“Hey, are you just gonna stand there?” My brother griped.
I lurched forward grabbed a foot and helped him drag the body into the room. I pressed two fingers to his neck praying for a pulse. Nothing.
“Holy hell, Lees, it’s Andy Parnello! Why is he here?”
I stared at my brother. “To die? Hell, I don’t know what he’s doing here.”
“Well shit! Who’d want to kill Andy?”
A question for later. I went to the desk and grabbed the landline.
“Ha! Proof right in front of you, my dear.” Carmela crowed as she walked in and stared at the body.
“Never mind that. Lock the damn door would you.”
As I hit the speed dial, I eyed the body.
“When did you read tarot on him?” Carmela asked. I slid the appointment book over to her and she flipped through the pages.
“February 9th/10:00am.” She looked up. “Three days ago.” Carmela’s smug expression irritated me. I turned away listening to the phone ring out. I closed my eyes. I truly did not expect dead bodies to find their way to my door. It certainly didn’t mean I was a Necromancer for God’s sake! Of course, great-great-grandma, Bifinia, possessed that particular talent and it seemed to only show up in the Luna women. Still, that didn’t mark me as the next one in line. I have enough on my plate trying to appear normal in a pazzo family.
“Crap.” I stuck my tongue out at the receiver and jammed it back on its cradle. “No answer.”
“Lees, you know better than anyone where we have to call it in.”
I leaned a hip against the edge of the scarred desk and sighed. “I know. I just don’t want too.”
My brother shook his head. “Want me to call, Murray?”
He gave me a ‘duh’ look. “Well, who you gonna call?”
In spite of the situation, I smiled. “Man, that phrase will never be usable again. Okay, fine, call him. I shoved away from the desk and rounded on him. “But be warned, brother. If I get hauled away in leg irons and thrown in jail the minute I’m released, I’m gonna kick your ass so hard you’ll be wearing it as a hat.”
Far from intimidated, my brother smirked and said, “You know what? You should–”
Unfortunately, I’ll never know what he was about to say because I woke up. And that, my friends, is the very last time I will ever eat chocolate before bed!
photo credits: photobucket
Old School Italian
Born to Write
"We make bitter better."
Irish History, Culture, Heritage, Language, Mythology
spare the crazy vocabulary, speak from your heart
Poetry, Prose, Photography
by Lize Bard
Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.
Exploring land recently released by ice (geologically speaking)