Optimal Delusions (Wayward Spirits Cozy Mysteries Book 1)(Paranormal Women's Midlife Fiction)

Optimal Delusions AMBER FISHER Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Find out what happens next… Thanks for reading! Copyright Chapter One They say a woman never forgets her wedding night. I’m living proof that that’s wrong, but then again, I don’t remember my wedding day either. And not for a fun reason like I drank too much champagne or something. It’s just that my memory isn’t what it used to be. It’s not leave-the-stove-on-before-going-to-work bad or anything like that. It’s more of the When did I buy this giraffe necklace and was I drunk at the time? variety. On the one hand, it can be a bit of hassle never knowing where I left my keys or why I have an unopened bottle of tartar sauce in my purse. On the other hand, they say the key to a happy life is good health and a short memory, so at least I have that going for me. I glanced at the clock and cursed under my breath. It was already quarter to five, and I was hoping to surprise Nathan at the office before he left for the day. We had agreed to meet at the restaurant for dinner, saving Nathan the rush-hour drive home. But what husband doesn’t like when his wife shows up at the office dressed to the nines? I’m not a trophy wife, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m no schlub. I clean up nicely. It was something I admired about myself, even if some people thought it made me a bad feminist. I sighed, balling my hands into fists at my sides. Time was tick, tick, ticking by, and here I was gloating over the fact that I hadn’t let myself go over the years. Now isn’t the time for your silly vanity. Get it together, Temperance! I scolded myself for my conceit but as I pushed away my smugness, the hole left behind quickly filled with distress. I hated being late. Tardiness wasn’t something I tolerated well in others, and I certainly expected better of myself. Anxiety welled in my throat, but I breathed through it, forcing it into place. Panicking over a few lost minutes wouldn’t help me find my shoes any faster. I got down on my knees and checked under the bed. No dice. I cursed under my breath in between dust-mite induced sneezes and was crawling over to the closet when my phone rang. I sneezed one last time before answering. “I can’t really talk right now, Lindsay,” I said. “I’m late for dinner with Nathan. I can’t find my shoes.” My sister snapped her gum on the other end. “The black Louboutins?” I nodded, rummaging through the piles of clothes heaped on the floor of my closet. “Yes. Nathan says they make my calves look like Michelangelo carved them from marble.” “Well, they do distract from your cankles, that’s true. Anyway, you loaned them to me, remember? For Janna’s outdoor baby shower thing. I didn’t want to ruin mine. She didn’t even check the forecast. Who does that? Anyway, I thought you said you were weaning yourself off human torture devices. You know, because of feminism.” “I don’t think I ever said that,” I said, though it did sound like something I might say, whether or not I believed it. “Tempe, you gave away all your high heeled shoes to the women’s shelter, like, two months ago. Don’t you remember? You said—” “I remember,” I said, rolling my eyes at Past Me, who was clearly not thinking about what she would wear to The Ritz to seduce her husband on their anniversary. Although I did applaud her determination if not her foresight. “At any rate, I need them for tonight.” I glanced forlornly at the remaining shoes in my closet, none of which made my calves resemble a Michelangelo masterpiece. “Now what am I going to do?” Lindsay snapped her gum again. “Why, what’s tonight?” “Anniversary dinner,” I said. “Fifth anniversary. That’s an important one. We’re spending the weekend at The Ritz downtown.” Lindsay whistled into the phone. “So you’re doing it, huh? Recreating the wedding night you can’t remember? I think it’s cute,” she said with a giggle. “I mean, it’s kinda lame, but it’s cute, like in an old people way.” I narrowed my eyes at a pair of black Jimmy Choo flats older than my five-year marriage. “Thirty-five isn’t even middle-aged,” I said. “It’s hardly old. Anyway, I really can’t talk, Linds. What did you want?” “Mom wants to know if you’re coming this weekend.” I slipped the flats onto my feet and frowned. They looked dreadful. Not even cute in an old people way. “Why, what’s this weekend?” Lindsay was quiet for a beat. Then she said, “You know what you should do, Tempe? Since you can’t remember, like, anything? You should sign up for one of those services that, like, monitors your calendar and sends you reminders and stuff. If anyone needs that, it’s you.” I bit down on my lip, wracking my brain for what could possibly be happening this weekend. It wasn’t Mom’s or Dad’s birthday. It wasn’t their anniversary. And the only holiday coming up was Easter, and let’s face it, we weren’t exactly the church-going types. I gave up with a sigh. “Linds, I really have to go. I’m so late. What’s this weekend?” My sister sighed dramatically. “Buttercup’s wake.” I pulled myself to my feet and examined myself in the full-length mirror. From head to ankle, I looked fantastic in a little black Chanel dress I’d acquired just for the occasion. It was a shame I had to ruin it with sensible shoes. I blinked, my brain finally catching what my sister just said. “Buttercup died? Mom’s parrot?” I paused. “And they’re having a wake?” “I told you about it,” Lindsay