Ghouls Just Want to Have Fun by Kathleen Bacus Read Free Book Online Page B

and beads, trying to reestablish the connection?"
    "Lord help us," my mother said, and sat down at the kitchen table.
    "So maybe her spending time with Joe Townsend isn't such a bad thing after all." I patted my mother on the shoulder, deciding I probably shouldn't mention the K-Y lubricating oil. "At least Joe is living and breathing--and wears clothes." If neon-colored sweat suits that could blind you in the sunlight counted positively, that is. "Besides, I think it's kind of cute--the two of them--in a blech sort of way."
    "Who's cute? That Ranger Rick fella you wouldn't know what to do with even if he came with an instruction manual, step-by-step directions and a CD tutorial?"
    My gramma tromped into the dining room, wearing short black boots with two-inch heels that would have crippled most women her age. You gotta hand it to her. Despite having fallen a half-dozen times in the past few years, Gram insists on wearing heels. She's hoping to hide the fact that she's lost several inches in height due to osteoporosis. My mom calls it foolhardy. I call it classic Hellion Hannah.
    "We were talking about Joe," I said.
    Gram pulled a chair out and sat down. "Joe? Joe Townsend?" She snorted. "He's not cute. He's macho."
    I had to grin. The idea of calling bony Joe Townsend macho was akin to calling me Trump Apprentice material.
    "Are we talking about the same Joe Townsend?" I asked. "Pale, skinny guy with Polident breath and superhero fantasies? A legend in his own mind?"
    "A legend like John Wayne, you mean," Gram said, pulling out her compact and checking lips outlined with dark black lip color that brought Kelly Osbourne to mind. "You remember how he rode shotgun with you on that Palmer case? Tailing suspects and flushing out the bad guys? How he helped you discover that dead body? The second one, wasn't it? How he backed you up the night you about bought the farm? The first time, that is. Or was it the second?"
    I could sense the escalating tension in my mother's shoulders. I gave them an awkward squeeze, wishing as always that I had inherited a natural ability to offer comfort.
    I'm not the most affectionate person in the world. With people, that is. But my critters? I lavish attention on them like a twenty-year-old starlet does on a rich but ancient and ailing husband. I cringe to think what Dr. Phil would say about this behavior. Probably something along the lines of my overcompensating with my pets to make up for a lack of physical closeness with people. Like I need a TV shrink to tell me that.
    "So how is Grandville's number-one nosy neighbor doing?" I asked. "Still packing unregistered heat?"
    My mother jumped to her feet, mumbling something about husbands who were in serious denial, and left the room. I sat down in her chair and found myself staring at the collection of rings that adorned my gramma's arthritic fingers. Her faux nails were painted an ominous black, to match her lips. She opened her purse--which looked more like an overnight bag, I thought--and brought out a zippered mauve-colored cosmetic bag. She removed some makeup and refurbished herself in her compact mirror.
    "Not bad for a woman of a certain age," she said, patting her blue hair. "I think it's that daily fiber therapy I'm on. Food moves through me quicker than beer through a pimply-faced teen boy taking his first drink. Last time they shoved an endoscope up me, I was clean as a whistle. Said I had the colon of a fifty-year-old."
    I wrinkled my nose. Way too much information.
    "Mom says you're going out again tonight," I said.
    Gram gave her reflection a sour look. "Tattletale," she hissed.
    "Now, Gram, she's only concerned that you might be overdoing it a bit," I told her. "She's just looking out for you."
    "More like looking to cramp my style," she snapped. "I can't help it if she prefers to spend her time in front of a big illuminated electronic square. Me? I prefer human contact."
    I rolled my eyes. Gram's favorite chair had a permanent imprint