Read Online The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3) by Michael Panush - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Panush
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was Mr. Darcy – the charming, mysterious and darkly handsome outsider who finds all the local ladies madly in love with him!”
Mort turned to face Weatherby, and he wasn’t smiling. “You’re getting in too deep. You’ve gone dizzy over a dame, and that means you won’t be thinking straight. Getting drunk is one thing, but a broad is something else.” Mort sighed. “I knew this idea stunk. It’s getting personal, and it’s going to end up badly for one of you.”
“I can handle it,” Weatherby retorted. “I just need to stop Butch, get that book away from him… and then everything will be all right…” His smile returned.
“Sure. But you watch yourself, kiddo.” Mort turned the corner, and Weatherby saw the blinking square sign of the motel, glowing above the solid square building and the shallow swimming pool. “You’re dealing with girls and with Black Magic. It’s hard to tell which is more dangerous.”
The words echoed in Weatherby’s ears as Mort helped him out of the car and to their room. They kept on echoing, even as he slumped in the bed and went to sleep.
The next morning, Weatherby felt a great weight pressing on his forehead. He sat up and tumbled out of the covers, falling onto the ground. He gripped his forehead. “Good heavens,” Weatherby muttered. He stood up, swaying on his feet. “I can’t hold my liquor at all…”
Mort was there to hand Weatherby a robe and a cold glass of water. “Just get some liquid inside of you, kiddo. That’ll kill the pain. And there’s no shame in being a lightweight. Was that the first taste of alcohol you ever had?”
Weatherby thought for a few moments as he sipped the water. “Well, I think my mother allowed me a sip of wine during a dinner, at my sister’s tenth birthday. It tasted terrible and I spat it back up. I think that was a wise decision.” He looked up at the clock and came to his feet. “Oh, by all the gods and devils!” Weatherby cried. “My first class starts within the minute!”
“Yeah. I decided you could be a little late and spare yourself some pain.” Mort shrugged. “After all, it ain’t like you’re really enrolled. Soon as we wrap up this case, we’ll move on. You don’t have to worry about good grades or attendance or anything.”
“Y-yes,” Weatherby agreed. “That’s absolutely right. And I thank for your kindness.” He grabbed his frock coat, vest and tie, and hurried into the next room to change. There was no need for a normal student’s clothes. The other kids knew him as himself, and he decided to dress as such.
After changing and having a quick breakfast, Weatherby and Mort left the hotel and went to school. Mort held tightly to the wheel, staring out at the suburban houses like they were enemy bunkers, and they’d soon be spitting machine gun rounds his way. He turned to Weatherby as they neared Silver Hills High School.
“So, what was the kid who has the occult book?” he asked. “Butch, something or other?”
“Butch Waller,” Weatherby said. “He’s quite vicious.” He rubbed the bruise on his face, which was healing well. “What exactly are you going to do?”
“A little sniffing around, maybe.” Mort stopped the car, right in front of the high school. “Here we are, kiddo. You better get to class.”
Weatherby nodded and hopped out of the car. He grabbed his backpack, waved to Mort as he hustled forward and ran to his homeroom. The halls were deserted, and Weatherby passed the lockers and reached the door. He pulled it back carefully and stepped inside.
The teacher looked up at him, putting her hands on her hips. “Ah. Weatherby Stein. Only your second day and you’re already late.”
“I suppose so.” Weatherby looked at the faces of his fellow students. They were all staring up at him expectantly waiting for him to do something. Summoning Orobas had raised him high in their estimation, and he had to keep their confidence. “I mean, that’s right – I
Mort turned to face Weatherby, and he wasn’t smiling. “You’re getting in too deep. You’ve gone dizzy over a dame, and that means you won’t be thinking straight. Getting drunk is one thing, but a broad is something else.” Mort sighed. “I knew this idea stunk. It’s getting personal, and it’s going to end up badly for one of you.”
“I can handle it,” Weatherby retorted. “I just need to stop Butch, get that book away from him… and then everything will be all right…” His smile returned.
“Sure. But you watch yourself, kiddo.” Mort turned the corner, and Weatherby saw the blinking square sign of the motel, glowing above the solid square building and the shallow swimming pool. “You’re dealing with girls and with Black Magic. It’s hard to tell which is more dangerous.”
The words echoed in Weatherby’s ears as Mort helped him out of the car and to their room. They kept on echoing, even as he slumped in the bed and went to sleep.
The next morning, Weatherby felt a great weight pressing on his forehead. He sat up and tumbled out of the covers, falling onto the ground. He gripped his forehead. “Good heavens,” Weatherby muttered. He stood up, swaying on his feet. “I can’t hold my liquor at all…”
Mort was there to hand Weatherby a robe and a cold glass of water. “Just get some liquid inside of you, kiddo. That’ll kill the pain. And there’s no shame in being a lightweight. Was that the first taste of alcohol you ever had?”
Weatherby thought for a few moments as he sipped the water. “Well, I think my mother allowed me a sip of wine during a dinner, at my sister’s tenth birthday. It tasted terrible and I spat it back up. I think that was a wise decision.” He looked up at the clock and came to his feet. “Oh, by all the gods and devils!” Weatherby cried. “My first class starts within the minute!”
“Yeah. I decided you could be a little late and spare yourself some pain.” Mort shrugged. “After all, it ain’t like you’re really enrolled. Soon as we wrap up this case, we’ll move on. You don’t have to worry about good grades or attendance or anything.”
“Y-yes,” Weatherby agreed. “That’s absolutely right. And I thank for your kindness.” He grabbed his frock coat, vest and tie, and hurried into the next room to change. There was no need for a normal student’s clothes. The other kids knew him as himself, and he decided to dress as such.
After changing and having a quick breakfast, Weatherby and Mort left the hotel and went to school. Mort held tightly to the wheel, staring out at the suburban houses like they were enemy bunkers, and they’d soon be spitting machine gun rounds his way. He turned to Weatherby as they neared Silver Hills High School.
“So, what was the kid who has the occult book?” he asked. “Butch, something or other?”
“Butch Waller,” Weatherby said. “He’s quite vicious.” He rubbed the bruise on his face, which was healing well. “What exactly are you going to do?”
“A little sniffing around, maybe.” Mort stopped the car, right in front of the high school. “Here we are, kiddo. You better get to class.”
Weatherby nodded and hopped out of the car. He grabbed his backpack, waved to Mort as he hustled forward and ran to his homeroom. The halls were deserted, and Weatherby passed the lockers and reached the door. He pulled it back carefully and stepped inside.
The teacher looked up at him, putting her hands on her hips. “Ah. Weatherby Stein. Only your second day and you’re already late.”
“I suppose so.” Weatherby looked at the faces of his fellow students. They were all staring up at him expectantly waiting for him to do something. Summoning Orobas had raised him high in their estimation, and he had to keep their confidence. “I mean, that’s right – I
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