“I’m just making sure those little Hoover vacuums didn’t eat everything.”
He gave another grumble as he looked at my scraped forehead with its technicolor bruising. Since his concern wasn’t getting him answers, he switched to his cop-face and stared me down.
“Bar fight,” I said since that wasn’t a lie. Not a total one, at least.
“Breaking one up or starting one?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
When we reached the kitchen, Turner and his wife, Maggie, were putting the finishing touches on dinner. Silas and Mav were in their way as they heatedly debated… something. Everything.Anything. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen them have a conversation that didn’t end in a dispute.
They looked over at my approach.
Silas gestured to his own forehead. “Did you want us all here so you could announce you finally got that lobotomy?”
“Exactly.” I spread my hands about six inches apart. “I had them remove a big chunk because I wanted to see what it would be like to have your IQ, Three-tries.”
My family might’ve been big and bad, but I wasn’t exactly a slouch. I’d made detective younger than any of them—my dad, uncles, and cousins included. More than that, I’d done it on my first attempt. It’d taken Silas three tries.
Hence the nickname.
His face fell quicker than Lincoln Logs in an earthquake.
Dad chuckled. “You rolled out the red carpet for that one.”
I expected Mav to jump in. He might not have been able to use the nickname since he wasn’t a detective, but he rarely missed the opportunity to rag on Silas.
Instead, his focus was on the dog glued to my side. “Did you bring contraband into this house?”
“Who me? No. Never.”
“Then why is my dog over there?”
“I’ve got a pocket full of weed,” I lied.
Mav tried his own version of a cop-face.
It was less effective, but he still wasn’t dropping it.
I placed my free hand under my chin, the picture of innocence. “Maybe he prefers my sparkling personality.”
Goose’s tail wagged, likely in anticipation of the contraband I very much held.
But I used it as proof. “See? He knows Auntie Lo is the best.”
Unsurprisingly, Mav wasn’t buying it. “He’s on a specific diet.”
“I know. And since he’s carrying the partnership, I wouldn’t sabotage that.” I pulled out the specialty treats. “These babies were more expensive than the cookies meant for human consumption.”
As dishes were carried to the dining room, I turned away and snuck one of the fancy doggy snacks to my buddy. When I spun back, I expected Mav’s disapproving glare.
But it was Silas hanging back. “Sorry Addy couldn’t come.”
I didn’t bother to say it was okay because we both knew it wasn’t. Giving her structure by sticking to the strict custody arrangement was probably the best thing for his four-year-old daughter, but it didn’t change the truth. “I miss that kid.”
“You and me both. Next time.”
We tried to get together for family dinner once a month, but with the nature of our jobs, it didn’t always work out. We settled for making sure someone was popping in to check on Dad.
