Relative Identity

By Holly Patrone

Six years ago, April Serao's husband Sal died by way of birthday sex gone terribly wrong. Now he's back, possessing the heavenly version of a temporary visa and an uncanny knack for showing up at the most inopportune times. Finding some 'alone' time with new boyfriend Jack proves almost impossible with husband Sal popping up unexpectedly in outfits that make his legs look better than Aprils, not to mention the constant intrusion of her mother - the original Sicilian Guilt Trip Queen. Though a ghostly husband can be a bit trying, April has even bigger problems right now. Shocked to find her mailbox unexpectedly stuffed with collection notices for things she never bought, April is beginning to suspect she's the victim of identity theft. Before she can even being to get things straightened out, her son Chris' car is repossessed, her house is vandalized and she's arrested for assault with deadly tweezers. Frustrated with the lack of help through official channels and angry that her life has been turned upside down by someone she doesn't even know, April decides to track down the perpetrator herself. What ensues is a wacky madcap adventure as April tries to unravel the truth and still juggle her chaotic life which includes answering questions such as: Is there ever a good reason to purchase a feather trimmed bustier and a meat grinder at the same time? Is Jack as horrifically under endowed as Sal claims he is? Can voodoo dolls cause collateral damage? What do Cherry Cola Red #17 hair dye and the paint for April's car have in common ? Find out in this, the new novel and second book in the "Ghosts, Guilt, and Tweezers" series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Holly Patrone
• Release date: Sep 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310866562

Holly Patrone

International prizewinning author, Holly Patrone, won her first fiction award in the fourth grade. Her first book, Death is a Relative Thing climbed to #1 on the Kindle Bestseller list and received rave reviews. Holly lives on the eastern end of Long Island with her husband, the two youngest of her five children and three Boston Terriers. Holly's convinced the dogs love her best because they jump up and down for ten minutes when she comes home. Everyone else just wants dinner. She eats dark chocolate and shrimp though usually not at the same time. Mostly she writes.

Book preview

Relative Identity

Book Two of the ‘Ghosts, Guilt and Tweezers’ Chronicles

Holly Patrone

Copyright © 2013 Holly Patrone

Smashwords Edition

Holly Patrone

http://www.hpatrone.com

[e-mail]

Contact [e-mail]

Second Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to individuals living or deceased is unintentional. The author and publisher disclaim all liability in connection with this book

Dedication:

This book is dedicated to my husband Steve who listens to my ramblings, does funny things I can write about and works like a madman so I can chase my dreams.

Additionally I must thank my mother Carole. She’s known me all my life, has tirelessly read and helped edit everything I’ve written since birth and still seems to like me.

Chapter One

Death is caused by swallowing small amounts of saliva over a long period of time.

George Carlin

The invention of the telephone revolutionized the free world and is indispensable to daily living. That being said, there are many times I want to either throw mine through a window or wring the neck of the person on the other end of the line. Today was my lucky day- I was right in the middle of a two- fer, the act of wishing I could throw the phone and strangle the person on the other end. All I was trying to do was get a straight answer about my car.

My car is my happy place, albeit a small one. It’s a red Mini Cooper S and it has some plusses. It’s cute, I can’t be volunteered to carpool, and my mother refuses to get in it. Unfortunately, it recently lost in a collision with a wayward PT Cruiser.

It was supposed to be ready for pickup ten days ago, but it seems the paint is on backorder.

I’d been on hold for seventeen minutes.

Max owns the body shop where my car is being held hostage. She’s a rail thin, chain-smoking woman that sounds like a man. Finally, she clicked back on the line. April, it’s going to be at least another week before the paint even comes in. After that, we need time to get her finished up.

Where the heck is this paint coming from that it takes so long?

Jersey, but believe it or not, that isn’t the problem. Rumor has it that the supplier is backordered on the base formula; it’s completely out of stock. Apparently, it can be manufactured into automobile paint or hair dye. Some Cherry Cola #17 color. It seems there’s been a run on the dye.

Ah ha! Now it all made sense. My mother at this very moment was probably at her weekly appointment at Estelle’s House of Beauty having her hair touched up with enough goop to paint my entire passenger side door panel. I sighed.

