Escort For The Witch: The Mystery of Psyche's Ruby - стр. 9
“Out of the morgue?” I repeated. So much for thinking that after last year’s events, nothing could surprise me anymore! Turns out, I was wrong. “Well, he really outdid himself this time!”
“Aren’t you even a little ashamed, son?” Mrs. Renton lashed out again, throwing her hands up in desperation. Apparently, she really wanted to see me suffer.
I stared at her. She looked determined to give me a good smack on the bottom. The last time I’d seen her like this was when I was eight, and my best friend Eric and I had just accidentally set the living room carpet on fire.
“Brenda,” I whispered, tilting my head slightly to the side. “Save me!”
“It was your idea, after all,” she replied mysteriously, her hazel eyes boring into me.
“Brenda, I’m not in a frame of mind to read between the lines right now!” I barked, instantly rewarded with a sharp pain in my head and jaw.
“It was you who got into a fight with the big cop guy, which landed all of you in the police station. Apparently, Derek’s appearance left the officers somewhat… confused. That’s why they called an ambulance…”
“Well, as far as I remember, he wasn’t wearing flashy clothes.”
“No, it wasn’t about the clothes. Turns out, he doesn’t handle alcohol very well either,” Brenda remarked, throwing another judgmental look my way. “Apparently he was mixing his ‘juice’ with whiskey, in undisclosed proportions, so by the time you had gotten to the police station, he was looking like a three days old corpse! My poor baby!” Brenda squealed and, to my and mom’s surprise, burst into tears.
“Brenda, what are you on about? He’s a vampire! He doesn’t drink whiskey. As for having one too many, moderation is not a concept he’s familiar with.” My eyes moved over to mom, who had walked over to the fireplace and demonstratively lit one of dad’s cigars. “What are you doing, mom? You don’t smoke!”
“I don’t smoke, and my son is an angel. At least you graduated from university – only just… For that, I’m grateful,” she retorted before elegantly sinking into a high-backed leather chair like a vintage Hollywood sweetheart.
“So why is he in the morgue?”
“Because some smarty-pants had reasoned that when the ambulance arrived and the doctors saw a swollen, black-and-blue form that Derek was, they’d rush to save his life,” Mom explained. “And the first thing they’d do is check his pulse. Imagine the commotion when they found out he didn’t actually have one? So you, smarty-pants, came up with nothing better than to suggest to Derek that ‘passes away’ in the ambulance, which he did.”
“What a champ!” I exclaimed, mentally addressing myself, rather than Derek even. “And why are you crying, Brenda? Your little leech will be home soon, practically ‘alive’ and reasonably healthy.”
“He’s not going out with you ever again! I swear, Cornell,” she squealed, wiping away the tears. “When the two of you get together, there’s always trouble. I’ll do everything in my power to – ”
There was a sudden knock on the door, cutting Brenda’s fiery sermon short.
“Ah! There’s Sabrina!” mom sang, dragging out the words for emotional impact. “I still don’t get what she sees in you, son. Such a clever, beautiful girl…” “And then there’s you,” she added, stubbing out her cigar in the ashtray before hurrying to the door.