A Postcard From Hell by Adrienne Blake

Author:Adrienne Blake [Blake, Adrienne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Coven Publishing
Published: 2019-12-25T22:00:00+00:00

6

Speeding Gods

The doorbell dragged me from my sleep. I peeled my face off the pillow and trudged reluctantly to my front door, scratching my armpit for good measure. I caught my reflection in the mirror by the door in the front room, and seeing my jammies were lopsided, straightened them up before answering. At least my hair looked good, like it always did.

It had to be Liam. After opening the door, I just left him to make his own way in and dragged my ass over to the Keurig. Shit. The water reservoir was empty. I hated it when it did that.

“Did I wake you up?” asked Liam, playfully.

I cast him a stone look. “You think? Some of us are working night shifts you know.”

He didn’t apologize, but he did kick me out of the kitchen and marched me ahead of him over to the bathroom.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said. “You take a shower.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” I protested, but I did as I was told.

I liked my showers hot, fast and hard, just like my men. In less than five minutes, I was out from under the jets, dousing myself in powder and antiperspirant. “Since you’re in there, you might as well make me some toast,” I hollered. My gut felt empty. And having a man make me coffee and toast didn’t make me feel one iota less of a powerful woman. Liam could whip up a batch of pancakes for all I cared. With syrup. Lots of it.

“The note is on the counter,” I cried, as I balanced myself against the wall to pull on one leg of my jeggings. “Have a look at it when you’re done playing house bitch.”

I grinned. Perhaps that was a little harsh. I heard no argument from the kitchen area, so I finished dressing in peace. Scratchpoop watched me sleepily from the bed, his six-toed little paws curled before him and he turned so his belly was up. I tickled his tummy and he purred like a trooper.

“It’s a bit melodramatic,” Liam remarked, still reading the note as I walked over to the kitchen. He’d been busy fixing breakfast since I’d left him. Everything was nicely arranged around a little dinner plate, from the symmetrically placed knife to the open jam jar with a spoon in it. I’d forgotten about the butter thing. Liam hated the butter knife in with the jam.

“Yeah,” I replied. “No specifics, no demands. Like something out of a novel. You think it might be a bad joke from a fellow writer?”

“Maybe, I dunno.” He shrugged. “You want me to run it for prints?”

“Sure, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope. Pretty much everyone from the housemaid to the chief of police have probably had their mucky hands on it. But sure, why not? Can’t hurt, can it?” It was a rhetorical question.

Liam was looking at me funny, a weird smirk on his face. “What?”

“Do that thing,” he said.

“What thing?” I asked, smearing jam on my toast.

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