Baffled at the Burial: Extra-Ordinary Midlife Mysteries

CHAPTER 1

S he’s impossible to live with. She barely makes eye contact with me. Do you know how difficult it is to have a conversation with someone who won’t look at you? No, I guess you wouldn’t.

I heard his voice as I poured my first cup of coffee.

I suppose she’s a good person and all. She helps everyone. Everyone else, that is. She’s a demanding perfectionist with me, though. Did I tell you about the mouse?

I froze. Lex was talking about me.

Okay, get this. I’m sitting there on the couch, relaxing after a really rough day, and Connie comes running into the room carrying on about a mouse that ran through the kitchen. Yes, you heard me, a mouse. Just one of those little field mice. She wanted me to take care of it! I asked what she meant by ‘take care of it,’ like to keep it as a pet or something? I thought that was pretty funny, but she didn’t. She claimed it was my job, and I needed to kill it quickly. Then she added something about it being in my nature! She basically called me a killer, a murderer. Harsh.

No, he definitely was not a killer of mice.

When I refused, she got all huffy about it. Said something about me not earning my keep. Then, get this, she went and did it herself! She’s the killer.

It wasn’t as dramatic as Lex was making it out to be. I’d gotten a few mouse traps and set them up around the kitchen. I wasn’t freaking out about it. He was right. It was just a tiny field mouse. But where there’s one, there’s more, and since I was serving food, the health inspector would be coming around. I couldn’t have mice, or their droppings, in the kitchen. The little thing had to go.

It only took one night, and the next day I checked the traps. The poor guy was stuck to the glue and trying desperately to get free. I knew better than to look, but I couldn’t help myself. My empathy kicked in, and I felt sorry for the wretched thing and begged Lex, again, to just take care of it. Put it out of its misery. Instead, rather than stepping up and being helpful, or attempting to carry his own weight, he refused to do anything. So I had no choice.

She put it in the trash!

He was right. I threw the whole contraption away. The poor mouse died in the trash can. I wanted to set him free, but Joe convinced me, rightly so, that he would only come back. And most likely bring his friends and family, assuming they weren’t already there. Plus, it was unlikely I could get his little foot unstuck without harming him further.

It was business, but it changed my relationship with Lex right then and there. His presence was already uncomfortable, what with the talking and everything. That was something I was still getting used to. Then, after refusing to help with the one little thing that he could easily have taken care of, I felt I was truly on my own.

While that was pretty bad, there’s more. I’m not allowed on the kitchen table and she won’t let me scratch the sofa. I can’t walk on the countertops. She’s so controlling. No! You know what she is? She’s an ass-.

Lex! I yelled his name as I flung the backdoor wide open. A little grey cat startled at my sudden appearance and then darted away, glancing back once before scrambling under the fence.

You ran her off! Now what am I supposed to do? A guy’s got needs, you know.

I sputtered. My mouth was open, and I wanted to retort, but my brain froze. I made a few incoherent grunts, then threw up my hands as I turned my back on Lex and his disgusting needs.

My coffee was cooling, and I took a long sip as I sat at the kitchen table, trying to calm down. This room of the Queen Anne house had been one of my favorites from the day I moved in. The sunny yellow walls were a bit faded, but the trim was still a crisp, glossy white. A long wooden table ran down the center of the room, providing additional counter space when needed and a comfortable place to sit otherwise. The refrigerator, dishwasher, and stove were bright red and looked like something from the 1950s. Actually, they were modern, high-quality appliances.

Recently, my friends and I traveled from our home in Charleston to Detroit to attend a conference designed to bring together intuitives, seers, psychics and mediums from around the world. That trip, from Charleston to Detroit and finally to this house, was life-changing. Through a series of otherworldly events, set into motion centuries ago, I ultimately inherited this house from the previous owner. It was shocking, to say the least. I didn’t know her, wasn’t related to her, and really didn’t like her. Yet here I sat, sipping coffee in the kitchen of my late 1800s Queen Anne-style house in a sleepy suburb of Detroit. My best friends, Tawny and Samantha, and my adult children, were still in Charleston. All I had to keep me company was the ghost of my husband.

And of course, I’d also inherited Lex, the talking daemon cat.

The coffee worked its magic, and my blood pressure and perspective returned to normal. Joe floated in and sat across from me. He was the last piece of the puzzle. His presence grounded me.

Did you hear all that? I waved my hand towards the back door.

He nodded.

He’s so gross.

Joe nodded again.

He’s a daemon stuck in the body of a cat, Connie. He’s probably exactly how he’s supposed to be. It can’t be easy for him.

He was right. Lex had been an invaluable asset when the original owner of the home died. He was sure and steady, guiding all of us through the many adventures the recently haunted house threw at us. He always had answers, and we always seemed to have questions.

And he was patient with each one of us. At first, Tawny hated him. We couldn’t figure out why, and assumed she simply didn’t like cats. Then he started talking. After a few nervous break-downs and frantic scrambles to get away from him, we realized he was a lot more than just a cat. Tawny had sensed it from the beginning.

