“Mom? Mom!”

There are three moms in my daughter’s house that week, my two daughters, Nicole and Crystal, and me, Angie. In the days leading up to my 60th birthday, all three of us had learned to respond when “mom” or “mother” was spoken even when we had no idea whose child was the speaker.

“What do you want?” I mumble, twisting my neck so my head is out of the smothering pillow and facing her direction. The aroma of strong coffee floats into the room. Nicole stands in the threshold of the family room in a stupid fuzzy bathrobe with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.


“What do you need this time?” I sigh, eyeing that coffee.


I guess you could say I’m not a morning person.

Especially when Nicole puts her poor old mother on the lumpy pull out couch in the family room, just so her air head sister, Crystal, could have the full bed in the only guest bedroom. No, I am not a morning person.

“Mom!” There is tightness in her voice.

“Oh, come on. I’m just asking a question,”

The blankets quiver away from my body as I drag my torso upright, my joints popping and muscles screaming in protest.

“What daughter puts their achy old mother on the couch? Nice way to say Happy Birthday,” I grumble relatively loudly, hoping to spark pangs of guilt in Nicole.

“How about giving your mother that coffee? Mmh? After putting me out here on this…” I pause. Something’s wrong.

The sleep had melted away from her face and had been replaced by an ashen visage. Her bottom lip quivers and she leans against the wall in support. Her arm holding the mug goes limp and the coffee spills out and splatters on the floor.

“Watch your coffee!” I bark. She ignores me.

“Oh my God. Will…Will! Get down here!” she shrieks upstairs to her husband.

“Okay, alright. It’s just wood floors. Don’t overreact. That’s my job.” I mutter.

I stand up straight in front of Nicole. Will comes around the corner with foggy eyes.

“Holy…” he chokes.
“Watch your mouth.” I interrupt him.
The two of them gawk at me as if I have seven heads and am speaking Greek.

“Oh come on. I don’t look that bad in the morning. Well…” I look them up and down, “At least I’m not the only one.” They didn’t comment. They just stand there staring at me. I lean to the left and wave my hand.

“Hello?”

But their eyes are still glued to the bed.

“In God’s name what’s behind me that’s so…” I spin around and stop right in my tracks.

Sprawled out on the couch is me, dead, a puddle of crimson staining my clothes and the sheets from a carving knife plunged into my chest.

“Oh,” I breathe, “Happy Birthday.”

Two minutes later, Will and Nicole cluster around dead Angie’s head, and Crystal is by her feet.

“How could this happen?” Will’s chest rises and falls. Nicole’s sobs swell, filling the room. Crystal holds herself tightly and remains silent.

Despite the situation, I realize that there’re some good things about this. No more debt I have to worry about. I could say whatever I want, instead of filtering.

I glance at dead Angie. The carving knife is still wedged into her. Her pajamas are saturated red. It’s disgusting.

“What is this?” I wonder. “You leave the knife shoved in my chest as if I was a turkey? No respect…even after I have kicked the bucket!” I yap at them. I realize being a ghost—other than the dead part – has some drawbacks. No one can hear me, and I find it infuriating.

“Well, uh…there…there’s no sign of a break-in. You know, forced entry and there’s nothing taken,” Nicole says between cries. The others nod.

“Oh for once all those crime shows you watched instead of doing your homework as a teenager have paid off.” I scoff.

“So that means the killer had a key. Did you lock the door last night?” Nicole asks.

“I thought I did…I-I don’t know, I can’t remember.” Will stutters.

“Oh God…” Nicole weeps.

“This is so terrible! I’m having the worst day ever!” Crystal bursts into sobs. Her chest heaves.

“You’re having a bad day? I’m the dead one!” She’s having a bad day? I slap a hand at her face, which passes right through her. Not being able to hurt people—another disadvantage of being a ghost.

“The killer could be one of us,” Will finally speaks. The room lapses into silence. Is it possible that one of them did this? Why? My own family? My body shudders. Tears brim over my eyes. With the back of my hand, I wipe them away. My eyes scan over the people in the room.


Based on Nicole’s expression, it couldn’t have been her. She isn’t that good at acting, believe me. I’ve had my fair share of sitting on cold, metal folded chairs in the crowded make-shift theaters of elementary and middle schools, watching two-hour “performances” of stiff acting and brain-grating singing only to see my child stutter one line as a tree or jellyfish.


Will? He’s never liked me. Maybe he just doesn’t understand my charming, humorous personality. He’s a whimp. He wouldn’t have the guts.

Crystal…it’s got to be Crystal. What was her motive? Jealousy? Greed? Makes sense. She did seem excited when all three of us collaborated to make a will a couple months ago. I had inherited some money when my parents died.

Wait…

Revenge? Could Nicole have killed her own mother for revenge? She always complained how I could have been a better mother … more nurturing. Hah.

Nicole’s face twists again in sadness.

“How are we going to tell Dolores?” she asks.

“Oh no I completely forgot,” I whisper. My heart pangs with newfound grief.

“We haven’t seen her in years. She never visits,” Crystal pipes up.

“It’s her only sister’s 60th. It makes sense she would come to this,” Nicole responds.

My heart surges with sadness.

We were joined at the hip as kids until we became older. When I moved away from home, married and started a family, she stayed close to home in Queens. She never did anything or went anywhere. I still love her all the same and she loves me despite our very different lives.

Now she would discover her sister was murdered.

“When does her flight come in?” Will asks.

“Nine this morning.” Nicole answers.

“It’s nine fifteen.” Crystal says quietly after glancing at the clock.

“You can read time too? Wow you’re just full of surprises,” I join in.

“Do we need to go pick her up?” Will inquires.

“No…she’s taking a taxi.” Nicole answers. “She’ll be here any minute.” As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door. Their heads all snap in its direction, with horrified visages smeared across their faces.

“Do I have to answer the door?” I wonder, although I knew they couldn’t hear me.

“Got it.” Will cuts into the silence. He pauses for a minute, then makes his way to the door. When he opens it, Dolores’ hair is streaked with more silver than the last time I saw it but her red lipstick is just as bright.


“What’s with the looks?” she wonders.


“Aunt Dolores, Mother…she…” Nicole struggles.


“She what?” she snaps.


“She was murdered last night.” Will finishes. Her eyes narrow.


“W-what?” Dolores stumbles. As they clear away from dead Angie, Dolores drops her travel bag and dashes over.


“No! No this can’t be possible,” She shrieks. Her hands grip dead Angie’s shoulders and shakes them. Dead Angie’s head rolls around aimlessly on a limp neck.


“Please, no, no! Don’t leave me.” She cries. Her voice wrenches my heart out of my chest and smashes it. Dolores drapes herself over dead Angie, staining her own clothes in red. My chest heaves and I try to swallow the lump in my throat. My vision swims with tears that then spill down my cheeks. I rush over to her and try to hug her.


“I’m so sorry,” I sob. New waves of agony wash over everyone in the room. They hang their heads in grief. I watch as Will hurriedly gathers up Delores’ bag and boarding pass that had fallen out.


What’s going on here? I wonder. I glance over Will’s shoulder at Dolores’s flight information. It says she arrived at nine.


That is, nine last night.


“Where was she and what was she doing all last night?” I ask, knowing no one would respond. “And why didn’t she tell anyone she came here early?”


Dolores pulls herself off of dead Angie and stands.


Will winks at her, stuffing the flight information in his back pocket.

She turns to Nicole.

“Where are the police?” She mutters.


I scowl at Dolores.


“They should be here soon,” she whimpers.


I guess in this family we don’t just carve turkeys, but sisters too.

Thanks for my present, Will.