Read Online In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) by A.W. Hartoin - Free Book Online
Authors: A.W. Hartoin
Ads: Link
normally I would’ve said no way. The bridesmaid dress my cousins wanted was a short, busty girl’s nightmare. Even after losing twenty-five pounds I could not pull off a satin column dress. The thing was backless. Backless! I’d be using Sorcha’s duct tape to secure my breasts. Nightmare.
“I love love love it,” said Jilly.
She would. Jilly and Sorcha were five foot ten, had no breasts to speak of, and zero body fat. They would look like Audrey Hepburn with their long swan-like necks and I’d look like a badly upholstered sofa.
But I owed them. They put up with Uncle Morty in the form of a smelly, loud troll for a long time with no complaints. These were not the cousins I remembered. They did not live up to their names of Weepy, Snot, and Spoiled Rotten and nobody had taped any part of me to any other part.
“It’s the one,” I said.
“Success,” said Bridget and we toasted the decision with tiny Cokes out of the mini fridge.
“And the color matches the green of your eyes,” said Sorcha, her own eyes red from tearing up over how beautiful Bridget’s dress was. Sorcha wasn’t dating anyone and had no prospects. Her career in law wasn’t helping. She didn’t want to date another lawyer and they weren’t keen on her either. She’d probably make partner by the time she was thirty, but I had a feeling that wasn’t the sort of partner she aspired to be. Sorcha was meant to be a wife and mother and she knew it. I wished I was as sure about anything as she was about that.
“Eyes. Yeah, that’s important,” muttered Uncle Morty without looking up.
“What?” asked Bridget.
“Nothing. He said nothing,” I said.
Sorcha finished up the list of wedding decisions we’d made and tucked it in her laptop bag. “There. The first stage is done.”
First stage? What can be left?
I decided it was better not to ask and pressed the intercom. “There’s a gas station. I’ve got to go.”
Everyone agreed to take a pit stop, even Uncle Morty after I kicked him in the shin. We pulled into a little one-pump gas station with a rusted awning and lots of beer signs. The chauffeur opened the door for us and Uncle Morty pointed at me. “Get me some beer and a pizza.”
“I doubt they have pizza at six-thirty a.m.” I looked at the Quik Mart. “Or ever.”
“Tommy got it at four-thirty.”
“That was Dad in St. Louis.”
“I need a pizza and beer. I’m creating here.”
Bridget and Jilly suppressed smiles and Sorcha rolled her brown eyes. I couldn’t believe it. My cousins were the practical ones.
“You’ll have a frozen burrito and you’ll like it,” I said, getting out.
“Listen here, you—”
Sorcha slammed the limo door and sucked in her lips like a bad little girl who just dumped dirt on her neighbor’s head. Not that I would know anything about being a bad little girl with a bucket.
“Do you think he’ll get out and yell at us?” asked Jilly.
“Are you kidding? He’s so immobile he practically has bedsores.” I waved to Terrance, our chauffeur, as he lit up a cigarette. “Be back in a minute.”
He took a super long drag, burning down half the cigarette in one go and was on me in two steps. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
“Are you kidding me?” I asked.
“What do you think?”
“I can go to the bathroom by myself.”
“Until you’re on the estate, you’re my responsibility,” he said.
“You’re not coming in the bathroom with me,” I said.
“We’ll see.”
Fantastic.
I dashed for the door, but Terrance outpaced me, grabbing the rickety metal handle. “My responsibility.”
“You’re not really a chauffeur, are you?”
“How’d you guess?”
I sighed and he opened the door with a creak. An elderly man jolted awake behind the high laminate counter. “Good morning.” He glanced outside and saw the limo, but it didn’t faze him. With Cairngorms
“I love love love it,” said Jilly.
She would. Jilly and Sorcha were five foot ten, had no breasts to speak of, and zero body fat. They would look like Audrey Hepburn with their long swan-like necks and I’d look like a badly upholstered sofa.
But I owed them. They put up with Uncle Morty in the form of a smelly, loud troll for a long time with no complaints. These were not the cousins I remembered. They did not live up to their names of Weepy, Snot, and Spoiled Rotten and nobody had taped any part of me to any other part.
“It’s the one,” I said.
“Success,” said Bridget and we toasted the decision with tiny Cokes out of the mini fridge.
“And the color matches the green of your eyes,” said Sorcha, her own eyes red from tearing up over how beautiful Bridget’s dress was. Sorcha wasn’t dating anyone and had no prospects. Her career in law wasn’t helping. She didn’t want to date another lawyer and they weren’t keen on her either. She’d probably make partner by the time she was thirty, but I had a feeling that wasn’t the sort of partner she aspired to be. Sorcha was meant to be a wife and mother and she knew it. I wished I was as sure about anything as she was about that.
“Eyes. Yeah, that’s important,” muttered Uncle Morty without looking up.
“What?” asked Bridget.
“Nothing. He said nothing,” I said.
Sorcha finished up the list of wedding decisions we’d made and tucked it in her laptop bag. “There. The first stage is done.”
First stage? What can be left?
I decided it was better not to ask and pressed the intercom. “There’s a gas station. I’ve got to go.”
Everyone agreed to take a pit stop, even Uncle Morty after I kicked him in the shin. We pulled into a little one-pump gas station with a rusted awning and lots of beer signs. The chauffeur opened the door for us and Uncle Morty pointed at me. “Get me some beer and a pizza.”
“I doubt they have pizza at six-thirty a.m.” I looked at the Quik Mart. “Or ever.”
“Tommy got it at four-thirty.”
“That was Dad in St. Louis.”
“I need a pizza and beer. I’m creating here.”
Bridget and Jilly suppressed smiles and Sorcha rolled her brown eyes. I couldn’t believe it. My cousins were the practical ones.
“You’ll have a frozen burrito and you’ll like it,” I said, getting out.
“Listen here, you—”
Sorcha slammed the limo door and sucked in her lips like a bad little girl who just dumped dirt on her neighbor’s head. Not that I would know anything about being a bad little girl with a bucket.
“Do you think he’ll get out and yell at us?” asked Jilly.
“Are you kidding? He’s so immobile he practically has bedsores.” I waved to Terrance, our chauffeur, as he lit up a cigarette. “Be back in a minute.”
He took a super long drag, burning down half the cigarette in one go and was on me in two steps. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
“Are you kidding me?” I asked.
“What do you think?”
“I can go to the bathroom by myself.”
“Until you’re on the estate, you’re my responsibility,” he said.
“You’re not coming in the bathroom with me,” I said.
“We’ll see.”
Fantastic.
I dashed for the door, but Terrance outpaced me, grabbing the rickety metal handle. “My responsibility.”
“You’re not really a chauffeur, are you?”
“How’d you guess?”
I sighed and he opened the door with a creak. An elderly man jolted awake behind the high laminate counter. “Good morning.” He glanced outside and saw the limo, but it didn’t faze him. With Cairngorms
Similar Books
