“Who are you guys anyway?” Kory asked.
“We’re friends of your…er… How are you related to Mrs. Penny?” Riley asked.
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
“Just think of us as the not-at-all-old ladies who are going to kick Lance’s ass for you,” Jasmine vowed through gritted teeth.
26
4:05 p.m., Monday, October 28
Riley had just dropped off Roz and Kory at home and was discussing the options for a late afternoon snack with Jasmine when Nick called.
“What’s up? And keep it clean—you’re on speaker phone.”
“I’ve got a problem. I could use your help,” he said.
“It doesn’t involve Sesame’s photo shoot, does it?”
“That’s over, thank god. But it does involve the Weber family. I just got a call from Dockside Willy’s. Weber’s shit-faced, and they want someone to come pick him up, but I’m at this armed security gig. Can you pick him up? Maybe babysit him and make sure he’s not gonna do something stupid?”
Jasmine grabbed Riley’s arm and bounced in her seat. “Oh my God! Yes! I bet you twenty bucks I can get him to give me permission to draw a mustache on him with a Sharpie.”
“I’m not betting against you,” Riley told her friend. Then she asked Nick, “Since when does Kellen get drunk and do stupid things?”
“Only when his personal life goes to shit. He went on a week-long bender after his divorce and ended up with the worst tattoo in the world.”
“What is it? Where is it?” Jasmine demanded.
“If you pick him up, I bet it wouldn’t take much to get him to show it to you,” Nick said.
“We’ll go get him,” Riley promised.
“I owe you one, Thorn.”
“Don’t shoot anyone if you can help it,” she said and then disconnected the call.
Jasmine rubbed her palms together. “I can’t wait to see Detective Smug Shit drunk off his ass. I bet he’s a crier.”
“Be nice. He’s dealing with a lot.”
“Maybe if he didn’t have such a huge stick shoved up his ass, his family would feel comfortable being honest with him.”
“I’ve never seen you dislike someone so cute before.”
“You think he’scute? He’s a pigheaded, judgmental, always right, suit-wearing monster.”
“Honestly, he sounds perfect for you,” Riley teased.
* * *
Detective Kellen Weberwas indeed shit-faced.
They found him shoveling peanuts into his face under the watchful eye of the bartender at Dockside Willy’s. It was decked out for Halloween with skeletons and pumpkins everywhere. Despite the bar being busy, the stools on either side of the detective were empty.
“And another thing,” he slurred to the bar in general. “When she accidentally dropped Mom’s soap Jesus in the bathtub, who was the one who took the blame? Me. I was grounded for the entire summer I got my driver’s license because I protected her.”
