Page 103 of The Body in the Backyard
“Everybody, freeze,” he squeaked. But no one paid him any attention.
“I don’t like this,” Griffin wailed from his hiding place behind the brochure.
Wiry Guy got a lucky punch past Nick’s defenses, which only served to infuriate him. “You don’t. Get. To steal. Shit. From other. People,” Nick said, punctuating his sage advice with swift punches.
Gabe dodged the chest of a mannequin wearing a heavy necklace and grabbed his guy by the front of his shirt. “You will stop misbehaving now,” Gabe said, giving him a shake. The man’s feet dangled helplessly six inches off the ground.
The door burst open again, and a bleached-blonde woman with a too-dark tan and a Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt that had seen one too many decades stomped inside. She was smoking a cigarette and waving a cowboy-style six-shooter. “What in the hell is takin’ so damn long? You morons told me five minutes! I got the El Camino parked at the curb, drawin’ attention.”
Griffin, startled by the woman’s sudden appearance, flinched in his chair. She tripped over his feet and went sprawling.
Wilfred hurled the gun at the woman, hitting her in the crispy hair. “Ow! You son of a bitch!”
Taking advantage of the distraction, Weber jumped to his feet and drew his weapon. Nick yanked his Sig Sauer out of the back of his jeans and kicked both revolvers away from the woman on the floor.
“Harrisburg PD. Get on the floor! Hands behind your head!” Weber barked.
“A dang cop? Ah, shit. Why didn’t you say so?” Virgil grumbled.
“Hang on. This here is Lemoyne. Yer outta yer jurisdiction. You can’t do jack shit to us,” insisted Gabe’s still-dangling opponent.
“I suggest you find a new source for legal advice,” Weber said. “Wilfred, call 911.”
“Anybody got any zip ties?” Nick asked.
“Is it over? Did I save the day?” Griffin asked, peeking out between his fingers.
25
7:01 p.m. Saturday, November 2
“Ahem.”
The headphones she’d donned to block out the pile of dogs snoring at her feet weren’t quite powerful enough to handle insistent throat clearing.
“AHEM!”
On a sigh, Riley took off her headphones and looked up. “Yes, Mrs. Penny?”
Somehow between nearly getting arrested and shot for breaking and entering, and early-bird meat-loaf dinner that day, Mrs. Penny had made good on her threat to turn Riley’s office into a coworking space. She’d pushed a folding table against the front of Riley’s desk, then added a few of her old gaming monitors and her BarcaLounger office chair.
Now whenever Riley looked up, it was at Mrs. Penny’s expectant face. It gave her a jolt every time.
“What do you think the boys are up to?” her new office partner asked.
Riley had a sudden glimpse of sparkle that shifted into a dangerous metallic gleam. A queasy feeling spread through her intestines. “Uh. I don’t know.”
She picked up her phone, scrolled to the tracking app, and zoomed in on Nick’s location. He was at the jewelry store. That at least explained the sparkle.
“Why aren’tweout running down clues and chasing bad guys?” Mrs. Penny asked, swinging her feet up on her makeshift desk with a meaty thump.
“Because we’re in here running down the identity of Ingram’s ex-girlfriend so we can return her dogs and ask her if she thinks her ex is capable of hiring hit men to murder someone who embarrassed him,” Riley explained for the third time.
“Why don’t you just ask Gentry what her name is?”
“I did. He didn’t remember. So I’m tracking her down the old-fashioned internet stalking way.”
“Boring! I’m gonna go make a drinky drink,” Mrs. Penny grumbled.
