“It’s a long story. I’ll explain later,” Riley said. Kellen startled Riley with a loud snore. “Aww, look at him.”
Jasmine studied their sound-asleep charge. “Yeah, they’re cute when they’re asleep. Too bad he’s such a dick when he’s awake and sober.”
“I’m just gonna take a quick picture,” Riley decided, holding up her phone.
She snapped a picture and sent it to Nick.
Nick: Jesus. Did you shoot him already?
Riley: Not yet. That’s just salsa, taco, and strawberry margarita. Question: How awful is Mrs. Weber?
Nick: She makes your grandmother look like a kindergarten teacher who doesn’t hate children.
Riley: Oh, good. So if we drive over there so Drunk Kellen can confront her, we won’t be ruining his life?
Nick: You’d be doing him a favor.
Kellen’s snore jolted him awake. “And another thing,” he said, slamming his palm into a bowl of salsa.
“Oh, boy. We’re gonna need to leave a really big tip,” Riley said.
“Speaking of. When I was feeling around for this guy’s wallet—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Riley said, plugging her fingers in her ears.
* * *
Riley pulledup in front of Mrs. Weber’s house and looked at Kellen in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I am one thousand percent sure,” he insisted.
“You might want to fix your tie,” Riley suggested.
He attacked his tie with more enthusiasm than dexterity. “Stupid tie!” He yanked it over his head and threw it out the window of the Jeep.
“I think it’s go time,” Jasmine announced, slipping off her seat belt and opening the door.
“Let’s do this,” he said, his nostrils flaring aggressively.
“Your mom doesn’t own any weapons, does she?” Riley asked uneasily as they headed for the front door.
“Just her perpetual disdain.”
“Okay, then.”
Kellen got to the door first and pounded on it. “Open up, Mother!”
“Ten bucks says he keels over like a tree on her when she opens the door,” Jasmine whispered.
“I’ll take that action,” Riley said.
A pinched-faced woman yanked the door open. “What is the meaning of this, Kellen?”
“You knew about Beth. You knew she was alive, and you let me spend six years thinking she was dead. That it was my fault.”
Mrs. Weber clutched at her cross necklace like it was a string of pearls. “How dare you come to my home smelling like a vat of sacramental wine!”
“How dareI? How dareyou, Mother.”
