Free Have Mercy (Have a Life #1) by Maddy Wells Page B

told me that it was a tradition to keep bodies under double lock because bodies were regularly stolen in the Middle Ages when medical students wanted to study cadavers—I wondered if Mr. Dow knew about that , how we haven’t advanced in that regard since the Middle Ages—and we went outside and climbed into the beat-up VW van.  The back seats had been taken out and two living room chairs were in their place.  Captain Kirby indicated that I should take one “Please, you’re our guest” while she sat on the floor and her mother sat in the other chair. 
                  “A long day,” Mrs. Kirby said.  “I did a boy who’d been in a car accident this afternoon. Very messy.” 
                  Without her protective gear on, Mrs. Kirby looked like a normal woman, probably prettier than most of the mothers I knew, except Jane of course. 
                  “Mom used to do make-up in Los Angeles, for Vanna White,” Captain Kirby said.  She waited for me to acknowledge that I knew Vanna White, but I didn’t.  “It doesn’t matter.  She was just this bitch on a game show.”
                  “She wasn’t a bitch,” Mrs. Kirby said, seeming alarmed at her daughter’s harsh assessment of Vanna White.  “We just didn’t see eye to eye.”   She had brought the box of pizza with her and she opened it now.  “This looks lovely,” she said.
                  “Maybe we could go to your house and eat it there,” I said.  It seemed so weird to be sitting in someone’s van, pretending it was a house.  But that’s what it was it seemed like.  The easy chairs.  Pictures were taped to the windows which were covered in black privacy shields.  Two TV trays were folded up against the back of the driver’s seat.   
                  “Or we could go to your house,” Mrs. Kirby said.
                  “We’re having a party there.  It’s just a bunch of kids.  I don’t think you would like it.”  I was surprised that Captain Kirby hadn’t told her mother about it.
                  “Well this is fine with me,” Mrs. Kirby said.  “And the pizza is scrumptious.  Yum.”  It was fake Mom Talk.
                  “We have to get back to the party, Mom,” Captain Kirby said.  “You all right here?”
                  “I’m fine.” 
                    We said good-night-nice-to-meetcha etcetera and as Captain Kirby slid the side door closed I noticed two sleeping bags rolled up against the passenger seat.  I had mistaken them for pillows in the dark.  We fetched our bicycles from behind the rhododendrons and rode silently for a couple of minutes. 
                  “Mom wants me to go back to culinary arts summer camp so I can become a chef and all.  She traded our housing vouchers to pay for it.  This’ll be my second year.”             
                  “Okay,” I said.
                  “I think that’s very cool of her, don’t you?”
                  “Very cool,” I said.
                  “She’s a great mom, like yours.” 
                  I actually didn’t know what to say, and while I was dithering to myself about where to store the fact that Captain Kirby was basically homeless , my phone vibrated.  I’m not a big texter.  As I said, there are people who live on their phones and then there are the rest of us.  So getting a text was a big deal.  I thought maybe Jane needed something.
                  “Wait a minute,” I yelled to Captain Kirby who’d pulled ahead of me.  I coasted to the curb and read the text, which was from Tim.  He said that it was all over the net that some student from another high school was bragging that he bedded a teacher from the senior prom.  He thought I should know.
                  Captain