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As I crack open the front door, a whiff of human decay hits my nostrils, and I shut it fast. “I guess we should’ve taken Vincent up on his offer. Stay put.”
Unholstering my weapon, my foot steps inside. “I’m going in.”
Chapter 5
Sam
I reach in my purse, push aside my lucky rosary beads, and pull out my Sunday-best pistol. Back-to-back, guns out, my husband and I move inside. The horrid smell seems to be coming from our living room but other than our gorgeous, seven-foot Christmas tree, nothing appears out of place.
“Meeee-ow-umph.” Catrina flies off the fridge, ricochets off the kitchen table, and as she thumps on the floor, I scream.
“Fuck.” Shuddering, I lower my weapon and my husband hisses through his teeth.
Clueless to her peril, the feline stares at the cabinet, at me, then prances to her food bowl.
As she quivers her tail and meows, Suds whispers, “Hold your horses, cat. Dead bodies first, kibbles second.”
Motioning me to stay, gun raised, the bad-ass makes his way down the hallway. As he checks all the bedrooms, the cat pitter-padders behind him.
“All clear.” Safety on, brows furrowed, he walks me toward our one-hundred-and-fifty-dollar pine.
When we get close, Catrina skitters across the floor and climbs to the top of the tree where she yowls nonstop.
“Oh my God, get down. If you didn’t make such a fuss about Chloe visiting, you’d be safe and sound at Joey’s.” I grab her by the scruff of her neck, but she refuses to go and digs her claws into the branches.
Without warning, she releases the bough and as it springs back into place, a small bit of flesh rolls on my hardwood floor.
“Holy fuck. Is that a finger?” Hand to my mouth, my feet race toward the bathroom until I recall our plumbing issues, and swivel in the opposite direction.I barely make it to the kitchen sink before puking.
As I lose my breakfast, my partner slips his calloused hands behind my neck and lifts my hair. “I don’t want to nitpick, but you might want to rethink your holiday decorations.”
“Ugh. Not funny.” Legs shaking, I sit while he runs the faucet and turns on the garbage disposal.
Once the cat is fed, Suds uses our barbecue tongues to place the detached finger in a plastic baggie.
After zipping it shut, he returns to my side with a wet paper towel. “You want to explain what’s goin’ on?”
“Outside. Now.” I pull him through the front door and plop on the steps.
While I inhale blessed Brooklyn air, he puts an elbow on his knee and frowns. “I don’t ever recall you losin’ your cookies at the sight of a dead body, let alone a piece of one.”
Shit.I fast forward to when our future son or daughter asks, “When did you first tell Daddy you were expecting me?”
This moment could be etched in our family history forever and I will not equate having a baby with a grotesque ornament.
Mind made up, I tell the truth, just not all of it. “My stomach has been off. Really, it’s nothing to be concerned about. Let’s not focus on me. Instead, we should concentrate on how a piece of flesh ended up in our tree.”
“Obviously, nothing says the holidays like gifting a middle finger.” At his chuckle, I roll my eyes, brush off my jeans, and stand.
“We’re going to get our money back. End of story.”
His palms cup my cheek with one hand and slips a peppermint into my mouth with the other. “Now sugar, don’t go making a big mystery out of a molehill. Some unfortunate soul probably had an accident when he cut the trunk.”
The candy settles my stomach but I’m not changing my mind. “I paid foreau duTannenbaum, noteau dumorgue.”
Winking, he kisses the tip of my nose. “How about we stroll on back to the lot and talk to the owner. There’s no point in dragging a seven-foot pine all around Brooklyn until we’re sure he’ll refund our money.”
“Fine. But I’m not taking no for an answer.” As we start to leave, I turn back to our house, and run up the steps. “Wait. Your sleep monitor is in the hall closet. I’ll go get it.”
