Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 04 - Miami Mummies Read Online Free PDF

remains of ancient bacon and leather-fried potatoes. I was getting good at this archaeology thing.
    Aside from the cook’s banging of pots and mild cursing emanating from the kitchen, Hic and I were completely alone. The decrepit hotel was hardly the setting for a gent in the top ranks of the Fortune 500. But, this was Hic as I would always remember him, filing the edges off pennies, one of his many hangovers from the Great Depression.
    He motioned me toward a seat. I put my luggage next to it in case some critter tried to run off with it. A flimsy paper napkin lay at my place at the table. I used it to brush off the chair then unwound the yellow scarf from my neck, keeping the ends from touching the grungy table.
    My host went through the squeaky swinging doors. A loud grumble and a shrill retort followed by a clang and a bang came from the other side.
    Hic returned, amazingly sure-footed but Matthau-postured, carrying a large metal tray. He placed it in the center of the table with a clatter. Three bloody steaks were stacked like pancakes on the plate Hic took as his own. He passed a second dish to me. Wilted iceberg lettuce, no dressing, and a slab of sourdough bread lay on the plate, fit for a prisoner on bad behavior.
    “Still a vegetarian,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
    I’ve always been a meat-eater. Either Hic had me confused with another blonde real estate broker or he didn’t want to share his steaks. Since I’d seen enough blood for the day, I was happy to go green.
    We shared a thermos pot of coffee poured into cracked, brown-etched Thornhill-crested china cups. The coffee was thick, almost chewy, but hot enough to fuzz my tongue.
    Despite appearing tired and every bit his age, there was a spark of excitement in Hic’s bottomless eyes. I was a teeny bit relieved to see the glimmer. His imminent demise saddened me. It was way too soon for him to be leaving as I still had so much to teach him about enjoying life.
    He talked and chewed, lips smacking. “My lawyer has the paperwork. He’ll meet us at the bank early in the morning for my signature, witnesses, and some other crap. Once I’ve signed we’ll put the will in my safe deposit box.” He settled back with a cat-that-ate-the-dog’s-food smile on his face. “You’ll hold the key to the box until I return from the afterlife. I won’t be gone long.”
    I choked on a limp curl of lettuce. “You are not going to stick me with that responsibility!”
    “There’s no one else I trust.” Saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He tapped the table with a long yellowed fingernail. “Just prop this old body in my rocking chair near the second floor window, the one that looks out over the portico. Being a recluse has its advantages; people will avoid me for weeks, months. You just pop in once in a while and change my position so no passersby get wise.”
    Sure. Zip up to Nashville once a week to rotate his rotting old body until his new one arrives. Sounded yummy. Great plan.
    “Here’s the important part. I don’t want my will probated while I’m gone. ’Cause I’m not really gone. Get it?” He smirked.
    My eyebrows hit my hairline. “This is not funny and it’s not that simple. I’d be aiding and abetting…” What would I be guilty of? Maybe keeping a corpse in a rocker or being off my rocker. “Every potential beneficiary, from cousins you never heard of to the government, is going to petition to probate if they discover you’re dead.”
    “I won’t be dead. I’ll be in transmigration . It’s like reincarnation but more immediate.”
    I gnawed on my lower lip. My beliefs were not on the table and I was not here to be a judgy judge. “How am I supposed to keep your decaying body posed by the window when parts start falling off?”
    “My body will be fine. I won’t really be dead, just on hold. It will stay inert until I return in a brand new testosterone-loaded body. You’ll be too old for me.” He chuckled a phlegmy