Red Rum: A Rosie Casket Mystery R.M. Wild (inspirational books .txt) 📖

“Yes, I saw them. It was so thoughtful of you. Where did you get the glitter? Hobby Lobby?”

She smiled. “I made sure it was nonflammable.”

Why should I still be afraid of this witch? “Listen, you—”

She put her hand in my face and turned away from me. “So, Kyle, what brings you back to Dark Haven?”

Suddenly and unexpectedly, my inner dialogue came right to the surface. It was like a killer whale coming up for air. I had survived attempted murder twice, yet couldn’t hold my tongue in the presence of this gossip monger.

“I’m sorry, hold on, you knock-off Barbie. Have I done something to offend you? I mean seriously, ever since high school, you have been trying to make my life miserable.”

She glared at me and cocked a hip. “Obviously, you don’t remember. And obviously, that is why I hate you,” she said. And with that, she harrumphed, turned on her heels, and strode away.

“Yikes,” Kendall said. “Remind me not to tickle your bad side.”

“How much do you want to bet that she’s the one who’s been smearing all that bad blood online?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Kendall said.

“So let’s go after her.”

“Absolutely. Show me the proof of damages and I’ll file the suit tonight.”

“Obviously I wouldn’t be here tonight if business was going well.”

“Yes, but correlation is not causation,” he said.

“I know, I know.”

Kendall smiled. “How about some punch?”

I glanced at the bowl that Katelyn had just vacated. “I wouldn’t mind giving her a punch.”

“Take a deep breath. The last thing you need right now is an assault charge.”

A sudden flash of bright light made me think the lights had fallen from the ceiling and exploded at my feet. I covered my face and blinked away the purple splotches.

“Geez man, put that thing away,” Kendall said.

Meat Locker Joey lowered his giant camera. He was now sporting a thick beard. With that Moe Howard hair-cut, he looked half Amish.

“Are you cheating on pretty boy?” Meat Locker said.

“No,” I said. “What’s with the beard?”

“Do you like it?”

“I haven’t formed an opinion yet,” I said. “If I get drunk and throw up tonight, I’ll let you know.”

“Well, I like it,” Meat Locker said. “The only problem is, every time I lean over someone’s open face, the beard keeps dipping into their brains.”

I scrunched up my face as if a dead body had just passed gas. “Kyle, you remember Joey Bunker?”

“Oh yeah, I remember,” Kendall said and offered his hand.

Meat Locker ignored Kendall’s handshake. “You’re the swimmer, aren’t you?”

“I swam, yes. I don’t know if I’d call myself a swimmer, though.”

“You are what you eat.”

Kendall and I glanced at each other.

“He’s a lawyer now,” I added.

“Uggh,” Meat Locker said. “Not another one.”

“So what do you do?” Kendall asked.

“He cuts up dead bodies for a living,” I said. “He’s the coroner.”

“D.I.,” Meat Locker said.

“Same difference.”

“Not really. I have a lot to learn.”

“That must be a tough job,” Kendall said.

Meat Locker raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I’m assuming it’s emotionally taxing.”

Meat Locker looked confused. “Do you find it emotionally taxing when you carve up a turkey?”

“Not really—”

“Dead meat is dead meat,” Meat Locker said.

I smiled. “Yes, well, I think we best be going,” I said and pulled Kendall away from the psycho.

My heels were killing my feet, so I led him toward the bleachers.

“God, he’s weird,” Kendall said.

“You think?”

“Was he the same kid who got caught with a cattail in his backpack?”

“If you mean an actual cat’s tail, then yes,” I said. “The word creep doesn’t have enough syllables for Meat Locker.”

“Why do you call him Meat Locker?”

We sat on the bleachers and I took off my heels and rubbed my feet. “That’s what Matt Mettle calls him.”

“I see,” he said. Then, “Hey, do you want a foot massage?”

I glanced at him. “Seriously?”

“It looks like you’re not very comfortable in those heels.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Kind of.”

I glanced at the basketball court, at all the people I used to despise. “No offense, but it’s kind of weird.”

“Not at all,” Kendall said, putting up two hands to profess his innocence. “I don’t have a foot fetish or anything. We had to massage each other’s feet in swim practice. Sometimes, from keeping our toes pointed for hours, our arches would cramp up. I got over the weird factor a long time ago. Think about a bunch of dudes sitting around in their Speedos massaging each other’s feet.”

“I’m one step ahead of you,” I said.

“This is nowhere near as weird as that.”

I glanced again at the crowd. The event had started only half an hour ago, but mitosis was well underway as they divided into their old cliques.

“Let’s give them something to talk about,” he said.

“I don’t know.”

“It’ll be fine,” he said. He took my left foot, slid off the shoe, and rubbed around the heel.

I motioned to the congregation of familiar strangers. “You don’t care what they think?”

“I didn’t care much then, and I don’t care now. Besides,” he said and adjusted his tie, “I own them.”

“Must be nice,” I said as he kneaded the muscles in the middle of my foot. It felt downright heavenly.

“What’s that?”

“Not caring.”

“Once you get your business up and running again and you feel successful again, you won’t care either.”

I leaned back, my two elbows on the bleacher behind me, and closed my eyes and enjoyed the pampering.

“So what’s going on between you and Mettle?” he said casually.

I didn’t open my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I heard you two spend an awful lot of time together.”

“He’s helping me figure out what happened to my sister.”

“Nothing more?”

I shook my head. “No. But thank you for speaking with Herrick about what happened. You saved Mettle’s butt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I opened my eyes. “Didn’t you get the charges dropped?”

Kendall grinned. “Again, I don’t now what you’re talking about. But whatever it is, you’re welcome.”

Soft giggling sounds came from behind me. I turned around. In my peripheral vision, I could see Greg Leader and Jessie Finkel hiding under the bleachers, sucking face. Greg had