damnation and was
still
refused—so there would be no help coming from that direction. The only other route for complaint was to appeal to the city council, who are in the mayor’s pocket, or the police force, and Amity’s brothers make up a third of that.
It’s kind of hard to believe Cane and Abe don’t realize their sister’s new enterprise is screwing the laid-back, homey vibe of Railroad Street, but I supposethey have bigger things to worry about than noise control. Like policing the iron fence, or processing bite victims needing to be deported, or writing tickets for people who keep throwing perishable trash in the town’s non-perishable dump and putting our town at risk for some kind of medieval, fleas-on-rats, plague situation.
Or trying to catch a murderer.
Jesus. There’s a murderer in our town. It
has
to be someone from inside. The average tourist wouldn’t know their way around the Beauchamp mansion so well. They wouldn’t know about the hidden path that cuts through the garden to the family quarters, to the place where Grace slept.
I drown my thoughts in another deep drink of Abita Amber.
“I’m just saying I think your sisters would be hot naked,” Fernando says, his playful tone indicating he’s trying to make nice in his own obnoxious way. Maybe that’s why I like Fern so much. He’s even more offensive than I am. “Not to me, personally, but most straight men think you Swallows girls have the hottest—”
Theresa curses in Spanish, calling Fern a filthy homo who can suck her mother’s eggs—or something like that,
my
mother made me take French—and sticks her pierced tongue out before going to refill Nell and Shane’s pitcher. Looks like they’re steering clear of the whiskey tonight. Hopefully that will mean a peaceful evening for Dom and a drunk-free drunk tank down atthe station. The last thing any of the town law enforcement needs is more crap to deal with.
“But for real, Miss Lee.” Fern lowers his voice as he leans closer. “We need to have a
tête-à-tête
.”
“Okay. Can I eat while we head-to-head?”
“What?”
“
Tête-à-tête
. It means head-to-head.” I take a bite of spicy, blue-cheesy goodness and sigh. So good. Buffalo wings are all the proof I need that God loves us and wants us to be happy. Benjamin Franklin once said the same about beer. Because he was a wise, wise man … and buffalo wings hadn’t been invented yet.
“I’m not getting anywhere near your head.” Fernando curls his upper lip. “It looks like you have bugs living in that straw. A deep conditioning treatment should be in your immediate future.”
“Okay,” I say, skipping the usual smart-ass banter. Fern’s heart isn’t in it. I can tell. There’s something in his eyes, something … spooked that I didn’t notice before. “So what’s up your skirt?”
“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full. It’s gross.”
“You shouldn’t look at my mouth if you don’t like seeing what I’m eating.”
“And hearing it. Could you smack louder?” He turns to twirl the stem of his wineglass. “I can’t believe you’re dating the hottest piece of ass in town. You must be as filthy in bed as you are out of it.”
“Really?” I throw my naked wing bone back to my plate. “Is this what you wanted to talk about?My disgusting eating and living habits?” There’s hurt in my tone. He’s getting to me. I usually have rhino skin when it comes to Fern—I know he doesn’t mean ninety percent of the crap that comes out of his mouth—but tonight I’m feeling fragile. A strange wetness lingers at the edge of my lashes when I turn to grab my beer.
The wing sauce must be spicier than usual.
I slam my empty beer down and swipe the back of my hand across my nose. Runny. “Could you hand me a napkin?”
“Of course. Yeah. Here, take the whole thing.” Fernando stammers, fumbling one of the tightly packed napkins from the metal dispenser between us. “Nards, girl. I’m
still
refused—so there would be no help coming from that direction. The only other route for complaint was to appeal to the city council, who are in the mayor’s pocket, or the police force, and Amity’s brothers make up a third of that.
It’s kind of hard to believe Cane and Abe don’t realize their sister’s new enterprise is screwing the laid-back, homey vibe of Railroad Street, but I supposethey have bigger things to worry about than noise control. Like policing the iron fence, or processing bite victims needing to be deported, or writing tickets for people who keep throwing perishable trash in the town’s non-perishable dump and putting our town at risk for some kind of medieval, fleas-on-rats, plague situation.
Or trying to catch a murderer.
Jesus. There’s a murderer in our town. It
has
to be someone from inside. The average tourist wouldn’t know their way around the Beauchamp mansion so well. They wouldn’t know about the hidden path that cuts through the garden to the family quarters, to the place where Grace slept.
I drown my thoughts in another deep drink of Abita Amber.
“I’m just saying I think your sisters would be hot naked,” Fernando says, his playful tone indicating he’s trying to make nice in his own obnoxious way. Maybe that’s why I like Fern so much. He’s even more offensive than I am. “Not to me, personally, but most straight men think you Swallows girls have the hottest—”
Theresa curses in Spanish, calling Fern a filthy homo who can suck her mother’s eggs—or something like that,
my
mother made me take French—and sticks her pierced tongue out before going to refill Nell and Shane’s pitcher. Looks like they’re steering clear of the whiskey tonight. Hopefully that will mean a peaceful evening for Dom and a drunk-free drunk tank down atthe station. The last thing any of the town law enforcement needs is more crap to deal with.
“But for real, Miss Lee.” Fern lowers his voice as he leans closer. “We need to have a
tête-à-tête
.”
“Okay. Can I eat while we head-to-head?”
“What?”
“
Tête-à-tête
. It means head-to-head.” I take a bite of spicy, blue-cheesy goodness and sigh. So good. Buffalo wings are all the proof I need that God loves us and wants us to be happy. Benjamin Franklin once said the same about beer. Because he was a wise, wise man … and buffalo wings hadn’t been invented yet.
“I’m not getting anywhere near your head.” Fernando curls his upper lip. “It looks like you have bugs living in that straw. A deep conditioning treatment should be in your immediate future.”
“Okay,” I say, skipping the usual smart-ass banter. Fern’s heart isn’t in it. I can tell. There’s something in his eyes, something … spooked that I didn’t notice before. “So what’s up your skirt?”
“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full. It’s gross.”
“You shouldn’t look at my mouth if you don’t like seeing what I’m eating.”
“And hearing it. Could you smack louder?” He turns to twirl the stem of his wineglass. “I can’t believe you’re dating the hottest piece of ass in town. You must be as filthy in bed as you are out of it.”
“Really?” I throw my naked wing bone back to my plate. “Is this what you wanted to talk about?My disgusting eating and living habits?” There’s hurt in my tone. He’s getting to me. I usually have rhino skin when it comes to Fern—I know he doesn’t mean ninety percent of the crap that comes out of his mouth—but tonight I’m feeling fragile. A strange wetness lingers at the edge of my lashes when I turn to grab my beer.
The wing sauce must be spicier than usual.
I slam my empty beer down and swipe the back of my hand across my nose. Runny. “Could you hand me a napkin?”
“Of course. Yeah. Here, take the whole thing.” Fernando stammers, fumbling one of the tightly packed napkins from the metal dispenser between us. “Nards, girl. I’m
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