I’m April Serao. I live on Long Island with my three sons, all of them now on the verge of adulthood. My husband Sal died six years ago while on his back, pretty much how every man wishes to leave this earth. Anyway, because of it I earned a killer good reputation. For years, men had a tendency to leave tremendous yardage between them and me, afraid that if they got too close, they’d have an orgasm and hit the pavement. Finding guys to date over the last six years has been a challenge and, up until recently, I hadn’t had one. Now, though, I’m seeing Jack. He’s a client from Connecticut and I was supposed to visit him this weekend. In my car.

I feel obligated to mention that on my very first date with Jack, the first in six long, lonely years, my dead husband started talking to me from beyond. It seems Sal was having a little trouble conforming to rules, a character deficit that was obvious throughout his life. Apparently, it didn’t resolve itself upon his death or with a change of venue. He asked me to help him do a few good deeds here on Earth to help balance the scales and I obliged. After all, we had three kids together. I really couldn’t let him be ‘halo-less’ for eternity. Because of it though, I angered a few very bad people. The result was that my car, my beautiful little Mini, was in an accident, violated with spray paint, and hung from a tree. The bad guys were caught, but I was still without a vehicle.

Max was talking. Listen, April. I’ll get it out of here as soon as I can. You want me to just paint it something else? I have plenty of ‘Jaundice Yellow’ if you want. Or… wait, I have an idea! I have leftovers-small amounts of a lot of colors. I think I can paint it plaid and give you a discount on materials. I heard her drag on a cigarette, exhale and push out a lung- rattling cough. Yeah, I could definitely do plaid.

Thanks anyway, Max, but I’m partial to the red. Look, please just keep me updated, okay? I’ve been scrounging for rides and it’s getting old.

I hung up the phone and turned my chair away from the computer I spend eight hours at each day. I was at the office. I work as a technical support engineer at a small computer software company. Usually, most of my day is spent listening to customers complain about how our programs somehow are responsible for the unwanted pregnancy their dogs are suffering through and the crabgrass infiltrating their lawn.

What I like best about my job is Rob and Marley. They are coworkers and also my friends. Rob occupies the cubicle in front of mine. He’s the flesh and blood version of Ken, married to Barbie, and together they are raising their daughter Skipper. They make a perfect family with dazzling white teeth and great hair. Rob has the uncanny knack of turning the corner just when I’m about to take something off his desk, or coming up behind me as I start talking about him. It’s unnerving.

Across the aisle is Marley, who is a few years younger than I am, more than a little manly, has long dark hair, and dresses in polyester bellbottoms. Her ensemble is usually highlighted by sparkly chandelier earrings, red lipstick, and turquoise eye shadow. She lives with a large blue and gold parrot that she believes is going through puberty and spends most of her day talking to customers while gripping a pair of slant tip tweezers and plucking ever present chin hair- without looking. She now turned, mid pluck, and faced me.

So, how much longer before you get your car back? she asked.

It’ll be at least a week before the paint even comes in. I don’t want to rent something, but I can’t keep bumming rides to work.

Marley made a little noise in understanding. She was well acquainted with the full spectrum of my neuroses.

I have this thing about rented cars. I don’t like them. First of all, they’re unsanitary. They have body flakes that I am not related to embedded in the seats and the carpet, anonymous sweat is all over the steering wheel, and they always smell funny. Additionally, what I drive is a reflection of who I am and I’m quite happy with my delusions. When I cruise in my Mini, I’m a sporty little number, red hot with big upturned headlights and a cute little trunk, something to look at and desire. Driving anything else forces me to be forty-six, an ordinary suburban mother with drooping headlights, a big ass bumper, dull wax job, and an overheating engine.

I started seriously considering the plaid.

It’s time, said Marley. You need to borrow your mother’s truck.

I sighed. She was right. My mother offered to lend me her Suburban a few days ago and I turned it down. It’s huge, black, and turns corners like a city block. Right now, though, it didn’t sound like such a horrible thing. After all, at least her body flakes were family.

I picked up the phone to call her and steeled myself for the onslaught. Marie Stallone is the family matriarch. She sports sensible two-inch heels, a quick, efficient walk, matching pantsuits, and a purpose. She also possesses a steely glare that could reduce Sasquatch to tears and brandishes guilt with spot on accuracy.

She picked up on the second ring.

Hey, Ma.

April. How good of you to call. I was telling your father just last month that I knew you were going to check in with us eventually.

