“Okay, okay, that one now. Let me smell it.”
“This is the most disgusting game in the history of games.”
“Marc is correct, Elizabeth.”
I took a big whiff, then straightened. “Ha! See?” I opened my mouth and pointed. “No fangs!”
“And now, no appetite.” Marc swept the almost empty blood bag out of sight. We had no idea where he’d gotten it, and didn’t ask. Something about biohazard garbage being a treasure trove of grossness, which is the exact moment I stopped listening.
It was the end of Moving Back Day, and the beginning of smoothie time. The only person missing was Tina, and I could hear her steps in the hall. She came into the kitchen, smiling a little at the old-fashioned swinging door. We’d restored what we could and changed as little as necessary.
“Two packages for you, Majesty.” She had a sizable box in her arms and a Priority Mail envelope on top of it. I knew without asking that they’d been scanned, weighed, fluoroscoped, et cetera, or she wouldn’t have brought them anywhere near me. There were some security upgrades to adjust to.
I tore open the first envelope while Sinclair topped my glass with more Dreamsicle smoothie. He nearly dropped the blender when I yelped to see the book and the enclosed note.
Dear Betsy,
You might not remember me but we met the day of our KARE 11 interviews. I saw on the news that you had a fire and thought you might like a new copy of Smoothie Nation. Thanks again for being so nice to me when you knew I was scared of you.
Best, Carol
“Oh, yay!” I showed them the book. “Isn’t that nice? Now I’m super glad I didn’t bite her. Or any of the sound guys. Or Diana Pierce.”
“No need to immediately make work for Detective Berry,” my husband pointed out. Except he wasn’t Detective Berry anymore; he was now the official Police Liaison to the Twin Cities Vampire Community Berry. His twins
(One way or the other, Dad’s always fuzzy.)
had nailed that one, too.
I picked up the paring knife we’d used to clean the strawberries for Smoothies: Round Two, and slit the top of the UPS box. “Where’s Will? He’s missing the most important event in this house.”
“Unpacking. He’s . . . a tiny bit anal about placing his belongings.”
“Yeah, well, tell him to keep his anal attitude away from me.” I was still a little touchy about some of my belongings, specifically the ones that I’d had to toss due to smoke damage and worse. “And don’t forget, we’re going back to Hell first thing in the morning to pull together some more parole board committees.” Jennifer Palmer had set the bar high for future parolees, but thanks to her, there’d be future parolees. I wanted to get them back into the world as quickly as possible, which meant I needed a lot more bodies to help.
I’d offered Lawrence and Cindy parole, and they’d both turned me down. Cindy because she’d found her purpose—she was now in charge of all social media and gossip in Hell, reporting to the Ant (and, I was sure, suggesting compliments the Ant could use to satisfy the parameters of the bet), and Lawrence wouldn’t leave her. Nor did she want to return to a world where her father was dead.
Ronald hadn’t shown up in Hell, so unfortunately I couldn’t tie off that loose end. Wherever he was, I hoped he had found some peace. I blamed Laura a lot more than I blamed him. And blame aside, even if I hated them, they had both paid for their grotesque mistakes.
I got the box flap open and stared at a familiar box.
No.
Couldn’t be.
But there was no mistaking them; I’d know those beautiful shoe boxes anywhere, all glossy black and purple and pink, as much works of art as the shoes inside.
I grabbed the note with trembling fingers.
Dear Ms. Taylor,
My assistant has been following your story on the news and told me you lost some of your shoes to a fire. I thought you might like some new ones so enclosed please find my summer collection. Would love to talk to you about repping my brand!
Sincerely,
Beverly Feldman
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—”
“My God.”
“—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—”
“The neighbors are gonna think there’s another fire.”
“—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” I fought, and conquered, the urge to burst into tears of transcendent joy. “Look! Look! So many shoes! Oh my God! Oh, look at these! And these! Heels and flats! Look!”
Home.