Page 66 of The Body in the Backyard
She sat up. “What’s wrong?”
“Charley horse. Hamstring,” he wheezed.
They enteredthe house disheveled and sleepy to find Burt slurping water from his bowl in the disaster zone of the kitchen.
Nick tested the sink faucet and grunted when a biblical flood didn’t flow forth from the cabinet. “Fucking Carlo,” he said in what Riley guessed was approval.
“What happened in here?” she wondered, taking in the half dozen open bags of chips, the greasy pizza boxes, and the mountain of dirty dishes.
“Looks like happy hour turned into snacky hour,” he guessed.
“Where is everybody, Burt?” she asked.
The dog, with water still streaming from his mouth, jogged to the swinging door.
“Did Mrs. Penny fall in a well again?” Nick quipped.
The foyer was dark, but there was a strange sound coming from the sunroom. Like the faint grind of a buzz saw or crunch of a wood chipper.
“This feels like a horror movie and we’re about to get chopped up by a deranged serial killer,” Riley observed.
Nick took her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
“What if it’s a room full of chickens?”
“Then I’ll use you as a human shield.”
They tiptoed to the doorway, and Nick stealthily reached inside to snap on the lights. “I think I’d rather face a serial killer,” he noted as they took in the scene.
Happy hour had definitely taken a turn.
Empty glasses and bottles of open booze littered every flat surface. More snacks had been massacred in this room. There were two baking sheets dotted with crumbs on the bar and the remains of an exploded foot-long sub on the poker table. Their geriatric roommates were passed out cold.
Mrs. Penny snored on the divan with one arm thrown over her head and one foot on the floor.
Fred, who appeared to be mostly naked, was curled up snoozing peacefully under the poker table, using his toupee as a pillow. Mr. Willicott slept sitting up in an armchair with a cowboy hat perched on his head. Haunted house noises escaped from his open mouth.
Lily was on the couch, wearing a gingham housecoat, a green face mask, and curlers in her hair. Some of the curlers had french fries stuck to them.
Nick looped his hand through Burt’s collar. “No way, buddy. That room is a digestive war zone.”
“I don’t have the energy to get them all to bed,” Riley confessed.
“They’re technically all adults. Let them wake up hungover and sore as hell. Maybe it’ll teach them a lesson,” he said.
Mrs. Penny let out a throat-abrading snore.
“Cute butt,” Lily whispered in her sleep.
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” Mr. Willicott wheezed.
Fred rolled over, his toupee stuck to the side of his face like a gigantic hairy spider.
“Let’s go upstairs and pretend we live alone,” Nick said.
“Good call.”
They trooped up to the second floor with Burt. Riley could hear Gabe’s deep timbre coming from his room. “No. You must be the first to hang up… No, you… I am sorry, Wander, but I cannot disconnect our call without suffering physical pain.”
