“Bless you,” Cormac said from the other cell.
Nana cocked her head. “What was your name again?”
“I am Cormac Coretti, ma’am.”
“Coretti is Italian,” Nonna said, eyeing him.
Nana smoothed flour down her dress. “Cormac is Irish, although he has a quaint British accent.”
Cormac looked from one grandmother to the other, an amused half smile tugging at his mouth. He lounged on a narrow bench beside Zippy, who was still picking flour out of his silver hair with the desperation of a man losing a fight he did not start.
I sat between my grandmothers on one hard wooden bench, while Donna perched on the other side of Nonna. The cell was cold enough to sting, the cement walls painted a dull yellow that made everyone look sickly.
“Do they need to fingerprint me again?” Nana asked, curiosity in her tone. “I mean, they just did it the other day. Can’t they use those prints?”
I brushed more powder off my chin. “If they decide to arrest us, they’ll fingerprint you again.” I took some small comfort in the fact that Bud had locked us in the cells without actually booking us. At least not yet.
“You will be arrested,” Zippy sputtered.
Cormac glanced over, calm as ever. “So will you.”
Zippy tossed his head. “I was the victim.”
“That is not what I saw,” Cormac said smoothly.
I studied him. “What exactly did you see?”
He smiled at me. No dimple this time. “I saw this man make a move toward one of your grandmothers, and them defend themselves.”
Zippy reared up beside him. “That is a lie.”
Cormac did not so much as blink. “I always tell the truth, man.”
A fleck of flour drifted into my eye, stinging. Whatever spice Nana had been using was sharp enough to double as pepper spray. “How about we all forget this ever happened?” I tried for my most reasonable voice.
Nonna kicked her feet, sending another puff of flour into the air. “You deserved every whack, Zippy,” she muttered.
“All right,” Donna said, exasperated. “Somebody tell me what is going on.”
“I will tell you anything you want,” Cormac said easily.
Donna shot him a warning look.
He grinned, and this time a full dimple appeared. Interesting. Was that for Donna specifically?
I looked straight at Zippy. “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about? Because nobody else seems inclined to.”
He looked between my grandmothers, his ruined vest dark with sticky flour. “All right.”
“No,” they both sputtered at once.
“Yes.” He settled back and flattened his hands over his stomach. “When we were sixteen, there was a summer at Lilac Lake that shall never be forgotten.”
“I have forgotten it,” Nonna muttered.
Somehow, I doubted that.
He stared at me. “Basically, both of your grandmothers fell in love with me.”
