“Oh, sure, this is absolutely genius.” I gestured to Heathcliff, who rushed over with a chair, which I folded Mum into. “I think when Sandy said you need to embody the brand she means, you know, eating healthy and exercising, not literally turning yourself into a Flourish mascot…” my stomach churned as Mum’s head lolled to the side. Paint fumes wafted up my nose, and my temples flared with pain. A sickening thought occurred to me. ” Mum, did you check that this paint was safe for use on skin?”
“It came from the hardware store. They wouldn’t sell it if it wasn’t safe!”
Shite.I pressed my fingers through the paint on her cheek and sniffed the pieces that flaked off. My head reeled from the fumes. “Mum… did you cover yourself inspray paint?”
“I think I need to lie down,” Mum murmured, sliding off the chair.
She’s not groggy because she’s drunk. She’s groggy because she’s been inhaling paint for Hathor knows how long. Keep her awake!I pulled Mum upright and slapped her cheeks. “That shit’s toxic! You’ve just spread toxic paint all over your skin. Your body can’t get oxygen through your pores. No wonder you’re keeling over.” I dragged her up again and started trying to rub the paint off. But it was dry now, stuck to her skin like glue. Behind me, Morrie had his phone to his ear, demanding an ambulance.
“Stop fussing, honey,” Mum murmured. “You’re so stressed out. You need to try the Flourish patch. It will mellow you right out…”
“Out of the way.” Heathcliff elbowed past a gathering crowd, holding an armload of smoothie shots, along with a large flag advertising the DJ’s services. He upended the shot glasses over Mum, dumping sticky smoothies all over her head, shoulders, and arms.
“Stop that, you gypsy heathen!” Mum screeched. Gold paint ran down her skin in shiny rivers. Heathcliff gritted his teeth as he tossed me the banner.
“That heathen might’ve just saved your life.” I rubbed at her now wet skin with the banner, trying to get rid of as much paint as possible. It came off much easier now, rubbing away onto the banner in big silver splotches, mixed with the multi-colored smoothies. The DJ screamed at Heathcliff that he would have to pay to replace the banner. In the distance, the ambulance siren squealed.
“It could have been worse,” Morrie said as he picked up the other end of the banner and rubbed paint off Mum’s back.
“How? How could it be worse?”
“Everyone could suddenly turn into a cat.” Morrie grinned. “Too soon?”
* * *
After Mum left in the ambulance, people milled around, unsure of what to do. I’d wanted to go to the hospital with her, but she’d insisted on me staying on to run the party. Not that there was much of a party now. The DJ left in a huff and there was no one to pop the Champagne or give out the mountain of free Flourish patches and smoothie mixes.
It was Quoth who saved the evening. He went behind the mixing desk, plugged in a set of headphones, and put on some sweet dancing tunes. Mrs. Ellis’ friends took to the dance floor, followed by a group of young girls. Heathcliff lobbed free merchandise at anyone who looked like they were about to talk to him. Soon, everyone in the room was affixing silver patches to their arms and gyrating to Lady Gaga.
Morrie popped the corks on the cheap Champagne, and Heathcliff rinsed out shot glasses so we had something to drink with. Jo drove out and returned with a stack of pizzas, which were quickly devoured as the hungry dancers returned to the floor. One thing was for sure – I could wrangle a crew to put on a mean party.
“Fancy a spin?” Morrie held out his hand for me.
I glanced down at his immaculate brogues. “You think your shoes are up to a battering?” I might love music, but I wasn’t exactly a demon on the dance floor. More like an uncoordinated rhinoceros.
“I’ve got plenty of pairs at home. These ones can be sacrificed.” Morrie took my hand. Even though the song was fast and pumping, he held me close, his hand resting in the small of my back in a possessive way that made my heart patter.
“So… that bloody cat is your grandmother, Count Dracula wants to suck your blood, and you’ve agreed to help a suspected murderess clear her name.” Morrie swirled me around the edge of the dance floor. “What else did I miss?”
I remembered then that I had something important to ask him. “Grey Lachlan came to the shop yesterday, trying to get Heathcliff to sell.”
“Ah. And Heathcliff told him where he could stick it?”
“He certainly did, but not before Grey declared that he knew about the state of the shop’s finances. He also said he knew that your funds were frozen in a Cayman Island bank account as they were being investigated.”
I watched Morrie’s face carefully. In the dim light, it was impossible for me to see, but his right eyebrow might have twitched. “You shouldn’t pay any attention to that man. He’s all bluster and bollocks.”
“I know that, but are you telling me hand-on-heart that there’s not a single shred of truth in what he said?”
I waited. Morrie exhaled through his teeth. His fingers pressed into my spine. “There is some truth.”
“Is that why you went down to London? And is it also why you haven’t offered to bail the shop out of our current financial crisis?”
Morrie didn’t answer.
Concern slithered along my spine. “Are you in trouble?”
Morrie opened his mouth to say something, but then his gaze slipped from my face. He was looking at something across the room. “I’ll get it sorted, Mina. I experienced a temporary setback, that’s all. The only person who could unravel my network is Sherlock Holmes himself, and he’s still stuck inside a book, thank the non-existent gods. Everything’s fine.”
