Vulgarian Vamp (A Wendy Darlin Comedy Mystery Book 5) by Barbara Silkstone Page A

of corpses where’s the last place I would look? The cask rolled out from under my tushie and my legs paddled to keep my balance. That was it!
    The wine casks!
    All we had to do was empty thirty-nine barrels and insert one monk in each. We would have barrels of monks , something new from Milton Bradley.
    My missing tooth ached and I felt as if I gone for a ride in a blender, but I managed to clap my hands and call the group to attention.
    Kit lifted me up on a small tasting table so I could see them all in the dim, purplish light.
    “Listen up. I have a plan. “Wesss… damn, darn.” I tried again to sound a ‘w’ but it came out a whistle. One tooth can make such a difference. I stuck my tongue where the tooth would be and tried again. “ We can hide the monks in empty wine casks in the cellar until the VVI get here. If we work fast we can have them all barreled and corked before morning.”
    “Brilliant!” Roger said, glowing with pride. “The alcohol vapors from the wine should slow up the decomposition of the bodies.”
    I looked down on the team. The old non-pregnant, bossy Wendy was back under full power. The two shotgun-toting Louts stood at the top of the stairs glaring down at us and scratching their heads.
    “Bram, please send those two villagers home for the day. And don’t let them know where we hide the bodies. I don’t trust them.”
    The priest saluted me and left the cellar, scooting the Louts before him.
    “Kit and Roger, start dumping the wine. Line up the empty casks at that big coal chute thingie.” I pointed in the direction of a stone slide that opened from ground level to where we stood.
    “Mina, you are our muscle. As soon as the Louts leave, start pushing those barrels up the incline and into the cemetery. Renfield, help Mina.” The little man rolled his Marty Feldman eyes, or else they were slipping in their sockets.
    Kit and Roger began tipping the wine barrels. The wooden casks thunked to the floor spilling their purple juice in a giant splash and then trickled as a slosh of wine remained in each barrel. The floors ran red with cabernet.
    A wave of nausea washed over me. The fumes from the wine-spill were overpowering. I worried that Little Roger might be inhaling the alcohol.
    “I’m going topside to check on Bram,” I called over the sound of slopping vino.
    The graveyard resembled a demented OK Corral. Bram stood in a faceoff with the two Louts.
    “We no go!” The taller villager said. Between them they redefined male sweat. Pee-yew!
    “Please go!” Bram said, waving a sign of the cross as if to bless them on their way. John and Paul stood at the priest’s sides approximating alabaster bookends.
    The Louts fidgeted with their gun butts. “We stay for treasure.”
    Bram cut me a glance and shook his head. “There is no treasure here. Whatever gave you that idea? Leave now or I will send for your wives. You may come back tomorrow if you leave now.”
    The Louts shuffled off grumbling like two fat trolls.
    “That was weird,” Bram said.
    “It will be weirder tomorrow when we have to explain the empty graves. They are sure to believe in the walking dead and tear apart the monastery looking for them.”
    The first barrels thundered into the cemetery. Mina was half-skipping half-flying as she gave each barrel a kick with her tiny slipper. Zip, a barrel rolled in place and she was gone. Seconds later, she returned with two more casks lining them up like toys. Zip, they rolled in line.
    Bram circled the graves blessing each body. Paul the postulant walked behind him and swung a censer, the smoke from the incense symbolizing the prayers of the faithful for the souls of the monks who had once been Bram’s foster fathers. The poor men now slumped in pits with wooden stakes through their hearts were a sad contrast to the dignified lives they had led.
    Once there was a line of thirty-nine casks bordering the cemetery, the team of Mina and Renfield began the heavy lifting. Mina