Oh, c’mon, Ma. Give me a break. I talk to you all the time. It’s the truth, too. When my husband died, my mother decided it was her sworn duty to call me, which she does at precisely seven p.m., every night. There are orbiting satellites that synchronize with her to verify their accuracy. It’s not like we don’t ever talk.

Yes, well, that’s different. It’s good to know you still have our number. She took a breath and I knew it was coming, the Sicilian Guilt Trip. My grandparents King Giuseppe and Queen Aida passed that skill set to her, and she wields it with precision every time she can. You know, it would be prudent for you to call us occasionally, I mean, your father and I, well, we could be dead for all anyone would know. We could be decomposing in the living room, stinking up the neighborhood, and what with this warm weather and all…well, all I can say is thank goodness for the plastic on the sofas. I’d hate to think…

I interjected. Uh, yeah. Ma, look, is the offer still open to borrow the truck? My car is going to be laid up for another week or two.

Of course, April. It will be good practice to see if you can remember how to get here. You know, just in case.

I silently begged the heavens for some strength. Listen, Marley will drive me there after work. My phone rang. Gotta go, Ma, I’ll see you then.

I pushed the ‘talk’ button and took the call. Hello, you’ve reached April Serao at TCS Software. How may I help you?

Hey, I need some technical support, said the voice on the line. Do you need me to tell you what needs fixing?

The voice was sultry, warm and affected my inner thighs before it registered in my brain. I recognized Jack immediately. We’ve been dating for about two months. It hasn’t been a long time, but it seems that way. Our relationship’s been intense as we’ve spent our dates running down gang members and dealing with personalities from ‘beyond’." Jack’s hot. He’s got a slightly crooked nose, deep green eyes, and a tough guy chin. His hair is light and cut into a modified high and tight. And his body? Well, the parts I’ve explored have been very impressive. We’ve yet to do a complete assessment of one another, though, because my dead husband, Sal, has a bad habit of showing up at the most inopportune times. To make matters worse, Sal’s dressed in drag often enough to make me concerned and it’s a total mood killer when he pops in wearing something that makes his legs look better than mine.

Hmmmm, I answered, shifting in my seat, Unfortunately I can’t take care of your problems over the phone. I think you need me to come and service your troubles onsite, but as it turns out, I can’t schedule you in for two weeks. I’m having some transportation issues and travel is shelved for the time being.

Really, April?

I sighed. Really.

Oh. There was silence for a moment on his end of the phone. You know, it’s probably unhealthy for me to remain in this state indefinitely. How about if I come to you?

You could. Would you be bringing Gillian? Jack’s daughter is eighteen, drop dead gorgeous, and dating my son. Chris hasn’t let go of his phone since they started seeing each other and he has perfected one hand texting. The two of them go at it all day long. I don’t mind that they are an item, but it’s hard enough for us to find time alone when she doesn’t visit. It’s that much more difficult when she is with Jack because we try to keep the kids from doing what we would like to be doing if we didn’t have to keep tabs on them.

I’ll be solo this time around. She’ll be with her mom and I understand they have a weekend booked solid with spa visits and shopping.

Okay. I’ll see if I can find us a place out east to stay Saturday night. Maybe my mother could check in on the boys.

It was Wednesday and smack dab in the middle of the Hamptons tourist season, so it was more likely we’d be pitching a tent in the yard if we wanted privacy, but heck, I’d give it a shot. Anyway I looked at it, things were getting better. I was soon going to have wheels and a date and I was excited about both.

At five o’clock, Marley and I worked our way through the maze of cubicles to the lobby. It’s the only way out and manned by Carl, who doubles as our receptionist and the best-looking time clock on the planet. Carl logs everyone going in and out of the building. He wears tan chinos, has long dark hair he ties back in a leather cord, and orders lunch for us. Oh, and he just moved in with his boyfriend. Sigh.

Leaving us so soon? he asked.

Yeah Carl. I need to borrow a vehicle. I’m headed to my mother’s.

Carl nodded, genuflected, and handed me a letter. This came for you today. It seems to be personal so, I wanted to make sure you got it.

I took the letter and gave it a quick once-over. The return address was a P.O. Box and the envelope was otherwise unadorned. It was probably misguided junk mail. I pushed it into my purse.

My mother lives about fifteen minutes from

Reviews for Relative Identity

[perrywilson-2 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It was a cute read and I enjoyed it. There were a few typos and grammar errors that would have been found in a good proofread. April is a bundle of capable and clumsy, which I found appealing.