Read Online 1 The Bitches of Everafter by Barbra Annino - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbra Annino
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session with Dr. Bean, nor had her community service begun.
“Yes.” Her voice shook.
“How do you like the house?”
She looked around the vast room with its crumbling wallpaper and cracked ceiling. “It’s fine. It could use some sprucing up, I suppose.”
“Are you handy with that sort of thing? Decorating and such?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m sure Granny would appreciate any help you could give her.”
“I’m sure.”
She seemed almost as meek as the mouse.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
She considered it for a moment. “None that I can think of.”
Robin stood. “Granny has my card, so if you think of anything you just give me a holler. I’ll be happy to help you in any way I can.”
Until you do something mean like dose my tea and paint my toenails pink while I’m passed out. He was certain that Cindy had been involved with that disaster. It took him forever to get the polish off. Luckily, Marion wasn’t home at the time.
Robin felt Snow’s eyes on him as he gathered up the files. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so difficult after all. She certainly didn’t seem like the type to slash his tires or prank-call his phone.
Robin smiled at her and said, “Don’t worry. The time will go by quickly as long as you obey the rules and stay out of trouble.”
She nodded.
Robin felt good about this one. Maybe he would make a difference here. Although her crime was more disturbing than any of the others, she seemed truly remorseful.
As if she sensed his thoughts, Snow White said, while his hand was just about to twist the knob, “I’ll stay out of trouble.”
He turned back. “That’s good, glad to hear it.” He smiled at her.
Then she added, “But I’m not sorry. Not even a little bit.” Her jaw was firm. She wasn’t kidding.
Her deadly serious tone chilled Robin to the bone.
He hurried from the house of horrors, shutting the door behind him without saying another word. He started up the car, and sped away toward the judge’s house.
As he drove down the block, Robin’s lights flashed on, the windshield wipers swished frantically at full speed, and the radio blared country music full blast.
“Goddamn those bitches,” he muttered as he eased the car up the hill to Wolf’s Den Drive.
11
My What Big Balls You Have
Judge Redhood stood in her enormous home office at the end of Wolf’s Den Drive, holding a bloody Mary in one hand and a golf putter in the other. She hated golf. Hated everything about the stupid sport, but her physician, Dr. Miner, thought it might help her stress levels if she developed a hobby that allowed her to relax—take her mind off her work. She told him that was what bloody Marys were for, but he seemed to think the booze would elevate her blood pressure, which was the very thing they were trying to lower, so golf it was. Except she wasn’t much for the sun and wide open spaces, which was why her house was situated at the end of a pine-lined street on the edge of Sherwood Forest. So she’d had her assistant, Tink, build her an indoor course. Currently Judge Redhood, whose friends would call her Red if she had any, was on the back nine, and if not for the bloody Mary Tink had just poured she would be launching the putter right through the Tudor-style window.
She sipped the spicy drink, popped a blue cheese olive into her mouth, and said, “What’s my score, Tink?”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t worry so much about keeping score. Perhaps the simple joy of the game should suffice.” Tink beamed her kilowatt smile at the judge, her curly turquoise hair bouncing all around her dainty shoulders. Her voice was a series of squeaks, clicks, and giggles that some people found annoying, but Judge Redhood usually found it endearing. She reminded the judge of what a dolphin or a butterfly might sound like if equipped with vocal cords.
There were a lot of things the judge didn’t like besides golf—surprises, old people, infomercials, losing,
“Yes.” Her voice shook.
“How do you like the house?”
She looked around the vast room with its crumbling wallpaper and cracked ceiling. “It’s fine. It could use some sprucing up, I suppose.”
“Are you handy with that sort of thing? Decorating and such?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m sure Granny would appreciate any help you could give her.”
“I’m sure.”
She seemed almost as meek as the mouse.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
She considered it for a moment. “None that I can think of.”
Robin stood. “Granny has my card, so if you think of anything you just give me a holler. I’ll be happy to help you in any way I can.”
Until you do something mean like dose my tea and paint my toenails pink while I’m passed out. He was certain that Cindy had been involved with that disaster. It took him forever to get the polish off. Luckily, Marion wasn’t home at the time.
Robin felt Snow’s eyes on him as he gathered up the files. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so difficult after all. She certainly didn’t seem like the type to slash his tires or prank-call his phone.
Robin smiled at her and said, “Don’t worry. The time will go by quickly as long as you obey the rules and stay out of trouble.”
She nodded.
Robin felt good about this one. Maybe he would make a difference here. Although her crime was more disturbing than any of the others, she seemed truly remorseful.
As if she sensed his thoughts, Snow White said, while his hand was just about to twist the knob, “I’ll stay out of trouble.”
He turned back. “That’s good, glad to hear it.” He smiled at her.
Then she added, “But I’m not sorry. Not even a little bit.” Her jaw was firm. She wasn’t kidding.
Her deadly serious tone chilled Robin to the bone.
He hurried from the house of horrors, shutting the door behind him without saying another word. He started up the car, and sped away toward the judge’s house.
As he drove down the block, Robin’s lights flashed on, the windshield wipers swished frantically at full speed, and the radio blared country music full blast.
“Goddamn those bitches,” he muttered as he eased the car up the hill to Wolf’s Den Drive.
11
My What Big Balls You Have
Judge Redhood stood in her enormous home office at the end of Wolf’s Den Drive, holding a bloody Mary in one hand and a golf putter in the other. She hated golf. Hated everything about the stupid sport, but her physician, Dr. Miner, thought it might help her stress levels if she developed a hobby that allowed her to relax—take her mind off her work. She told him that was what bloody Marys were for, but he seemed to think the booze would elevate her blood pressure, which was the very thing they were trying to lower, so golf it was. Except she wasn’t much for the sun and wide open spaces, which was why her house was situated at the end of a pine-lined street on the edge of Sherwood Forest. So she’d had her assistant, Tink, build her an indoor course. Currently Judge Redhood, whose friends would call her Red if she had any, was on the back nine, and if not for the bloody Mary Tink had just poured she would be launching the putter right through the Tudor-style window.
She sipped the spicy drink, popped a blue cheese olive into her mouth, and said, “What’s my score, Tink?”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t worry so much about keeping score. Perhaps the simple joy of the game should suffice.” Tink beamed her kilowatt smile at the judge, her curly turquoise hair bouncing all around her dainty shoulders. Her voice was a series of squeaks, clicks, and giggles that some people found annoying, but Judge Redhood usually found it endearing. She reminded the judge of what a dolphin or a butterfly might sound like if equipped with vocal cords.
There were a lot of things the judge didn’t like besides golf—surprises, old people, infomercials, losing,
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