Page 43 of Booked for Murder

“Yep.”

“You hacked the police databases on the library’s computer? Wait. You can hack? Janette, you’re one crazy bitch. You did that where anyone could watch you do it. Are you trying to get yourself killed? That’s what will happen if they catch you. They’ll hang you from the Empire State Building for the world to see. Crows will feast on your guts. Then, because you keep bothering me, the cops will assume I helped you, and I’ll be hung up with you so crows can feast on my guts.”

I could only assume exhaustion had finally gotten to Beatrice. “Do you need to take a nap?”

Regarding her empty coffee cup, my sometimes friend, sometimes enemy nodded and heaved a pained sigh. “The past few sips were me hoping there was coffee still in the cup. It’s all gone, and your so-called coffee maker only produces sludge. If I drink that, it’ll kill me. I’m concerned if you drink that, it’ll kill you. How are you not dead yet?”

“I might have a foot of glass, but I have a stomach of steel.”

“Ren?” Bradley asked.

With a sigh the match of Beatrice’s, Ren opened his jacket, pulled out his firearm, and offered it to me. “I’ll bring you coffee, but in exchange, you must shoot anyone who looks at the Hamptons wrong while I’m gone.”

I accepted the weapon, checked the safety, grunted my general approval over the gun’s condition, and nodded. “I’ll ignore the looks, but if the looks appear to be aggressive in nature, I will change my mind about shooting. I’d have to shoot myself numerous times an hour if I shot anyone who looks at them wrong.”

“Very true. Figure out what you want and text me with the order, please.”

Once Ren left, I made use of my new phone and his number, tapped in what I wanted, and handed my phone over to Bradley, who followed my example. When the phone reached Jezabella, she narrowed her eyes. She tapped in her request and passed it on before glaring at me. “When did you learn how to hack?”

Bradley’s mother had worked miracles on the woman, and I appreciated her new courage and willingness to face off against me.

I waited until my phone made its way back to me, texted Ren with the order, and replied, “A while ago. A friend of mine was accused of a crime he couldn’t have done, so I fixed it in the system. I know he couldn’t have done it because I was with him at the time. I moved his name in the digital police records from suspect to a known person-of-interest with a note of his alibi, which was considered confirmed. I took a few liberties with the alibi, but I kept it mostly to the truth. He didn’t deserve to be punished for someone else’s crime.”

“That is so cool. Is it something I can learn?”

“No,” Bradley and his mother replied.

I laughed. “It is absolutely something you can learn, but I recommend you cover your activities with learning how to program. Hacking is an excellent way to test the security of anything you’re programming. Then, should someone ask what you’re doing, you can claim that you’re improving your software security despite any less-than-legal activities you might be doing.”

“Do not encourage her to become a hacker,” Bradley’s mother scolded.

“I’m not encouraging her to become a hacker. I’m encouraging her to become a digital security specialist.”

Beatrice snickered. “For the record, this is how Janette gets away with so much at work. She’s a master of the spin, and she’s more stubborn than the average goat.”

“Thank you, Beatrice.”

“Most of that was not a compliment, bitch.”

I considered her words carefully, and with a puzzled frown, I asked, “Which part of that wasn’t a compliment? It all sounded pretty complimentary to me.”

Of course, it didn’t hurt that anything even remotely positive from her counted as complimentary. Some days, we hated each other, but I valued her special brand of rough honesty.

Beatrice grunted, wrinkled her nose at me, and grabbed a stack of papers off my coffee table. “The part that led to me being involved with this situation, which is the entirety of it. Payback will be coming, you will hate it, and I will enjoy it, and I will work to make it as embarrassing for you as possible.”

Given a single excuse and an opportunity, she would. “Can I get a preview of what hell you’ll put me through?”

“I’m engaged, you will be a bridesmaid, and I will force you to wear the worst bridesmaid dress in existence, and you will smile through it because I will be the bride.”

My brows shot up. “Wait. You’re getting married? Since when?”

“A few weeks ago.”

Had I been a better friend, I probably would have known—or cared—she had a boyfriend. “To who? Why? How?”

“This is where we take a sharp left turn out of reality. And why else would someone marry somebody?”

“The sex?”