Paloma and Robert's plans for the future ended abruptly with his tragic death on the eve of their wedding. Can love be so powerful it defies even physical death? With the help of her quirky psychic neighbor, Paloma learns miracles are possible if only you believe in the magic of a Blue Moon.
She found Grandma Bikini drunk as a proverbial skunk and passed out in her orange upholstered easy chair. The woman snored heartily as Paloma tried to rouse her. Fortunately for her, Grandma had left her back door unlocked, allowing easy entrance.
“Grandma, wake up! It’s Paloma.”
Grandma Bikini snurgled. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”
Paloma blew out an exasperated breath. This wouldn’t be easy. She left Grandma and marched to the kitchen to put on a pot of strong coffee. She must sober her up. She returned a few minutes later with the steaming brew in the largest mug she could find, and set it down on the table before Grandma.
“Grandma Bikini I made coffee. You must wake up now. I need your help.”
Grandma flailed her arms. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everybody needs me.” Her words slurred together. “You need me. They need me. I need me.” The old woman chuckled. “The hell with all of you sons-of-bitches. I ain’t takin’ my clothes off ever again.”
Oh, boy. Apparently Grandma was reliving her days as a stripper. With a sigh, Paloma returned to the kitchen to check the liquor cabinet. How much had she had to drink? She checked the lower shelves to find it fully stocked with gin, scotch, vodka and some pricey bottles of Australian wines. All appeared new, their seals unbroken. She peered into the trash bin. Bingo. An empty pint of vodka.
She poured a cup of coffee for herself, then went back into the den to check on Grandma, who was coming around.
“Who the hell are you?” she growled, fixing one rheumy eye on Paloma.
“Your neighbor, Grandma.”
Her gray brows furrowed. “Oh yeah, right. The gal with the miserable cat that poops in my posies.”
“The one with a huge, huge, problem,” Paloma added under her breath.
Grandma shot ramrod straight in the chair as if she’d suddenly come out from under a spell. Paloma sat up, too. My, but the effect of alcohol had worn off quickly.
“Guess when you found me you thought I’d tanked up on the sauce and passed out, eh?”
Paloma cleared her throat. She had. But Grandma appeared to have made an astonishing recovery.
“I wasn’t snockered ya’ little brat. It’s the effects of this powerful Blue Moon we’re having. What you witnessed was one of my visions. That’s why I gave up driving two years ago. Never knew when one would hit.”
“Vision? You mean as in a psychic vision?”
“Yep. They’re stronger during some phases of the moon, but this Blue Moon is double whammy for me. I don’t know that I’ve ever had them this close together. Now I want you to make a wish, Paloma.”
Paloma stared. “A wish? For what?”
“Dearie, everyne knows that wishes made on blue moons are magical. Now’s yer chance.”
Grandma Bikini was serious? Paloma didn’t have to think. She knew her exact wish. “I want Robert to come back to me,” she said softly. “That’s my only wish in the world. I want him to live again.” Emptiness filled her at the words. Nothing had changed by making a silly wish. Her burning question also hadn’t been answered. How could she save him? She sighed, exasperated. She was back to square one.
“Oh, hell!” Grandma sprang from the chair like a woman half her age. “I’m gonna miss it.” She teetered to the television set. “Today on Passion’s Crest, Maximillian Chancellor reveals his true identity to Celeste.”
Paloma had no time to waste discussing soap operas. “Grandma, I need your help.”
“You think you need help,” she said, waving her hand. “Wait ‘til Celeste gets a load of old Max. She’s gonna need a crap load of help dealing with him, too. Had his face altered at one of them fancy schmancy Swiss hospitals while he was hiding out from corrupt government agents. Actually he’s not really Max, but Reynaldo in disguise. You know, the hunky Latino gardener Celeste met and had an affair with while she was at the sanitarium recovering from a bout of amnesia? He has mob ties, you know. It’s his baby she’s carrying right now.”
“They’re going to disconnect him from life support today, Grandma.”
Grandma jerked and turned to Paloma. “No they’re not. When I had my vision I learned that David Hopkins has no close relatives. The so-called cousin who ordered this ain’t even a blood related. He’s a spoiled, distant cousin by marriage who has his eyes on David’s Harley and his beach condo. Don’t you worry, girl. I’m workin’ on a plan in my head right now.”
Paloma folded her hands in her lap. She hoped it was better than the one she planned to propose. “I’d like to hear it.”
“Fine. As soon as Max and Celeste get through with their tête-à-tête, I’ll let you in on it. Then I’ll get all purtied up and we’ll go to the hospital.”
“And what do you propose to do once we get there?”
Grandma Bikini turned to her and smiled. “Meet Mr. Hopkins’ long lost momma.”
Paloma stared as a sinking feeling hit her in the pit of her stomach. Actually, she intended to ask Grandma if she would pose as his grandmother. “Pardon me for saying this, Grandma Bikini, but aren’t you a bit mature to have a thirty two year old child?”
“I’ll tell ‘em he was a late in life baby, a love child fathered by my biker boyfriend, Spike.”
Paloma put her head in her hands. Oh, God. She was in terrible trouble now. She looked up at the woman. Grandma was insane. They would never believe it. But what choice did she have? Even a last ditch effort was better than none at this point. She blew out a breath. “They’ll want proof you’re related.”
Grandma winked. “Hey I’m psychic, remember. By the time I get through delivering my academy award winning performance those docs will think I’m their mother.”
Or they might put you in a straight jacket.
“So how do you propose to pull this off?” God, she couldn’t believe she was going along with this!
“I know stuff about this patient’s case that even the doctor’s don’t know.” Grandma gave a smug smile.
Paloma blinked. “Such as?”
Grandma sprang from her chair and fumbled in a carved box through a cache of lipstick, the likes of which rivaled even the most well-stocked Avon lady’s. “Our Mr. Hopkins,” she turned to look over her shoulder, “or rather I should say, your dear fiancé Robert, is waking up today.”