Dirge for the Departed (Paranormal Women's Midlife Fiction)(Tales of a Midlife Mortician, Book 3)

Dirge for the Departed TALES OF A MIDLIFE MORTICIAN BOOK 3 LISA MANIFOLD Contents Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve About the Author Also by Lisa Manifold Dedication To all the late bloomers out there. It’s always the perfect time to come into your power, to be exactly who you’re supposed to be. xoxo Prologue The Next Step in Hope Recovery House is pleased to present Lola Dempsey “Queen of Country Music” For One Night Only All proceeds benefit The Next Step in Hope Recovery House, Helping your friends, neighbors, and loved ones walk the path of sobriety. For tickets, please visit SummerofHopeHouse.com or the Ozarks Amphitheater. Don’t delay, these will sell out fast as seating is limited. See you there! Chapter One I smiled as Meredith and Fred Coney walked in. I could feel their eyes on me, on the front entryway, on everything. It was like having an unfriendly spotlight on me. I didn’t like it. And how dare they? I could sense their power, sense the harm they meant—but I would not give way. Game on, indeed. My hand crept up to the pendant I wore, the pendant that Mystic Dawn had enchanted for me to keep me safe from just the likes of the Coneys. “Would you like to come into one of our reception rooms?” I asked. Sissy came out from the back hallway. “Can I help with anything, Janey?” She gave the Coneys an innocent smile. “No, thank you,” I said, returning the smile. I could feel the tension in my face and knew from spending too much time in the mirror practicing my expressions—funeral directors had to master the look of detached empathy—that my lips were stretched tightly across my teeth. Meredith glanced at the pendant, and a frown flashed across her face. I let it go. She’d seen it. That was the purpose. Now it just needed to work. Because whatever their purpose in being here, the Coneys were not dropping in for tea and a chat. “Okay, well, give a holler if you do.” Another smile at the Coneys, this time more feral than polite, and Sissy pivoted on her heel. Good. I didn’t want her to garner any extra attention from the Coneys. I led the way to the smaller reception room, and then into the chapel in the cupola on the front, sliding the doors shut behind us. “What do you want?” I asked politely. I’d decided there was no sense in pretending. “We would like to get the old journal that Victoria had back from you,” Meredith. Her lips moved into a smile, but she was clearly having the same problem I was. It was fake as a three-dollar bill. “I don’t have it,” I said. They’d been expecting my denial. Meredith took a step closer to me. “Listen, I know it may seem like you are opening up a can of worms since you stole it from Victoria’s condo. But just give it back to us—it belongs to our organization—and we’ll make this all go away.” I shook my head, and, widening my eyes, looked the lying woman right in her face. “I don’t have it,” I said. “Victoria was talking about it in her dream. That’s it.” How did they know I had it? I’d only told them I’d seen it in a dream. Straightening my shoulders, I kept eye contact. These awful people would not cow me. I focused my thoughts on the pendant, on how it would repel those who wished to harm me. Meredith tilted her head, studying me. Fred contented himself with glaring. I think he was going for menacing, but he wasn’t menacing in any fashion. “Are you sure, Mrs. Whithaven?” Meredith’s voice lowered, softened, and it felt like she was all around me, although she hadn’t moved from where she stood. “I am,” I said, wanting to hold my breath. A silly move, but I knew she was trying to compel me, or make me say something I didn’t want to, regardless of the truth. Part of me wanted to give in, give her what she wanted. I mean, what could it hurt, right? The rest of me, however, the small part that watched this all unfolding—it was screaming. Don’t give her a thing! There was a spark at my chest, right where the pendant touched my skin. Like a little shock, a reminder. This was a spell, and I didn’t have to do what Meredith wanted me to. Because that part of me knew that if I said what she wanted, I signed my death warrant. I knew that as surely as I knew my name. These two did not like witnesses. I knew that already. And while they didn’t know what I knew, the idea of what I might know was more than enough, in their eyes. All this flashed through my brain before Meredith could speak again. When she did, her voice was even lower. More intimate. More… compelling. “Are you sure?” Inhaling deeply, I shook my head, clearing the fog that Meredith was sending my way. “I am completely, one-hundred percent sure. I do not have the book I saw in my dream.” And that was all I was willing to say. I didn’t want to give away anything. Not to this woman. She’d killed Carson Carruthers, without seeming to bat an eye. And tossed the body away, not caring that it would be found. Since the ghost of Carson Carruthers had come back to kill me, I took the whole matter of Carson kind of personally. There was no one who wouldn’t, I was sure. And I couldn’t stand the guy, and was delighted that John Henry, the detective who rented my garage apartment, who was also a witch, had sent Mr. Carson Carruthers to wherever it was nasty people like him went. That didn’t