Pure Dead Frozen by Debi Gliori Read Free Book Online

so. Nothing too permanent…
    â€œIt’s just that I know him backwards. I know what he’s saying, and I hear what he’s not saying too. And, Titus, I’m positive there’s something huge going on that he’s not telling us about.”
    â€œPan, give up, would you? This may come as a surprise to you, but Dad’s an adult. Don’t you think that adults are allowed to keep some things hidden from their kids? If he wants to tell us, he’ll do so. Myself, I think you’re reading way too much into his health kick. You wait: Dad’s inner slob will reassert itself and will mount a spirited defense against his inner athlete. Soon he’ll be bench-pressing nothing heavier than a pan of pasta, running nothing more taxing than a bath, and exercising only the major muscle groups in his mouth. Give him another month and you’ll see….”
    Titus might as well have saved his breath. Closing in on StregaSchloss were several entities that were determined another month was a luxury none of the Strega-Borgias would live to enjoy.

Hello, Baby
    T he nearest hospital to StregaSchloss was housed in a tiny prewar building surrounded by beautifully maintained lawns and gardens. The actual hospital consisted of two microscopic wards—one for men and one for what the Ward Sister referred to as “my ladies”—an administration office squeezed into a broom cupboard, and a maintenance and cleaning department sharing space with an outside toilet. When Baci and Luciano’s car drew up in the darkened parking lot, at first they were convinced that Latch had mistakenly driven them into someone’s private garden.

    â€œThis
can’t
be it.” Luciano peered blindly into the blackness beyond the car windows. “Are you sure?”
    â€œI’m absolutely positive.” Latch turned round to face his employers. Baci’s eyes were closed and her breathing was ragged, and Luciano had the eyes-out-on-stalks appearance of someone teetering on the edge of hysteria. Just as Latch climbed out of the driver’s seat and came round to open the rear doors, reassuring them that this was indeed the West Argyll Cottage Hospital, a beam of light cut through the darkness and a woman’s voice greeted them.
    â€œYou’ll be the Siggy-Borshters, I assume. Your staff phoned to let me know you were on your way….”
    On the point of correcting this woman’s hideous mangling of his surname, Luciano managed to stop himself in time. He also suppressed the involuntary squeak that had risen from his throat at the sight of the flashlight-bearing gorgon glaring across the parking lot. As wide as she was tall, Sister Passterre stood on the doorstep of her hospital like a condensed Doric column, sweeping the beam of her flashlight along the path leading up from the parking lot, her face set in the kind of expression more commonly found on a pit bull. Sister Belinda Passterre (known to her ladies as the Blister Plaster) was a woman not to be trifled with. Her most stubborn patients became strangely compliant and putty-like under her care, preferring to subject themselves to a thousand humiliations rather than incur her wrath. Such was her reputation that the most arrogant of consultants quailed before her, regressing in an instant to the stammering, quivering medical students they had once been, many years before.
    However, Baci didn’t turn to putty and nor did she quail. Instead, with an apologetic smile for Luciano, she turned round, climbed back into the family car, and slammed the door shut. Seconds later, Luciano, Latch, and Sister Passterre heard the distinctive wail of a newborn.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    Secretly watching this drama unfold from the vantage point of Ward One’s bathroom was a middle-aged man with both legs encased in plaster. He watched intently, hidden in the darkness, through a window that stood slightly ajar, all the