was happy all the same.
“As I said, Dr. Monroe, this is Det. J.B. St. Sabin.” I guess he thought if he repeated enough, I would fall in line. Fat chance! Max Monroe marches to her own drummer, by gods! “And I’m callin’ from the Tallullu Parish Sheriff’s Office. Are you sittin’ down?”
By this time, I was past embarrassed, had kicked the shit outta irritated, and was barreling towards pissed-the-hell-right-off. So, you'll understand why my next response was, "What the fuck, Jean Baptiste? I haven't heard from you in a Coon's age, and you call up to play twenty questions. I don't have time. I have patients waiting. Just get on with whatever bullshit game you're playin'."
“Dammit, Maxine, I’m callin’ ‘cause your daddy’s dead! He got eaten by a flyin' dinosaur.”
“The hell you say!” I burst out laughing so loud my assistant, Ariel, ran into the room to see what had happened. “That’s a good one. You really got me. Thanks for the laugh and the blast from the past. Now, I gotta go.”
"Shut up and listen!" Jean Baptiste's roar, coupled with the flash of pure, raw anguish that filled the airwaves, sucked the laughter from right outta my lungs and had me falling back into my chair.
Stammering and stuttering just like I’d been doin’ a few seconds before, J.B.’s rambling apology became little more than background noise as the words replayed over and over in my head. “Your daddy’s dead. He was eaten by a flyin’ dinosaur.”
I have no clue how long I sat there or how many ways he apologized but riding on a wave of genuine concern, his sentiment of, "Max, do ya' need me to come up there and getcha?" Snapped me out of my stupor.
“How exactly did he die?”
“Are you sure you want me to tell you over the phone?”
“Well, shit, Jean Baptiste, you already slapped me upside the head and kicked me in the ass. Might oughta go on and finish the job.” Once again, my mouth had started flappin’ long before it should’ve, but I gotta give J.B. credit, he came right back at me…and it was just what I needed.
“Alright, Maxi Pad Monroe…” Nothing like pulling out the old high school nickname to set a girl straight. “Since your nasty ass attitude has only gotten worse with age, I’ll pull no punches. Doc was treating one of the Thomas twins…”
“The Thomas’ had twin Pterodactyls?”
“Yes. Second Set. Anyway, Doc was treatin’ the oldest girl for an eatin’ disorder…”
“Over-eating is common in young prehistoric Shifters.”
“That wasn’t her ailment. She…”
“It wasn’t? Are you sure?”
“Dammit, Maxine,” Jean Baptiste growled, making my body heat up like a Gator in July. I had no clue what was going on with my hormones, but it fell low on my list of things to worry about, so, I just kept listening. “Are you gonna shut up and listen or should I just come up there and shut you up for myself?”
For once in my very long life, I actually slammed my lips shut before I made a complete and total fool outta myself by doing my best Mae West impression and saying, “Come up and see me some time.” I know it’s shocking, but I did. I really did. I deserve a gold star and a bag of those little peanut butter cups.
Taking a deep breath, before counting to five as I let it out, I finally said, “Save the details. I’ll catch the next plane.”
And that’s how I ended up on the wrong side of Tallullu Parish, LA in the backass Swamp where even Gators fear to tread. Hold on, folks. Ya’ ain’t seen nothing yet.
Read the WHOLE Story Right Here!
Lookie what I’ve got for you!
A Sneak Peek of Livvie’s story:
THAT PIG GONNA FLY
Get your copy right here!
Chapter One
“Slow down!” Maxine yelled from the passenger’s seat, eyes so wide her eyebrows were on top of her head while the index finger of her right hand was pressed up against the inside of the windshield. “You’re gonna hit Mary Bess McGee!”
Whipping my head to the side, I spat, “Like I’d run over our first-grade teacher. What kinda idiot do you take me for?”
“One who’s not watching the damned road!” Colleen Caviello, our resident thinks-she’s-a-Raven-but-she’s-really-a-Crow, (It’s a whole thing. I’ll explain later.) squawked from right behind me.
Snapping my eyes back to the road, I gave the steering wheel a hard jerk to the right. Up on two wheels, my bright yellow 1955 Ford Fairlane ragtop narrowly missed Miss McGee’s hindquarters as I