His sister was a miserable pain in the ass, which normally didn’t bother him. But tonight, everything bothered him.
“Speaking of sleeping together—” he began. This time Riley kicked him in the ankle. He grunted.
“I worked as a proofreader for a few years,” she continued. “Before that I used to work for Channel 50 in the newsroom.”
“That Griffin Gentry is a very handsome fellow,” Marie said to no one in particular.
“No, he’s not,” Nick said.
“He is,” his mom insisted. “He’s so tan and tall, and he has such a deep voice.”
Riley hid her laugh behind a cough.
“I assume, given how we met, you also do something for the Harrisburg police,” Marie said. “Were you undercover as a sweaty homeless person?”
“Mom,” Nick said, pointing his knife at her. “Be nice.”
“What?” His mother was all innocence. “I was merely making an educated guess.”
“I’m doing some freelance work for Detective Weber,” Riley answered, reaching for the wine.
“What could the police need with an unemployed proofreader?” Marie wondered.
“Help me,” Riley whispered to Nick over the rim of her wine glass.
“So, Es, make any teachers cry lately?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Only one this week,” Esmeralda said, picking up her glass of juice with both hands.
“Es skipped fifth and sixth grade,” Nick explained. “She’s a teacher’s worst nightmare.”
“In that she’s so muchsmarterthan all of the other studentsandmost of the teachers,” Carmela added, lest anyone confuse being smart with being a behavioral problem.
“So how did you two meet?” Andy asked as he shoveled a fork full of meat into his stupid face.
“Nick knocked on my door selling Nature Girl candy.”
Esmeralda gave him an owlish look.
He held up his hands. “Easy, slugger. I wasn’t really selling candy,” he promised his niece. “I was trying to track down Riley’s neighbor to serve him papers.”
“My son lies for a living,” Marie lamented. “Where did we go wrong?”
“By making him your favorite,” Carmela shot back.
Nick tossed a hunk of parsley at his sister.
“Don’t throw the garnish! You know how expensive parsley is these days?” Miguel shouted. His dad’s favorite hobby was complaining about how expensive things were compared to the 1960s. “In my day, grocery stores gave parsley away for free! Now I gotta shell out four bucks for a clump of organic. It’s a travesty!”
“You wish I was still a cop like Weber?” Nick asked his mother loud enough that his father heard him.
“A cop is respectable. What you do? Mr. Spy?” He wiggled his hand in the air. “Not so much.”
“Nick’s a private investigator. He’s very respectable,” Riley said, coming to his defense.
“Don’t bother, Thorn,” he said.
“Maybe toyou,” Marie said pointedly. “But in this family, we strive to serve our communities.”
