The Mafia Kidnapped Me

(12) An Ancient Statue.

Ps: the picture is Devlin.

Pamela woke up the next morning having an eerie feeling in her gut. Yes, she had spent the last few days somewhere else, but she all too well still remembered how the mornings went in the King household. The sound of the cook singing in the kitchen was always there, and the smell of coffee that made you want to drink it was unmistakable. But now it wasn't.

Maybe the cook slept in late, Pamela said to herself as she forced her heavy eyes open. Yesterday was, after all, a tiring day.

She yanked off the covers and yawned, trying to settle the nervousness that was slowly creeping up her stomach. Even the birds refused to sing, she noticed with a pang. Everything seemed weird. Trying to come up with a calm, rational explanation, Pamela stood and went to the toilet to wash her face and brush her teeth.

As she made her way to the bathroom, she glanced at the clock and it reminded her of how late Marcel had stayed last night. He had been sweet and nice, telling her stories of his adventure and travels. When it was past eleven, she had sent him home, thanking him for everything. He hadn't seemed the least bit interested in going home but he had gone, promising to call her first thing in the morning, which he hadn't and that added to her list of suspicions because if there was anything she knew about Marcel, it was that he was a man of his words.

After quickly brushing - or doing some up-down movement on her teeth which could pass as brushing, she suppressed the urge to run down the stairs. The marble floor muted her steps as she made her way to the kitchen. When she got there, she froze in her tracks.

"Dorothea?"

Her mom turned around to look at her. She gave her a beautiful smile. "Morning honey."

Well, things seemed to be normal. All her suspicions had been for nothing. Yes, the housekeeper and cook weren't there, but her mom had probably sent her home, poor Florence had been emotionally attached to her dad and had had it bad at the funeral.

Thinking about it more rationally, the morning birds were singing, and the smell of coffee hadn't gotten to her because her mom just started to prepare it.

"Marcel called, dear." Her mom said still mixing the instant coffee.

Pamela went to sit on the kitchen stool, noticing how stark and less sunny the house looked without her dad's presence.

"He should have called my cell."

"Oh he did, but you were not picking up so he called mine." She glanced at Pamela. "Can you help me beat those eggs? "

Pamela gave her mom a you-know-I'm-like-a-square-peg-in-a-round-hole-in-the-kitchen look.

She frowned at her daughter. "Just to beat eggs?"

"It irritates me."

"Or you're just lazy and spoiled."

"Guess who I have to thank for that?" She said walking over to the sitting room and yanking the curtains open, to bring in some of the sunshine.

"Your dad spoilt you rotten," Dorothea muttered, taking an egg and breaking it.

"Heard that," Pamela said walking into the kitchen and taking an egg.

"Be careful with that."

"I want to help."

"It doesn't irritate you anymore?"

"Point taken." She replied. She broke the eggs and started to beat them, just as her mom was beating hers. She smiled as they were both beating eggs simultaneously.