Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 04 - Miami Mummies by Barbara Silkstone Page B

you a key to my condo,” I said as I climbed over the seat and into the rear of his Escalade. Adrenalin left my body in a splat as I fought with the cat suit, stripping it from my sweaty limbs.
    “That old lady was Mrs. MacGuffin. She’s Hic’s afterlife coach and fairy godmother,” I said wriggling into my skinny jeans and cable knit pullover.
    The SUV sped along the ribbons of highway leading to Miami International.
    Kit pulled onto the departure ramp. I leaned forward, kissed his cheek, and stumbled from the car. If Roger knew what I’d done he’d fire me. I thought about the make-up sex and wondered if he’d terminate that just to punish me.
    It was three a.m. when Kit dropped me at the airport. “I have your extra set of car keys. I’ll leave your Jag with my cousin Jeffery at the Avis desk for whenever you get back. Want me to keep you company until you get a flight?” he said.
    I needed time alone to decompress. Strong coffee and solitude would go a long way toward preparing me for the coming hours.

Chapter Fourteen
    The clock was ticking down as I ran the concourse of the Nashville International Airport, my canvas courier’s bag over my shoulder, and the bronze bronco nestled in the crook of my right arm.
    “Hey lady! What’s your hurry?”
    Security! I suppose running through an airport with a statue under your arm might arouse some suspicion. I slowed up, working on my sexy smile which I hadn’t used in weeks. I turned to the guard, a plump, crew-cut bubba with water-blue eyes and a Taser holstered on his belt.
    “Miss, we’re under Mauve Alert. We’re looking for a Miami horse thief. A rustler is on the loose.” He hooked his thumbs on his belt. “We hang horse thieves in Tennessee.”
    “No you don’t.”
    “Well we should.”
    “Officer do I look like I have a horse?”
    He blushed. “Course not. Mind if I ask what that is under your arm?”
    “It’s a lamp base.”
    He squinted and craned his neck trying to get a better look.
    My cell phone rang. I stepped a few feet away from the bubba’s prying eyes and answered it.
    Tippy howled, “Someone put a dead fish in my bed!”
    “Come again?”
    “I couldn’t. Not with a stinky snapper in my sheets.”
    “A bedded dead fish qualifies as a threat. I’m out of state right now and can’t help. Did you call Detective Stranger or the Fish and Wildlife Commission?”
    “Stranger was on vacation with his wife. No one is taking this threat seriously.”
    “Have you had any unusual visitors? Plumbers? Electricians?”
    “No one. Just Gary.”
    “Who’s Gary?” The way she said his name spoke volumes.
    Bubba gave me the evil-eye as I put ten feet between us. He tapped his earpiece. “Not a real horse?”
    He glared at the bronze bronco still lodged under my arm.
    Without saying goodbye, I pocketed my phone and sprinted toward the airport door doing my best roadrunner impersonation. As the doors swung open, I caught a reflected glimpse of Bubba hot on my heels, grabbing for his Taser. With a spark and a yelp he went down, a quivering bowl of blue-eyed Jell-O. Evidently he didn’t read the part of the directions that said to get the Taser out of its holster before pulling the trigger.
    When I settled in the taxi it hit me. This was my final scene with Alfred Hiccup. Falling back in the seat I allowed myself the luxury of tears over the loss of my old mentor. Get it out now, Wendy. You need to be a rock for your friend. This is a time of celebration for him.
    Who would Hic be if he returned? And what about the mummies in Miami? With all this wackiness going on, it was just as well I wasn’t pregnant. The baby would be break-dancing in my belly.
     
    The taxi pulled under the canopy, the morning sun highlighting my over-cooked emotions. The White Rabbit’s watch hands were on the ten and the five. The driver scrunched down in his seat perhaps dodging imaginary bullets. I leaped from the cab carrying the bronco and my courier bag, my