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

brushed John and Paul aside and leaned into the first grave. She grabbed a monk by the hair and lifted him in one swift move. The little vampire said his name as she slipped him into a barrel held by Renfield.
    Mina’s personal relationship with each monk was obvious by the tenderness with which she spoke their names as she yanked them by the hair and dropped them in each vat.
    John and Paul handed Bram rustic wooden lids for each cask. He slowly banged the tops into place. I kept my distance not knowing what effect the sight of pickled monks would have on Little Roger in utero.
    “Hey babes!” Big Roger’s voice had a slight slur.
    The world’s greatest archaeologist bumbled into the graveyard, followed by Miami Beach’s stellar drag queen. Roger plotzed into one of the graves and disappeared from view with a yelp.
    Kit tittered on his wedges, wavering as he tried to bring his index finger to his lips. “I gosh this one!” He dropped to his knees, leaned over the hole Roger was in, and tumbled in after him. They were both drunk as skunks from the fumes. I’d never seen my fiancé plastered. Cute as he was, he was now loaded with grave germs.
    Father Bram VVI joined the little vampire in rolling out the barrels. I’ll not soon forget the bone-jarring thud and thump of pre-pickled clergy bouncing over the rocky road.
    Thanks to Mina’s super strength and her chipper attitude, despite the task at hand, thirty-nine monks were barreled and ready to be rolled back toward the monastery before evening. We set a world record for barreling monks.
    Kit, Roger, and Renfield stood on the receiving end of the coal chute on the cellar floor as Mina launched each barrel with a swift hit of her tiny foot. She was better than an NFL kicker. We soon had thirty-nine barrels of monks on the floor.
    Tension grabbed the back of my neck like a mugger’s fist. I wanted to take part in the monk corking but I had to think of the baby. I leaned down the chute, the heady smell of wine knocking me back as I caught a glimpse of the barrels standing at attention along the wall and back into the shadows.
    The wine-spilling team of Kit and Roger stood in the courtyard, bent over with their hands on their knees. They inhaled in deep, syncopated gasps wheezing like two old geezers. “Feelin’ whoozie…” Roger groaned.
    “Lesh go chick… check out the pavilion. The sea air might clear our yeads.” Roger and Kit leaned on each other, staggering drunk from the fumes.
    “Don’t go near the edge!” I said. Hoping his ‘yead’ cleared up pronto.
    “Course not!” Roger called over his shoulder.
    Bram held Mina’s hand and took mine. He shook his head in disbelief. “I have a brother, and he’s a pretty nice guy even when he’s not sober.”
    I smiled up at him. “Your brother is a great guy. And thank you for marrying us.”
    “Tomorrow will be the happiest day of my life,” he said squeezing my fingers.
    “Me too!” the little vampire looked up at him with such adoration. Between my feelings for Roger and the sizzle between Mina and Bram, I believed in love again. My miserable marriage to the Croc purged from my mind … almost.
    The pavilion was perched in a clearing fifty feet from the cliff. Wild flowers encircled a stone crescent. There would be just enough room for Roger and me to stand on the semicircular with Bram in between.
    The wedding party could stand in the grass. I hoped Kit brought a pair of flats, otherwise, he’d be grousing about his heels being stuck in the mud. I decided to invite Squirl to be another bridesmaid. It would make the little innkeeper happy and cost me nothing.
    The splash of the waves on the rocks below was muted by the distance from the cliff to the sea. Holding onto Roger, I peeked over the edge. It was a long, long drop. Chicago was closer. The trees spun in a dizzying swirl. I clutched my guy with clammy hands. I have a thing about heights.
    Bram stood next to us, with Mina clinging to his