Free Beach Blanket Bloodbath (Amanda Feral Book 4) by Mark Henry Page B

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    “Oh Mrs. Swinton,” I said, wrapping her
in a tight hug, using muscles I didn't even know I had. “I'm so sorry about
your daughter.”
    She shook her head, as though she wasn't
interested in hearing that kind of thing and instead twisted her mouth into
something that I felt much more comfortable with anyway: the clenched
expression of vengefulness. “I've been hearing that you saw the guy that did
this.”
    “Who told you that?”
    “So it's true?”
    “It was dark and mostly shadows, but
there was something down there, yeah. I mean keep that to yourself—”
    “I'm not gonna tell the police, you
idiot. That is, unless you and your snotty friends…” Mrs. Swinton gestured to
Wendy and Gil, both had their arms crossed with the horrified faces of a pair ill
equipped to deal with a toilet blockage. “Unless you produce the killer. If you
don't, you're going to be spending a long time in Las Felicitas. You wouldn't
believe the bureaucracy here, you’d probably have to rent an apartment.”
    Wendy stepped forward. “We couldn't do
that. We've got somewhere to be after the signing tomorrow. It won’t wait.”
    In that moment, Wendy had reverted to a drug
dealer with a vendetta. Her eyes cut across me like daggers.
    “Well, then,” Mrs. Swinton's eyes widened
maniacally. “I guess you’ll be puting those powers of detection you bragged
about in Happy
Hour of the Damned to
work for me.”
    Wendy growled and I could have sworn I
heard the initial clicks of her jaw ratcheting open, ready to chomp—never
a good sign when diplomacy was in order. I stepped in between the two and
nodded.
    “Yes, of course we'll help you, Mrs. Swinton.
And we'll do it quick. You’ll have your killer by tomorrow night to do with as
you see fit. Tie him to a metal bed frame and electrocute his nuts for all I
care. I just want to see you get the closure you so desperately need.”
    Mrs. Swinton grimaced, but the tears had
begun to fall. She embraced me and mumbled something that sounded like, “I knew
you were good people” into the lapel of my Versace.
    As gently as I could, I pushed her back
and turned her toward one of the more genuinely adept huggers in the crowd
before releasing her and rolling my eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ. How the hell
does she think we’re going to find this guy? I don’t swim.”
    Wendy ground her teeth, pissed. She shook
a finger, far too rigid for my taste, in my general vicinity. “This is all your
fault, Amanda. We have to be in San Francisco by the time that boat docks, or I’m
screwed. And if I’m screwed, you’re screwed.”
    “Jesus,” Gil said. “You bitches are
getting a little Scarface up in here. I might just have to—”
    “Do everything in your power to help us
find a suitable patsy for this murder?” I finished for him, nodding as
instructively as I could manage until he did as well. “Fuck, it’s not even a
murder as far as I can tell. It was just a stupid feeding for Christ’s sake. We’ll
just throw Mrs. Swinton some possibles and let her get her revenge out quick
before anyone’s the wiser.”
    “Us? I’m not getting mixed up in another
one of your capers, Amanda. I’m done with that shit.”
    “Oh come on. We’ll be out of here with
time to spare. Promise.”
    Wendy’s eyes narrowed to slits, but she
followed me back to the car, huffing as she resumed her shotgun seat. The
population of Las Felicitas seemed to be largely in a car wreck lookiloo state,
bar a few stragglers who’d stepped away for a smoke, so the streets were pretty
empty as we pulled away. I brought up a map to the bed and breakfast and set my
phone in front of the speedometer.
    “You know,” Wendy sighed. “I’m beginning
to think you orchestrate all these dramas just to direct all the attention to
you. You want me to fail.” Wendy scowled and bit a dainty hunk from the forearm
of a vagrant she produced from her purse. It jutted from a rolled down paper
bag like a bottle of