I lick my dry lips nervously. “What for?”
“Murder.”
Chapter 12
Byrdie
Iget dressed in record time.
Vonn and Makhi are in the kitchen with Nance, who paces as she mumbles inaudibly under her breath and looks more panicked than I’ve seen her before.
Vonn has his head down, busy tapping a message on his cell phone.
Makhi is hungover, pale-faced and sick as he sits at the dining table with one hand on his forehead. There’s an untouched glass of water in front of him that he looks at and shudders.
Lydia is sitting at the table, her cell phone beside her. The only thing missing is a big tub of popcorn to go along with that wide-eyed stare, because she is loving all this excitement that's brightening what would probably have been a boring day of cleaning.
“What happened again?” Lydia asks.
It’s a mistake.
Nance’s eyes land on her. Her lips flatten and her back stiffens. “I don’t have time for your mischief today. You can go home and work tomorrow when things are back to normal.”
Lydia complains about having driven all this way.
Nance’s stubborn expression says it’s a waste of time.
After heaving a dramatic sigh, Lydia drags herself up from the table, picks up her phone, and slinks out of the kitchen, nodding at me on her way out.
I take her seat at the dining table and open my mouth to ask about Nash, but close it when Nance shoots a warning glance at the door and shakes her head.
I wait.
Five minutes later, the distant hum of an engine filters inside. Lydia has left.
“There are some things I trust Lydia to do,” Nance says, taking a seat at the table. “Keeping her mouth shut isn’t one of those things.”
“If you’ve been trusting her to clean, I hate to tell you this, but that girl couldn’t clean her way out of a cardboard box,” Makhi says, head in his hands.
I look at the table to hide my smile when Nance aims a glare at him.
“Drink your water,” she orders him.
He glances at the water and swallows hard. “If you want me to throw up all over this table, that’s exactly what will happen.”
She tuts. “I don’t see how a little whiskey can make a grown man so sick.”
“Alittle?” He lifts his head to look at Nance from where he’s rested it on the dining table after nudging aside the unwanted glass of water.
Before they can continue their strange argument, I ask Vonn, “Why did the sheriff arrest Nash for murder?”
I never thought Nash could kill anyone. He’s always been quiet, serious, and kind. What if he goes to jail forever? What if they kill him? I try to remember whether Arizona has the death penalty, and I can’t remember. Part of me doesn’t try all thathard to remember. Nash being arrested is one thing. That he could wind up facing a death sentence is something else.
“I’m dying,” Makhi groans. “Never let me drink again, Vonn. Swear on your first-born child.”
Vonn puts down his cell phone, looking more annoyed with Makhi’s complaints than willing to swear on anything, least of all on his first-born child.
With a gusty sigh, Nance gets up from the table and walks over to the refrigerator after making a brief stop to pull something out of a cupboard. She returns to the dining table with both hands full. “Here. Ginger will calm your stomach, and the painkiller will stop the pounding headache.”
