The Bath Bombed Zombie (The Haunted Housekeeping Series Book 4) by R. A. Muth

Author:R. A. Muth [Muth, R. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Snarky Coffee Girl Publishing
Published: 2023-07-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Despite having stayed up way past our usual bedtime and wanting to stay cocooned within the peach-themed bedding on the cloud of a mattress, the desire to prove Mom wasn’t a murderer won out. Considering the packed day ahead of us, I resisted the urge to burrow deeper and dragged myself from beneath the covers.

Once on my feet, I stretched my arms as high as they would go and wiggled my fingers, something I hadn’t done since I was a kid. Spending all this time with Mom invited warm memories from my childhood. I’d spent so much of my adult life resenting her laissez faire approach to my upbringing, I often lost sight of the good parts of growing up in Coopers Cove.

“Oh, my goodness, did your mom forget to cook breakfast? Why don’t I smell food?” Hazel pulled herself to a sitting position and used her fists to rub the sleep from her eyes before crawling from the covers. Without waiting for me to reply to her previous questions, she gave the rumpled duvet a sidelong glance and asked, “Do we need to make our beds?”

“Ugh. I suppose we should,” I said. After all, it wasn’t like we were at a hotel. This was Mom’s house, and we should show our appreciation for her letting us stay here versus renting a room somewhere. Hotels this close to the beach in the middle of summer weren’t cheap by anyone’s budget, especially ours. We scrambled to see who could make their bed first before racing down the hall to the kitchen.

“Good heavens, girls, slow down. Your coffee isn’t going anywhere.” Mom gave a tsk-tsk motion from her seat at the table. Her hair was teased into a style which fell somewhere between 1950s beehive and 1980s poofy bangs. “Tor-Tor, are you seriously still in your pajamas? I hope y’all girls aren’t fixing to go out like that.”

“Oh, I’m not. We just, uh, needed some of your delicious coffee to kick start our day,” I said in an attempt to flatter away her disapproval.

“I’ve got your coffee ready. We’ve got to hit the ground running this morning.” She gestured to two travel mugs on the counter, but when I reached for one, she lightly smacked my hand away. “No coffee until you’re dressed with shoes on and heading to the car. Go on now.”

“Aren’t we having breakfast?” I asked.

Mom shook her head. “We’re eating out this morning.”

“Oh, okay.” I left the kitchen with Hazel on my heels and held my displeasure until we were safely behind the door to the guest room. “This is like reliving my childhood all over again. Mom never cooked breakfast then, either. I always had to eat whatever the school cafeteria served. Also, I wasn’t allowed to have chocolate milk on school days until I put my shoes on, got my backpack together, and ran a comb through my hair.”

The complaint reminded me to do my hair which, as was confirmed by a glance in the bathroom mirror, was in a state of extreme bedhead.

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