Freshly Dead by Maddie James

Author:Maddie James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sand Dune Books

Chapter Eight

“Mom?”

Priscilla floated through the door with a saccharin smile. “Well, that task is done,” she told them. “I started two of them upstairs, and the little dark-haired one, I think she must be Mexican or something, in the downstairs bath.” She paused and glanced off. “I suppose she’s Mexican, although she said, ‘Hello, Ma’am,’ rather than hola. Mexicans say hola, right? Anyway, she looks Mexican, like that explorer girl on the cartoons, you know?”

Mitzi looked to her younger sister, cringing at her mother’s lack of PC—Political Correctness. “Mom, you aren’t making sense. And please do not say things like that out in public.”

Priscilla arched a brow. “Why?”

“Dora-the-Exploraaaa,” Molly explained. She has a three-year-old.

“Oh.”

“Well, anyway, I started the girl in the downstairs bathroom which is a good thing. It will keep them out off the kitchen while I’m making the blackberry cobbler for your daddy’s birthday cake.”

The sisters exchanged glances. Mitzi’s heart did a double-half-gainer-triple-backflip.

“Blackberries?”

Molly rose. “Blackberry cobbler is not cake, Mother. I’m sure Daddy will want cake.”

“No. He specifically ordered blackberry cobbler. We have all those blackberries in the freezer, you know, Marla? And he loves the stuff even though the seeds give him the runs for a couple of days after.”

All three sisters grimaced.

“It wouldn’t be so bad, actually, if it weren’t for his hemorrhoids.”

“TMI, Mother.”

“Ewe.”

“Not thinking about that.”

Marla stepped beside Molly. Mitzi watched her sister clutch Molly’s hand at her side. “No, not the blackberries, Mom. I was...I mean, I picked those, and I have plans for them...was going to make jam for jam cake for this winter. Christmas gifts. Please don’t use my blackberries, okay?”

Marla was lying through her teeth.

Their mother rotated toward the kitchen door. “Oh fiddlededee. There are plenty down there for jam and whatnot. Whenever did you start baking anyway? Besides, I already took some from the freezer.” She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. One manicured hand rested on the doorframe. “They are thawing in the refrigerator.”

Three gasps went up behind her.

“Molly,” she drawled, “that was a mighty big deer Don shot last fall, wasn’t it? Damn thing nearly took up all of Gran’s freezer space. It was all I could do to get three bags of blackberries out. When does he plan to cut the rest of that thing up?”

Mitzi knew at that point, if she could pan out of herself, like in one of those out-of-body experiences, and look at her and her sisters all at the same time, they each would have the same oh-freakin’-crap expression on their faces. For a moment, she felt she did have that strange out-of-body thing going on because she wasn’t quite certain her heart had not skipped a dozen beats or two or more.

She might just join Ken in his deadliness any second.

“Um. Deer?”

Priscilla’s heels clicked off on the wooden floor and into the kitchen. “Yes,” she called out. “And he must have left the head on, too. I could see an antler poking up. Strange,” she muttered while pulling out pots and pans and slapping them on the counter.

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