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MARGE
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AS MARGE HAD FEARED, Fortune and the girls had already left by the time she arrived at the house with Cootie and her reinforcement, Headless Rob.
“We’re too late.”
“For what, exactly?” Headless Rob’s invisible face asked. “Perhaps now you can tell me why you need my services.”
“I was hoping you could get a message through to one of my more sensitive friends.”
Headless smiled. “I am very skilled with making myself visible to ‘sensitives.’ How I love to make them scream.”
Sensitives were those people who were more attuned to ghostly energy. Marge knew it had been a longshot. Gertie was no medium like Barb, but she appeared to be the one who picked up on Marge’s energy the most. As a girl, Gertie had seen her own granddaddy’s spirit several times after he was dead.
Marge threw up her hands. “But they’ve already gone.”
“Bejabbers, wench, let’s just zip on over to her.”
Marge averted her eyes.
“Oh rot. You’re an inexperienced ghost. Normally I’d pop us all over there, but I have no connection to her. Without an exact location...” Headless threw his hands in the air and walked toward Marge’s house, muttering the word “amateur” to the ghost parrot sitting atop his shoulder.
“What now?” asked Cootie.
They heard a car honk as Barb pulled over to the curb in her 1963 Rambler. She got out and held up Cloris, her puppet, which covered her right hand. “I don’t want anyone to see me talking to thin air,” she explained, directing her words to Cloris.
“News flash,” Marge said. “Talking to a puppet is nuttier than talking to thin air.”
Barb ignored her swipe. “What Cootie said made me realize something. I see ghosts because I’m talented. You had to die to see ghosts. Therefore, I win. Ha-ha.”
“You came over here to tell me that?”
“No. And I’m not calling the cops because I don’t think Redneck killed Cootie. He’s too stupid to plan something elaborate. But I will tell Gertie and Ida Belle about Redneck and the lottery ticket. Man shouldn’t profit from another man’s numbers.”
Barb launched into a diatribe against the evils of cheating. Marge interrupted her. “You just want to score some points with Ida Belle and Gertie and maybe they’ll ask you to join the SLS.”
Barb stammered in protest. “That never crossed my mind.”
“Like hell it didn’t, but you’re too late. They’re gone.”
“Another thing I can do that you can’t. Ha-ha.” Barb whipped her phone from her purse and punched in a number. “Gertie’s not picking up. Where’d they go?”
“Mudbug Mini-Mart to ask if they know who won the million bucks.”
“Oh crud. And I bet they took the back road.” Marge nodded. “The cell reception’s so spotty there.” Barb gestured to her car. “Get in. We need to find them quick, so I can get back before my prune juice kicks into gear.”
Marge looked at her car with skepticism. “No disrespect... A Rambler?”
“My daddy ran moonshine way back when. He had a need for speed and that never left him. Let’s just say his old Rambler has been... modified.”
She scurried toward the car. Cootie followed. Marge spotted Headless Rob leaning halfway inside her house.
“Rob, we have wheels. Come on.”
Marge rode shotgun. Cootie and Headless sat in the back. Barb started the engine.
“Okay,” Marge said, listening to the Rambler’s engine roar. “I’m impressed.”
Barb glanced back before pulling out and let out a bloody scream. “What the hell is that?”
Headless Rob chuckled. “You’ve probably heard of me. Headless Rob the pirate. Ghost Hunters featured me in a special Halloween episode.”
Barb glared at Marge. “I’m not driving with his bloody, severed neck in my back seat.”
Marge turned and looked at him. “Think you could put your head back on? Just for today?”
Rob sighed (at least Marge heard a sigh). Seconds later, he appeared as a complete man. Quite handsome, in a Ryan Gosling way. No blood. No gore spilling over his neck. “This is how I appeared a day before my beheading. Satisfied?”
“And keep it on,” Barb said as she peeled away from the curb.