Read Online Last Impressions (The Marnie Baranuik Files) by A.J. Aalto - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A.J. Aalto
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removed my gloves, and rubbed my cheeks.
“Nice of Harry to warn me about this little surprise,” I said, watching Mr. Merritt circling behind the hearse to monitor the porters struggling to load Harry and his casket like pallbearers. The crowd craned and tried to be coy about staring, casting wide-eyed glances and then looking away like they didn’t care. Several camera phones blinked their flashes; luckily for their owners, Harry's being ensconced within prevented the digital imaging bits from shorting out. A businessman sipping a hot drink plowed into an older woman who had stopped in her tracks to witness the proceedings, and both of them began rapidly apologizing and wiping tea off her coat sleeve as a team: ah, Canadians. I felt the warm push of Harry’s awareness through the Bond and knew he was, for the moment, still wide awake and highly amused by the swirl of mortal attention. I sighed. “Guess we won’t be staying at the Lovesley Inn.”
“Are you surprised?” Ellie asked.
“A little,” I said, blowing into my fists. “Harry loves a good bed and breakfast.”
“I think he’ll be getting both, don’t you?” Ellie sipped her coffee. “Mr. Merritt surprised me, too, when I was getting into my car to come get you. Thought I was being kidnapped by a little old funeral director.”
“Or a ninja,” I said. “Doesn’t he sidle up like a ninja?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s a ninja,” Ellie said, happy to play along with a nod. The Blue Sense tingled a weird warning at me: Ellie was relieved that I was focusing on goofy stuff. I was right; she was definitely hiding something.
“Probably he’s a mixed martial arts master,” I suggested, rolling with it to put her at ease and stifling a sigh.
“How old do you figure he is?”
“Fifty-five? Seventy?”
“A hundred?” Ellie said.
“Hundred-year-old ninja,” I agreed. “Combat Butler for the win.”
Mr. Merritt opened the driver’s side door with an invasion of Arctic wind. He removed his coat, folded it tidily, got in, lay the coat beside me, shut the door, and put on his seatbelt.
“Pretty fuckin’ swanky getaway car, Jeeves,” I said.
“Do you swear in each and every sentence, madam?” he asked, adjusting the rearview mirror. “It seems a shame for a charming young lady to be afflicted with such an unfortunate compulsion.”
“I have way more unfortunate compulsions. And I don’t have to swear,” I assured him. “I could totally stop if I wanted to.”
I could see Mr. Merritt’s right cheek dimple as his lips clamped down around the beginnings of a doubtful smile. I wondered how many years it had been since he’d allowed himself a good, impudent smirk. “Could you indeed?”
Ellie made the slightest uncertain noise.
“Sure I could,” I told them both. I gave Ellie my hey-have-faith-in-me eyes. She rolled hers in a way only a best friend could get away with: loving disgust.
“I am most happy to take your word for it, madam,” Mr. Merritt said, pulling smoothly into the airport traffic and onto the highway. When we started toward Niagara my tummy gave a flutter. Going home, for better or worse. Easier to banter about swearing, or probe Ellie’s odd, secretive concern.
“I’ll prove it to you,” I told Mr. Merritt.
“Uh oh,” Ellie said, pressing back into the leather seat with a knowing grimace.
“I’ll make you a bet, Mr. Merritt,” I said, ignoring Ellie’s throat-clearing and ankle- kicking. “I bet I can resist the urge to swear the entire time I’m in Canada. If I can’t do it, I’ll give you a thousand bucks for every swear word that slips out. But if I can refrain, then on my last day, you’ll swear in every sentence you say to me.”
Ellie gave my ankle a final kick, but she had given up on the enthusiastic warning. I wondered if I had enough money in my account to cover the check I was going to have to write.
The butler managed to resist an eye roll of his own as he merged into
“Nice of Harry to warn me about this little surprise,” I said, watching Mr. Merritt circling behind the hearse to monitor the porters struggling to load Harry and his casket like pallbearers. The crowd craned and tried to be coy about staring, casting wide-eyed glances and then looking away like they didn’t care. Several camera phones blinked their flashes; luckily for their owners, Harry's being ensconced within prevented the digital imaging bits from shorting out. A businessman sipping a hot drink plowed into an older woman who had stopped in her tracks to witness the proceedings, and both of them began rapidly apologizing and wiping tea off her coat sleeve as a team: ah, Canadians. I felt the warm push of Harry’s awareness through the Bond and knew he was, for the moment, still wide awake and highly amused by the swirl of mortal attention. I sighed. “Guess we won’t be staying at the Lovesley Inn.”
“Are you surprised?” Ellie asked.
“A little,” I said, blowing into my fists. “Harry loves a good bed and breakfast.”
“I think he’ll be getting both, don’t you?” Ellie sipped her coffee. “Mr. Merritt surprised me, too, when I was getting into my car to come get you. Thought I was being kidnapped by a little old funeral director.”
“Or a ninja,” I said. “Doesn’t he sidle up like a ninja?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s a ninja,” Ellie said, happy to play along with a nod. The Blue Sense tingled a weird warning at me: Ellie was relieved that I was focusing on goofy stuff. I was right; she was definitely hiding something.
“Probably he’s a mixed martial arts master,” I suggested, rolling with it to put her at ease and stifling a sigh.
“How old do you figure he is?”
“Fifty-five? Seventy?”
“A hundred?” Ellie said.
“Hundred-year-old ninja,” I agreed. “Combat Butler for the win.”
Mr. Merritt opened the driver’s side door with an invasion of Arctic wind. He removed his coat, folded it tidily, got in, lay the coat beside me, shut the door, and put on his seatbelt.
“Pretty fuckin’ swanky getaway car, Jeeves,” I said.
“Do you swear in each and every sentence, madam?” he asked, adjusting the rearview mirror. “It seems a shame for a charming young lady to be afflicted with such an unfortunate compulsion.”
“I have way more unfortunate compulsions. And I don’t have to swear,” I assured him. “I could totally stop if I wanted to.”
I could see Mr. Merritt’s right cheek dimple as his lips clamped down around the beginnings of a doubtful smile. I wondered how many years it had been since he’d allowed himself a good, impudent smirk. “Could you indeed?”
Ellie made the slightest uncertain noise.
“Sure I could,” I told them both. I gave Ellie my hey-have-faith-in-me eyes. She rolled hers in a way only a best friend could get away with: loving disgust.
“I am most happy to take your word for it, madam,” Mr. Merritt said, pulling smoothly into the airport traffic and onto the highway. When we started toward Niagara my tummy gave a flutter. Going home, for better or worse. Easier to banter about swearing, or probe Ellie’s odd, secretive concern.
“I’ll prove it to you,” I told Mr. Merritt.
“Uh oh,” Ellie said, pressing back into the leather seat with a knowing grimace.
“I’ll make you a bet, Mr. Merritt,” I said, ignoring Ellie’s throat-clearing and ankle- kicking. “I bet I can resist the urge to swear the entire time I’m in Canada. If I can’t do it, I’ll give you a thousand bucks for every swear word that slips out. But if I can refrain, then on my last day, you’ll swear in every sentence you say to me.”
Ellie gave my ankle a final kick, but she had given up on the enthusiastic warning. I wondered if I had enough money in my account to cover the check I was going to have to write.
The butler managed to resist an eye roll of his own as he merged into
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