Whose Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway? by Robyn Peterman

Author:Robyn Peterman [Peterman, Robyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Robyn Peterman
Published: 2020-05-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“I’m nervous—like high school marching band on speed in my stomach nervous,” I told Heather, noticing a small tear on my purse and flipping it so the good side was showing.

If I had to keep meeting with people who were older than dirt, I was going to have to invest in a new purse. For the love of everything Southern, a forty-year-old woman should own at least one decent bag that wasn’t falling apart. I mentally noted that I needed to up my game or I was going to have to turn in my Southern Gal Card.

Our heels clicked on the highly polished hardwood floor as we made our way down the hallway of the law firm where we both used to be employed.

“Nerves are good,” Heather said. “Keeps you on your toes. Going in casual would be dangerous.”

“Well shit,” I muttered, grabbing her arm and halting her. “I have a few questions.”

“Make them quick,” Heather said, checking her watch.

“Do I look okay?”

Heather clinically examined me from head to toe. With a curt nod, she gave me a thumbs up. “You look like a gorgeous princess from the depths of Hell. All you’re missing are the red eyes, but your gold eyes are a nice angelic touch.”

“Umm… not exactly the look I was going for,” I said as my stomach roiled. A bumblebee might have been a better choice than a demon princess.

“Trust me, a princess all in black who talks to the dead and can take out a tree with a punch is a very good thing right now.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to calm my racing heart. “Am I supposed to speak during the meeting?”

“If you have something to say, then yes. Any more questions?”

“Yes, but I can’t think of any right now.”

Heather gave me a quick hug. “This is not the tribunal, Daisy. Steve’s afterlife is not on the line today. It’s more of an informational meeting.”

I nodded and took a deep breath.

“Wait,” I said as Heather began to walk again.

“One more question, Daisy,” she said. “Being late isn’t smart.”

“Got it,” I replied, feeling woozy about the words on the tip of my tongue. “Scott Macon was killed by bees. Did you know that?”

Heather’s pause was approximately seven seconds too long. “I did. Karma worked pretty fast on that one.”

My mouth hung open. I wanted to ask another question, but I didn’t want the answer. Scott Macon’s death, no matter how it happened, didn’t affect Steve’s afterlife or my job as the Death Counselor. Therefore, it should be none of my business. The evil man deserved to die after his vicious murder of Lindsay, in my opinion, but that was all it was—an opinion. I would never act on it. I felt ill that maybe Heather had. It made going into the meeting all the more terrifying.

I dealt with the dead. I helped them. I cared about them. I wasn’t the reason for their deaths.

“Oh,” Heather said, breezing right past Scott Macon’s demise without concern. “Candy Vargo will be in attendance.

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