“I’d call that spirited. Brunette members of the female species are known to be more emotional, whereas blondes are often described as heartless and icy.”
I glared at him with my non-twitching eye. “We are not icy. Blondes are hot tempered just like brunettes and redheads, aren’t we, Doc?” My gaze swung to the front seat.
Doc raised both hands. “You’ll get no argument from me, Killer.”
“See,” I said, my focus back on Cornelius.
“The Tall Medium’s opinion is invalid in this case.”
“Why?”
“Because you exchange bodily fluids with him, and he’s intelligent enough to realize that agreeing with you will allow him to continue participating in rhythmic coitus with you.”
Doc chuckled. “I do enjoy a good romp of rhythmic coitus with a hot-tempered, blond Executioner when the opportunity arises.”
“What’s this here now about someone havin’ coitus?” Harvey asked, butting into our conversation.
I ignored Harvey’s gold-toothed grin. “If you aren’t into blondes,” I said to Cornelius, “then why were you drooling over that clockmaker?”
He shrugged. “She’s not a blonde.”
“What is she then?”
“Otherworldly.”
He had a point there.
“And her lips glowed,” he added.
“Which lips?” Harvey asked.
After aiming a scowl in the dirty old bird’s direction, I told Cornelius, “Her lips did not glow.” Although the rest of her seemed to emit some sort of radiant light.
“I’m not going to kiss you, Violet,” Cornelius said.
I stammered. “K-k-kiss me?” I glanced at Doc, who was watching our play-by-play with a grin on his face, darn him.
Cornelius studied his long bony fingers, as if we were discussing his last manicure. “Besides your hair color being a problem for me, sharing a single kiss can transfer up to a million bacteria, and I’m not interested in accumulating the bacteria from someone of your breeding.”
My breeding?
A cackle-like sound came from the feather-covered peanut gallery in the cat carrier behind me.
I poked him in the leg. “First of all, I didn’t ask you to kiss me, Cornelius. Second, don’t you dare ruin kissing for me with a bunch of gross facts.”
Harvey snickered. “I once read in one of those ladies’ magazines that kissin’ is good fer ya. It makes ya extra slobbery, which helps to prevent yer teeth from rottin’ out of yer head.”
Natalie leaned over, joining in. “I read something about how kissing can lower stress and blood pressure.” She elbowed me. “You could use that in spades about now. Maybe I should switch places with Doc so we can test that.”
“Doc and I are not going to sit here and have a makeout session in front of you three to see if it will lower my blood pressure.”
“Why not?” Harvey asked. “We’re packed in here like cows in a haulin’ trailer with nothin’ else to do while we wait fer Coop to ride in on a red-nosed reindeer.”
I frowned at Doc. “You’re not helping me here.”
He winked at me. “You lost me at rhythmic coitus.”
“Over ninety percent of women like to be kissed on the neck,” Cornelius pontificated, still on his factoid kick.
Harvey looked at Doc. “Does Sparky like it on the neck or somewhere else better?”
Doc mimed zipping his lips.
Smart man.
“Where I like to be kissed is nobody’s business but Doc’s and mine.”
“According to one of my college textbooks,” Cornelius said, lacing his fingers in his lap, “psychopaths are more likely to kiss with their eyes open.”
“How do you remember all of this nutty stuff?” I asked.
“I like to read.”
“Does Sparky kiss with ‘er eyes open?” Harvey badgered Doc.
“I once dated a guy who kept his eyes open when we made out,” Natalie said. “It messed with my head. You know, knocked me off my game. It was like kissing Igor from that movie Young Frankenstein, because his eyes started going all wobbly when he got hot and bothered.”
“You dated a guy with eyes like Marty Feldman’s?” Doc asked, breaking his silence.
She nodded. “He had an incredible body to make up for them. Remember that time we saw him naked, Vi?”
Doc raised his brow. “Naked, huh?”
“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” I fibbed. “She must be getting cabin fever.”
“But I ended up breaking up with him before we ever made it into the bedroom because I kept singing, ‘Jeepers creepers, where’d you get those peepers’ in my head whenever he kissed me. Made me giggle when I was supposed to be sighing and moaning.”
Elvis let out a series of loud squawks that made me nearly jump out of my skin. “What is wrong with that stupid bird?”
A fluttering sound came from the cat carrier, followed by more squawks.
“Maybe she wants to write her name in the snow, like me,” Harvey said. “After being cooped up in this sardine can fer so long, maybe the bird just wants to stick ‘er pecker out in the fresh air.”
Natalie smiled. “Are we talking about the bird or you?”
“Yep.” Harvey shoved open his door. “I’ll be back in two shakes.”
After the door closed, I asked Doc, “Should Harvey go out there alone?”
One of his dark brows inched upward. “You want me to go hold his hand?”
“Maybe, smartass.”
Doc gazed out the passenger side window. “He’s not going too far.” I started to follow his gaze, but he blocked my view with his hand. “You don’t want to see this. I think he’s writing in cursive.”
I cringed and then took his hand, kissing his knuckles, before handing it back.
He frowned down at his hand. “Now I have your bacteria all over me.”
I blew him a kiss, but then sobered. “I’m sorry I made you drive us out here.”
“Violet, quit taking ownership of this situation. You have no more control over the weather or that plow’s broken hydraulic line than you do Addy’s chicken.”
Elvis let out a series of cackle-squawks, as if on cue.
“I just wanted your first Christmas with me to be filled with family fun stuff—the good kind of family, not my sister and her diabolical crap.”
He opened
