Dear Departed: The Marnie Baranuik Files Book 7 by A.J. Aalto

Author:A.J. Aalto [Aalto, A.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pixiegrind Ink Ltd
Published: 2024-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Declan had been quiet over breakfast, glum and shamefaced. I was going to blame Morgan if Declan thought we were too noisy. I smelled faintly of blueberry lube and my lady parts throbbed happily. Reminding myself that I shouldn’t be embarrassed about having a healthy sex life, I devoured a second breakfast and indulged in three cups of the black tea Declan had dug up for me. He watched my caffeine intake with what looked like concern, but he needn’t have worried — compared to my coffee and espresso back home, the tea was just barely enough to stave off withdrawal headaches.

Declan checked and dressed Morgan’s wounds again, lifting the edge of his shorts, prodding his belly.

“Really, you two? Right in front of my croissants?”

Morgan grinned over his mug. “Should we get a room?”

“I’m pleased with the progress,” Declan said as though he hadn’t heard us, approving of the soft scabs by the sound of his positive murmuring. He reapplied some salve from his bag. My heightened DaySitter sense of smell caught the distinct, musky fragrance of calendula this time and agreed with this healing regimen.

When Declan suggested that Morgan eat a heartier breakfast than usual, he acted the compliant patient and got up to fetch more of the delicious sausage I’d had earlier. I refrained from telling Declan the recipe. For lucky Miss Marnie B., it had been a fabulous morning on the sausage front. I cast a lascivious, lip-licking glance at Morgan as I refilled my plate. When I reminded the deputy I had work to do, he decided to stay in the cafeteria and read the paper instead of going back to the room, though he looked disappointed about the lack of more sexytimes.

Declan and I hustled through the fat raindrops that battered the sidewalk. He gathered up his doctor’s bag from his room and followed me back to mine, rattling and clinking with loose bottles and metal instruments.

“Thanks for calling the doctor on my behalf last night,” I said, rummaging through my luggage for my grimoire and flipping through the pages.

“Well, I tried.” Declan dried his black curly locks on a small white towel.

“And thanks for dealing with the land guys. Don’t need them on my back while Razo’s already fully committed to crawling up my ass.”

“The Gendarmes?” He shook his head, mystified. “I didn’t talk to anyone there.”

I frowned. “You didn’t?”

“No,” he said. “There was no answer when I called either the station or the hospice.”

That’s the second lie Razo told me. Unless it was Kill-Notch who called. “Where’s Jerkface?”

“He stormed off after a kerfuffle last night,” Declan said, hanging his damp towel on the back of a chair. “When I heard what led to your arrest, it was obvious to me that Mark must have set you off. I know how he presses your buttons. When I heard that he told them you were crazy, and let them cart you off to an asylum?” He growled, both hands in fists. “I called the hospital, Dr.

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