls. Then . . .” She jabbed her finger on my arm. I swatted her away with the pamphlet. “Charlotte Rae will have full control over my dead body and I don’t want someone celebrating a wedding while my corpse lies in the next room.

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