Read Online Last Impressions (The Marnie Baranuik Files) by A.J. Aalto - Free Book Online
Authors: A.J. Aalto
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book a rental,” I said, fishing my knit cap out of my pocket and plunking it on my head. The hat was Kelly green and shaped like a cartoon frog, with bulging white eyes on top and nifty kiddy-ties that I fastened under my chin. Ellie held my coffee for me while I zipped up my puffy pink parka, then I followed her toward the exit doors, sipping cautiously and blowing into the little hole in the brown plastic lid. “And who’s stuffy? Harry? Constable Schenk?”
She shook her head no . “Did this cop invite you to help on his case,” she asked, “or are you butting in like always?”
“Since when do I butt-in without being invited? I usually try to butt out , but nobody lets me.”
“You hate an unsolved mystery.” She had me there, but I was going to keep practicing my denial skills. Or maybe just reheat my sarcasm.
“I absolutely, positively love not knowing what’s going on,” I scoffed. “I spend ninety percent of my day not knowing what the fuck is going on.”
“That, I don’t doubt,” Ellie said. “You're going to see that horde you call family while you’re in town, aren’t you?”
I snorted. “I’d rather freeze to death and be eaten by wolves, not necessarily in that order.”
We pushed out of the airport doors. The blast of winter air hit me directly in the face, nearly freezing my eyeballs open on contact. They watered instantly. We both stopped with matching expressions of agony. My shoulders shot up to offer some protection to the nape of my neck. I made an involuntary little whooping noise and chased Ellie’s quick footfalls to the right, hugging my coffee cup to my chest, not that it offered any warmth through my parka, but at least it wasn't going to be blown clean out of my hands. The snow slanted nearly horizontally, slick white streaks in the near-light of the creeping dawn. There was a crowd of porters and curious travelers gathering at the curb. We lurched through the sea of gawkers, using them as a human wind break, and ran aground against a vintage Bentley hearse. A short, lean, white-haired man of indeterminate age who looked like he might have an iron rod in his spine directed the porters loading Harry’s casket. He wore a black suit under a long wool coat that swirled around his polished boots in a way that reminded me of Harry’s opera cloaks. The gentleman took my bag from Ellie swiftly to stow it.
“I am Byron Merritt, madam,” he told me, bowing his head slightly into the fierce wind. “Everything is ready for you.”
“See? I don’t know what the fuck is going on, and I love it. For realsies.” I looked to Ellie for help. She shrugged. “You’re who, now?”
“Byron Merritt, madam. Lord Dreppenstedt’s butler and valet for North House,” he said.
“North House,” I repeated.
“Lord Dreppenstedt’s residence in Niagara-On-The-Lake,” he said over the noise of idling cars and clattering luggage.
“You’re kidding,” I gaped. “Harry has a butler? Why don’t I have a goddamn butler?”
“You do, madam,” he said, smoothly. “I shall be pleased to serve you for the duration of your stay.”
That was the best news ever. I could already picture the old guy serving me espresso in the bath while Harry read to me from the newspaper. I felt my lips curl up in a smile. “Fuckin’ A. My name’s Marnie, but you can call me the Great White Shark. Or the Psychic Crusader. Or sweet-cheeks. I like sweet-cheeks the best.”
Ellie coughed into her hand.
“Begging your pardon, madam,” Mr. Merritt said, “but I am fairly certain I shall not be calling you that.”
“I don’t need you to; it’s on my organ donor card.” I eyed the hearse. “Nice wheels. They Harry’s?”
“The car belongs to Lord Dreppenstedt, yes.” He held the passenger door open for Ellie and me. “Please do get in, it’s terribly cold.”
We slid across the cushy leather bench seat and let the blasting heat thaw our faces. I put my coffee in the cup holder,
She shook her head no . “Did this cop invite you to help on his case,” she asked, “or are you butting in like always?”
“Since when do I butt-in without being invited? I usually try to butt out , but nobody lets me.”
“You hate an unsolved mystery.” She had me there, but I was going to keep practicing my denial skills. Or maybe just reheat my sarcasm.
“I absolutely, positively love not knowing what’s going on,” I scoffed. “I spend ninety percent of my day not knowing what the fuck is going on.”
“That, I don’t doubt,” Ellie said. “You're going to see that horde you call family while you’re in town, aren’t you?”
I snorted. “I’d rather freeze to death and be eaten by wolves, not necessarily in that order.”
We pushed out of the airport doors. The blast of winter air hit me directly in the face, nearly freezing my eyeballs open on contact. They watered instantly. We both stopped with matching expressions of agony. My shoulders shot up to offer some protection to the nape of my neck. I made an involuntary little whooping noise and chased Ellie’s quick footfalls to the right, hugging my coffee cup to my chest, not that it offered any warmth through my parka, but at least it wasn't going to be blown clean out of my hands. The snow slanted nearly horizontally, slick white streaks in the near-light of the creeping dawn. There was a crowd of porters and curious travelers gathering at the curb. We lurched through the sea of gawkers, using them as a human wind break, and ran aground against a vintage Bentley hearse. A short, lean, white-haired man of indeterminate age who looked like he might have an iron rod in his spine directed the porters loading Harry’s casket. He wore a black suit under a long wool coat that swirled around his polished boots in a way that reminded me of Harry’s opera cloaks. The gentleman took my bag from Ellie swiftly to stow it.
“I am Byron Merritt, madam,” he told me, bowing his head slightly into the fierce wind. “Everything is ready for you.”
“See? I don’t know what the fuck is going on, and I love it. For realsies.” I looked to Ellie for help. She shrugged. “You’re who, now?”
“Byron Merritt, madam. Lord Dreppenstedt’s butler and valet for North House,” he said.
“North House,” I repeated.
“Lord Dreppenstedt’s residence in Niagara-On-The-Lake,” he said over the noise of idling cars and clattering luggage.
“You’re kidding,” I gaped. “Harry has a butler? Why don’t I have a goddamn butler?”
“You do, madam,” he said, smoothly. “I shall be pleased to serve you for the duration of your stay.”
That was the best news ever. I could already picture the old guy serving me espresso in the bath while Harry read to me from the newspaper. I felt my lips curl up in a smile. “Fuckin’ A. My name’s Marnie, but you can call me the Great White Shark. Or the Psychic Crusader. Or sweet-cheeks. I like sweet-cheeks the best.”
Ellie coughed into her hand.
“Begging your pardon, madam,” Mr. Merritt said, “but I am fairly certain I shall not be calling you that.”
“I don’t need you to; it’s on my organ donor card.” I eyed the hearse. “Nice wheels. They Harry’s?”
“The car belongs to Lord Dreppenstedt, yes.” He held the passenger door open for Ellie and me. “Please do get in, it’s terribly cold.”
We slid across the cushy leather bench seat and let the blasting heat thaw our faces. I put my coffee in the cup holder,
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