Bloody Mary - v4 by J.A. Konrath

Author:J.A. Konrath [Konrath, J.A.]
Format: epub
Publisher: Jack Daniels
Published: 2010-07-17T13:18:27.281000+00:00

CHAPTER 24

I didn’t sleep with him, but felt so damn guilty I might as well have.

After the kissing became light petting, I excused myself to check on Mom.

Mom was snoring peacefully, with a silly smile on her face. I wasn’t stupid. Bringing Alan here was part of some grand plan of hers, and for all she knew, it was working out fine.

For all I knew, she was right.

I dragged my tired bones into the shower, a cold one, and dressed in the most unattractive outfit I had: one of Latham’s ratty football jerseys and an old pair of size ten jeans (after Alan left I briefly went from an eight to a ten, having traded the comfort of a husband for the comfort of pie).

I was searching through my closet for my ugliest pair of shoes, when I heard the screaming.

Alan.

My gun was in the bedside nightstand, and I grabbed it and ran into the living room. Alan was writhing on the sofa, Mr. Friskers trying to gnaw off his ear.

I realized I was pointing my gun, relaxed my death grip and set it on the table, and then tried to goad the cat off my ex-husband.

“Bad kitty. Let go of his ear.”

I tugged. Alan screamed.

“Careful, Jack! He’s clamped down on cartilage!”

“Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

“Hurry! He’s chewing!”

I found the catnip mouse under the sofa, and shoved it under Mr. Friskers’s nose.

“Easy, cat. Let him go. Let him go.”

The cat went limp, and I pulled him away from Alan and set him on the floor.

“I was just sitting there, and he attacked me. How bad am I bleeding?”

“Bad.”

“Stitches-bad?”

“You’re missing about half your ear.”

Alan spun around, alarmed.

“Really?”

“Maybe we can pump the cat’s stomach.” I kept my voice neutral. “We might be able to sew it back on.”

He figured out I was joshing him and threw a sofa cushion at me.

I went to the kitchen and pulled a bunch of paper towels off the roll. Since acquiring Mr. Friskers, I always made sure I had an ample supply.

“It hurts.” Alan had a hand clamped to his ear. He frowned, petulant.

“Oh, quit being a baby. It’s nothing.”

“Easy for you to say. For the rest of my life, my sunglasses will be crooked.”

“You’ll be fine. If you want, I’ll let you borrow some of my earrings.” I dabbed at the blood. “You have enough holes for six or seven.”

“Funny. What’s wrong with that cat, anyway?”

“I haven’t been able to figure that out yet. Hold this, here, while I get the rubbing alcohol.”

Alan moaned, and I went off in search of supplies.

A liberal splash of Bactine knocked the ardor out of Alan, and he didn’t make another pass at me during the time it took to bandage his ear. I silently thanked Mr. Friskers for the reprieve.

I suggested watching a movie until my mom woke up, and offered Alan a choice of Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Royal Wedding, the only two videos I owned. While we debated the various merits of each, the phone rang.

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