“Hell’s bells,” I muttered as I let my head fall forward. The swirling grain in the oak of my kitchen table was far more interesting than the shouting gibberish that was echoing throughout the house.
The furious disagreement between the two powerful men made me wish I’d told everyone to go home.
“Just be happy no one is throwing lightning,” Candy Vargo whispered, picking her teeth with a toothpick.
I stared at her with my mouth open. I never knew if the woman was serious or just trying to screw with my head. “Is that an actual possibility?”
She winked. “Yep. You wearing rubber-soled shoes?”
“No,” I hissed under my breath. “I’m wearing my funeral freaking best. Tennis shoes don’t exactly go with dress clothes.”
Candy shrugged and grinned. Lifting up her leg, she showed me her ratty tennis shoes. “I beg to differ.”
It was truly horrifying that Candy Vargo, or rather Karma, was the Immortal in charge of fate. She was a hot mess of rude and some serious scary.
“I suppose you could duck,” she suggested with a chuckle.
Rolling my eyes, I was tempted to flip her off. However, tempting fate wasn’t a great plan. “Roger that,” I said and turned my attention back to the action I hoped wouldn’t take my house down.
The Grim Reaper and the highest-level Angel in existence fighting in a dead language wasn’t what I’d envisioned when I’d called the meeting of the Immortals in my kitchen. It had been a heck of a long day, between Gram’s funeral and over half the town in my home for the reception afterwards.
I was shocked as all get out that Bob Barker had shown up to pay his respects. He was Gram’s gameshow boyfriend. She’d seen every episode of The Price is Right ever made—at least twenty times. I’d worried that she’d be upset he wasn’t able to see her since she was dead, but Gram was just thrilled he came.
I wasn’t thrilled when I’d learned that Karma had made it happen. Owing the deadly disaster of a woman wasn’t my idea of a good time.
“You okay, Daisy?” Heather questioned quietly.
I smiled and shrugged. “Not sure I know the meaning of the word anymore.”
She gave my hand a quick squeeze and watched as the undecipherable argument grew more heated. With a reassuring glance, she moved to the kitchen counter and observed the disagreement with an emotionless expression on her lovely face. Having Heather here was a blessing. Until recently, I hadn’t known one of my best friends was the Immortal Arbitrator between Heaven and Hell. Now? I couldn’t be happier about it.
My head felt like it might explode. Gideon, aka the Grim Reaper, and Clarence, aka Michael the Archangel—who I’d secretly nicknamed John Travolta because of the movie Michael—had been arguing back and forth in Sumerian for an hour. I couldn’t understand a word. The ghosts had gotten bored and wandered away in search of a reality show to watch. Gram had stayed.
Gram had nodded off a few times and fell off of her chair, but in her defense, she’d had a big day. How often did one get to attend one’s own funeral as a ghost? Gram’s mid-service crash landing on top of her dead body in the casket she’d chosen to match her hair also wasn’t an everyday occurrence. However, it did make for an excellent story. Holding back my laughter was one of the most difficult things I’d done. I didn’t think having a Mary Tyler Moore slash Chuckles the Clown moment was a good idea, especially since there had been only a handful in attendance who could even see Gram’s ghost.
“Eat this,” Candy Vargo said, slapping down a plate in front of me at the kitchen table while the two men continued to debate. “Those nosey bitches who showed up left enough food to feed an army.”
Glancing down, I couldn’t quite understand what I was seeing. Candy was clearly as messy with her food as she was with her appearance. Potato salad was piled on top of the apple pie. Next to it sat a piece of fried chicken dangerously close to a large helping of banana pudding. The topper was the unidentifiable casserole with blueberries and ground beef in it.
It was all I could do not to gag.
“Umm… thanks,” I said. “Not hungry right now.”
“Try that,” Candy insisted, pointing her ever-present toothpick at the blueberry beef surprise. “Looks disgusting. I want to know if it tastes as bad as it looks.”