Vulgarian Vamp (A Wendy Darlin Comedy Mystery Book 5) Read Online Free

needs.”
    “Is she a priest?” I asked wondering where our luggage had disappeared.
    Harker shook his head. “She is many things; but a priest she is not.”
    As if reading my mind, he continued, “Miss McCurley is waiting for you in your suite on the third floor. I suggest you avail yourselves of the dining room soon. It closes at five.”
    Just what a pregnant lady wants to hear. Limited access to food. Dang it!
    Harker motioned toward a one-person wire lift. It looked like an ornate, oversized birdcage on two cables, ready to plummet.
    I mouthed “no way” and headed toward the narrow Gone with the Wind staircase. Roger scooted to my side and took my left arm. I grasped the rail with my right. I felt bloated and in need of a nap.
    Breathless at the third landing, I dug my fingers into Roger’s arm and paused. Squirl stood at the end of a long carpeted corridor and beckoned us toward opened dark wood double doors. I hobbled closer to the entrance. The dim sunlight cast an eerie glow on our honeymoon-plus-one suite.
    The room was right out of a Merchant-Ivory film, Victorian-a-go-go. A four-poster bed the size of my condo living room sat on a platform eating up most of the space. Faded red velvet drapes began at the bed canopy and drooped to the sides, held back from the bedposts with tatty gold cords. The bedspread matched the drapes. A dust sheen approximating powdered sugar on a red velvet cake blushed in the sunlight.
    The vision brought on a coughing fit. Little Roger kicked catching me in the side. Good. He was finally alert and flexing his little muscles. I couldn’t wait to hold the little guy. I hoped he looked just like Roger but had my smarts.
    This bacteria festival was not what I had in mind when I let Roger plan our destination wedding. This is the last time I leave the controls up to the cute, but absentminded professor.
    The flight in and out of Vulgaria occurred once a week. I wondered if it was too late to catch the outbound plane. We could still make dinner at Joe’s Stone Crabs on Miami Beach.
    Kit’s room adjoined ours by a double door that closed from either side. I insisted on keeping him close when Roger made the room arrangements. Being in a foreign country, I felt the need to protect him, not knowing the extent of Vulgarian prejudice to nail techs.
    The door between our rooms sat open. I caught a glimpse of Squirl flitting around in my buddy’s room, her ponytail swinging, her cute chubby cheeks harboring a grin. She scuttled the wall and pulled back the bulky drapes, then lifted the pig-squealing window. A breeze wafted in, smelling of the forests and the sea.
    Roger stood at the window in our room, his eyes locked on the breathtaking view. The forest was exquisite, lush, dark, and mysterious. Beyond the woods I could just make out the rolling waves of the Black Sea.
    “Roger?” I tapped his arm.
    No response.
    “Sweetie?” I kissed his cheek. Nothing. I should be the focus of his gaze, not the gosh-darned trees.
    “Roger?”
    He looked at me as if surprised to see me. Could he get any more romantic? I should be used to it by now. His mind was probably off on a treasure hunt in some exotic local.
    Time to unpack and chow down. I would kill for extra crispy chicken thighs and a container of gravy. I wondered if Colonel Sanders had set up shop in Loutish.
    My suitcase was perched on a folding luggage rack. I snapped the locks, lifted the lid and checked to be sure Roger wasn’t looking. The wedding dress was on the top layer, wrapped in dry cleaner’s plastic. The label was missing but the dress was definitely Betsy Johnson. All feminine, lacy, and a tad bit funky. A woman has only one white-dress wedding day even if it is after the fact.
    “Don’t look, it’s my wedding dress.” I said to Roger as I shook it out and carried it into Kit’s room where he was busy unpacking.
    I placed my ‘something old’ dress in Kit’s closet, next to his blue maid-of-honor gown so Roger