Once she fully understood what he was, she explained a daemon is not the same thing as a demon and that Lex was neither good nor bad. He just was. And really, when you think about it, he’s no different from any of us. We’re all a combination of good and bad. The challenging part of Lex was, and still is, the talking part. There’s just something about seeing a cat’s mouth move and words come out. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully be okay with it.

You’re right, Joe. I need to lighten up. He needs to vent, too. And he doesn’t have anyone other than us for company. I see how he must feel. It hurts nothing for him to have friends outside of the house. I’ll apologize.

Now’s your chance. Joe motioned towards the door.

Lex was leaning against the doorjamb, one back leg sticking straight up, leaving all his bits and pieces on full display. He sat up slowly when he saw me looking at him. He shook his entire body and small grey and white hairs flew in all directions, drifting through the air and eventually settling on the recently swept kitchen floor.

Despite my irritation, I still intended to follow through with the apology, but I didn’t get the chance.

Locking eyes with me, Lex casually sauntered away. Before he left the room, he muttered the name he started to call me earlier.

Assassin.

CHAPTER 2

My chair almost tipped over as I pushed away from the table and jumped up. Lex’s claws scrambled on the wood as he darted away. I ran after him with no idea what I was going to do when and if I caught him. Still, I chased the twenty-two pound, grey and white tuxedo cat through the stately house.

The combination of vibration and ringing in my pocket slowed me down. I glanced at the cellphone but didn’t recognize the number.

Hello? I was out of breath and tried not to pant into the phone.

Is this Connie Keyes? With the bed-and-breakfast place?

I hesitated. How did this person hear about me? I wasn’t advertising at all. In fact, I still wasn’t sure I would go ahead with the business. If I did, I’d need to decide on a name. The bed-and-breakfast place would not cut it.

There was something about the voice on the other. I felt compelled to see who she was and why she was calling.

Yes, how can I help you?

My name is Faith Gardner. I’ll be in town on Wednesday and need a place to stay for a few nights. I stumbled across your website and thought I’d check. Do you have anything available? I know it’s short notice.

Darn! The website must still be up from when Gladys ran the place. I’d have to take care of that immediately.

The other issue wasn’t so easy. Technically, everything was available, except for me. I’d been actively delaying an official opening, not entirely certain I wanted to run a bed-and-breakfast. Still, the only way to know was to jump in and do it. Starting with this one person seemed easy enough and a few nights were do-able. It was time to get my feet wet and start this business.

The past several months had been lazy and relaxing. I definitely had needed the time to recover from the series of events that brought me to this amazing old house in a Detroit suburb. And plenty of time is exactly what I’d gotten. In fact, I’d gotten so much, I was restless and bored.

I needed to work. While I was doing okay with the insurance money from Joe’s death, I still had the house in Charleston and two young adult children to think about. I needed and wanted an income of my own. My brief stint at the real estate agency in Charleston, brokering relationships between the ghosts who haunted houses and the people who wanted to live in those houses, gave me a sense of purpose and confidence. I missed that feeling.

Yes, I do. Wednesday, right? How long will you be here?

Faith Gardner sighed heavily, then paused.

I waited for several beats while she found the words she wanted to use. I sensed something intense was on her mind.

Finally, she said, I don’t really know. I have to go to a funeral on Saturday and then, I’m not sure. Can I leave it open-ended? I don’t think more than a week, but maybe less.

A funeral. That explained the sense I was getting from her. She was mourning.

Of course we can do that. You stay as long as you need to. Let me get your information.

I finished taking her details and completed the reservation. As we chatted about various things, she opened up and shared more about the reason for her visit.

The funeral was for her brother, Mason.

We weren’t close, though. After our parents died, we drifted. He lived with the Arches. Do you know that family?

No, I’ve not been here very long. I don’t know many people yet.

Faith explained that her parents died in a car accident when she was fourteen. There were no family members willing to take the brother and sister. But as luck would have it, the Arch family provided Mason with something only great wealth can manage. Strings were pulled, money was donated, and the Arches adopted Mason and raised him as Wilson Arch’s brother. Mason and Wilson were best friends before the accident and became even closer as they grew up together, surrounded by opulence and luxury.

I wasn’t so lucky, Faith added.

I picked up the resentment in her voice and couldn’t say I blamed her. It was a heartbreaking story, and I strongly suspected there was a lot more to it than she was likely to tell me, at least over the phone.

While I got that sense, I didn’t want to push or pry. She was a stranger and my role was simply to be a delightful hostess. At least for now.

My confidence as a business owner and apparent ghost whisperer was growing, but my confidence as an intuitive empath and psychic was seriously lagging. I’d always been able to sense things and I could see patterns where others saw nothing.

As I was growing up, my family often made fun of me. Even as an adult, Joe would tease,