Page 16 of Bombshell (Whiskey Dolls 1)

As if that wasn’t bad enough, if I wasn’t thinking about that stupid jerk, Pierce Walton, I was in a constant state of worry over my sister and what I’d seen at the restaurant.

I’d wavered back and forth for days trying to decide what to do. Should I tell her or should I keep it to myself just in case Pierce was right about reading too much into it? The last thing I wanted to do was hurt my sister in any way, but I also didn’t want her to be blindsided.

“Hello? Earth to Marin.”

The sound of Ms. Weatherby’s voice jolted me out of my melancholy and back into the present, where I was sitting in her living room, surrounded by her outrageous collection of Precious Moments figurines that gave me the creeps, having our weekly tea.

I’d taken a shine to my elderly neighbor back when I’d first moved into the building. She and Charlotte had lived across the hall from each other at the time and had grown close during their time as neighbors. That was how I’d met the eccentric, hilarious, and extremely wise old woman.

Now Charlotte was living with her hunk of a man, Dalton, in his beautiful house, but she still made time to come visit Ms. Weatherby. However, she and I had started our own tradition, which consisted of me making finger sandwiches once a week—because Ms. Weatherby might be wise as hell but she was arguably even worse in the kitchen than I was—and she’d set out a full tea service.

She also tended to put salt in her lemonade instead of sugar because the poor woman was blind as a bat, even with her coke-bottle thick glasses. But I’d nipped that little issue in the bud by labeling her canisters for her in thick, black, three-inch tall bubble letters that she could read clearly.

You’d think that a thirty-year-old and a woman well into her eighties wouldn’t have much to talk about, but you’d be very,verywrong.

“You know, it’s rude to come to someone’s home and ignore them when they’re in the middle of talking,” she admonished.

“Sorry,” I said with a small cringe. “I didn’t mean to zone out. I’ve just had a lot on my mind the past few days.”

She studied me behind those crazy thick lenses that made her eyeballs look like tiny beads as she lifted her teacup to her lips and sipped. “Well, you can’t drop a little nugget like that and not expand on it, so you might as well tell me what’s goin’ on inside that pretty head of yours.”

Honestly, one of the reasons I enjoyed coming down here every week was because Ms. Weatherby’s advice was unparalleled, so I didn’t hesitate to dive right in.

“Let’s say that you were out to dinner, and you saw something that could possibly have been something bad, but it also could have been innocent and you just read the situation wrong. You aren’t certain exactly what it was you witnessed, but it has the potential to ruin a person’s marriage. Do you tell that person what you think you may have seen, or do you keep it to yourself?”

She rolled her beady eyes and let out a frustrated huff. “Young people these days. Will you stop tap dancin’ around your story and just spell it out for me already? I’m not as young as I once was, and I don’t have the time or inclination to try and figure out what you’re askin’.”

“I was out last week on a blind date—which is something I’ll get into with you another time,” I quickly added when her white eyebrows shot up. “But while I was at the restaurant, I saw my brother-in-law, Nick, there with a woman who wasn’t my sister. The woman’s behavior was questionable, but I couldn’t tell if Nick was reciprocating or not.”

“And you want to know whether or not you should tell your sister.”

“Yes! Exactly.” I placed my teacup and saucer down on her coffee table and leaned over, bracing my elbows on my knees. “What should I do, Ms. W?”

She went silent for several seconds, as if she were giving it some serious thought. “That’s quite the pickle you got yourself in, there.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I replied flatly, lifting an egg salad finger sandwich to my lips and biting down.

“You can’t go to your sister with this if you aren’t sure of what you saw,” she stated.

“So you think I should just keep it to myself?”

Ms. Weatherby snorted loudly and waved me off like what I’d just asked was completely ridiculous. “Of course not! If he’s a cheatin’ scumbag, your sister needs to know so she can get her revenge. Plain and simple. What I’m tellin’ you to do is get yourself some proof. Confront your brother-in-law. Once you do that,thenyou can tell your sister... if there’s somethin’ to tell, that is.”

Like I said, wisest woman I knew.

“How’d you get to be so smart, Ms. W?”

“Age, darlin’ child. Age and a whole hell of a lot of mistakes.” She pointed a gnarled, arthritic finger in my direction. “So you’d do well to listen to me.”

I smiled at her, lifting my teacup and taking a sip of the overly bitter tea she’d made, schooling my features to hide my wince as I forced it down my throat. “I always listen to you. You know that.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, unconvinced. “Then what were you doin’ going on a blind date with a man you don’t even know?”

“It was set up by a friend, Ms. W,” I assured her. “He wasn’t atotalstranger.”

She harrumphed, giving her head a shake. “Yes, well, I saw thisDatelinespecial the other night where—”

And that was how I got stuck listening to Ms. W prattle on about how I could have ended up in some strange man’s trunk, on the way to the Mexican border without anyone the wiser until it was too late.

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