Judge, Jury and Jailhouse Rockcakes: Wonky Inn Book 11 by Jeannie Wycherley

Author:Jeannie Wycherley [Wycherley, Jeannie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bark at the Moon Books
Published: 2021-03-28T16:00:00+00:00

“Daemonne!” I’d been inside for nearly a week now and had grown more used to people yelling at the top of their voices, but that didn’t mean I liked it. There was something so aggressive and unnecessary about people bellowing at each other.

Nonetheless, when someone—especially a prison officer—shouted your name on the landings, you had to drop what you were doing and pay attention. In my case, that meant hauling my bucket and mop along the landing so that I could greet Officer Guilieri—or Jools as the women called him behind his back—without running the risk of someone slipping out of a cell and kicking my bucket down the stairs again.

“Visitor!” Jools informed me. I perked up at that. I’d seen Wendy twice, but she’d had no news for me.

“Is it my brief?” I asked.

“Do I look like the flamin’ oracle?” Jools asked. I didn’t like him as much as Officer Brown. Jools could be a little short-tempered.

I lifted my mop and bucket and began to follow Jools. He stopped. “What are you doing with that? You can’t take it with you.”

“I need to dispose of it,” I said. Before someone else disposed of it less neatly and created a shedload more work for me to do once I came back on the wing after my visit.

Jools sighed. “Be quick, Daemonne. You’re not the only prisoner I need to deal with this afternoon.”

I made short work of pouring out the grimy water in my bucket and rinsing the mop before stowing it away in the supply cupboard. Jools locked it after me and, surreptitiously wiping my hands on the inside of my robes, I followed the officer through numerous sets of gates and locked doors, his keys jangling as we went.

I was shown into the visiting room proper this time, not a private room. There were already a number of prisoners in here, sipping tea from plastic cups and munching biscuits like they were going out of fashion while simultaneously chatting to their visitors.

I looked around for mine and did a double take when I realised exactly who had come to see me.

My mouth dropped open. “Venus?”

Venus la Mística. We’d only known each other a few months. She was one of Silvan’s exes. I’d met her at Christmas when I was trying to cure him of an affliction. Initially we hadn’t taken to each other, but subsequently we had become quite good friends. She had a wicked sense of humour.

In fact, Venus was a little wicked full stop.

Of Mediterranean heritage, Venus looked exactly the way you’d imagine a supermodel would look. Impossibly tall and slender, with lustrous long dark hair that made me envious. It might have been coloured; I couldn’t tell. Today she was wearing it up on top of her head. Not the way I would wear mine with bits sticking out everywhere and a halo of frizz, but in a sleek bun, not a single stray hair to be seen. She had thick eyelashes, framing dark brown eyes, and a perfect mouth with lips neither too fat nor too thin.

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