Chapter 21
Never in my entire life had I expected to sit in a jail cell between both of my grandmothers.
Nana, Nonna, Donna, and I all sat together in a single holding cell at the police station while Zippy and Cormac sat in the adjacent one.
The cells in the bigger city weren’t quite as quaint as the ones over in Silverville. Yeah, it was sad I knew that fact.
The place smelled faintly of bleach, metal, and wet wool. Someone nearby had spilled instant coffee, and the sharp tang of it clung to the air. We had wiped off as much of the flour as we could, but clumps still stuck to everyone’s hair, leaving the floor gritty with powder.
Nana and Nonna actually seemed to be getting along. Nothing else about the situation made any sense.
Donna sneezed hard enough to rattle the bars.
“Bless you,” Cormac said from the other cell.
Nana cocked her head. “What was your name again?”
“I am Cormac Coretti, ma’am.”
“Coretti is Italian,” Nonna said, eyeing him.
Nana smoothed flour down her dress. “Cormac is Irish, although he has a quaint British accent.”
Cormac looked from one grandmother to the other, an amused half smile tugging at his mouth. He lounged on a narrow bench beside Zippy, who was still picking flour out of his silver hair with the desperation of a man losing a fight he did not start.
I sat between my grandmothers on one hard wooden bench, while Donna perched on the other side of Nonna. The cell was cold enough to sting, the cement walls painted a dull yellow that made everyone look sickly.
“Do they need to fingerprint me again?” Nana asked, curiosity in her tone. “I mean, they just did it the other day. Can’t they use those prints?”
I brushed more powder off my chin. “If they decide to arrest us, they’ll fingerprint you again.” I took some small comfort in the fact that Bud had locked us in the cells without actually booking us. At least not yet.
“You will be arrested,” Zippy sputtered.
Cormac glanced over, calm as ever. “So will you.”
Zippy tossed his head. “I was the victim.”
“That is not what I saw,” Cormac said smoothly.
I studied him. “What exactly did you see?”
He smiled at me. No dimple this time. “I saw this man make a move toward one of your grandmothers, and them defend themselves.”
Zippy reared up beside him. “That is a lie.”
Cormac did not so much as blink. “I always tell the truth, man.”
A fleck of flour drifted into my eye, stinging. Whatever spice Nana had been using was sharp enough to double as pepper spray. “How about we all forget this ever happened?” I tried for my most reasonable voice.
Nonna kicked her feet, sending another puff of flour into the air. “You deserved every whack, Zippy,” she muttered.
“All right,” Donna said, exasperated. “Somebody tell me what is going on.”
“I will tell you anything you want,” Cormac said easily.
Donna shot him a warning look.
He grinned, and this time a full dimple appeared. Interesting. Was that for Donna specifically?
I looked straight at Zippy. “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about? Because nobody else seems inclined to.”
He looked between my grandmothers, his ruined vest dark with sticky flour. “All right.”
“No,” they both sputtered at once.
“Yes.” He settled back and flattened his hands over his stomach. “When we were sixteen, there was a summer at Lilac Lake that shall never be forgotten.”
“I have forgotten it,” Nonna muttered.
Somehow, I doubted that.
He stared at me. “Basically, both of your grandmothers fell in love with me.”
“We did not,” Nana said flatly.
“He dated us both,” Nonna said. “We were only sixteen. Nothing exciting happened.”
Zippy preened. “You fell in love with me.”
“Ha,” Nana said. “Neither of us would ever love you.”
“So anyway,” Zippy continued, “I dumped them both for Gloria.”
I blinked. The words did not compute.
Cormac looked from him to us, then sighed and slid a little farther down the bench. Smart man.
“You dumped our grandmothers for Gloria Walton?” Donna asked, her voice tight.
A chill went down my spine. That tone was dangerous.
“Yes,” Zippy said. “They were furious at me. I did not mean to ruin their friendship.”
Donna turned to Nonna. “You two were friends?”
“The best of friends,” Nonna said softly, not looking up.
I stood, brushing flour off my jeans. The powder fell in ghostly drifts. “You are telling me you two were best friends, and when you were teenagers, you both dated the same guy, probably without realizing it, and then when he dumped you for Gloria Walton, you ended your friendship?”
Nana tilted her head. Nonna looked down.
“Over a guy named Zippy?” My voice hit an octave that made even Cormac flinch.
Nana chuckled. Nonna giggled. Then they looked at each other and burst into laughter so hard their shoulders shook.
Oh right. They were still drunk.
I sank back onto the bench. “I cannot believe this.”
“It was kind of stupid,” Nana agreed.
Nonna reached across me and patted her arm. “It really was, Fiona. But we have gotten along fine through the years, have we not?”
“Yes.” Nana nodded. “I have never understood what the big deal was. Our family is just overdramatic.”
Nonna threw her hands in the air. “So dramatic.”
“Really?” I asked, my voice dry.
“I would say we have been the best of friends since then, would you not?” Nonna said.
“I truly would,” Nana said warmly.
I looked at Donna. She looked back with an expression as bewildered as I felt. The cell suddenly seemed too small to hold all that absurd history, regret, and leftover laughter.
Cormac stared at us, a faint smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Well then, everything worked out, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” Nana said, smoothing her skirt. “Then Zippy dumped Gloria for—what was your wife’s name again?”
“Glenys,” he said, looking at them both. He didn’t seem to know whether to sound proud or defensive.
“Oh yeah. Glenys,” Nonna said. “She dumped your ass, didn’t she?”
I smacked my forehead. I had never heard either of my grandmothers swear like this in my life.
Zippy puffed himself up, though his shirt was still streaked with flour. “You two might be happily married, but your husbands aren’t going to like that you got in a fight over me.”
“A fight over you?” Nana chirped. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Yeah,” Nonna said. “We basted you.”
Nana leaned forward to see Nonna across me. “If we could toss him in an oven, we’d have fried chicken.”
“Fried rodent, you mean,” Nonna said.
“Good one,” Nana said, grinning. She held up a hand, and Nonna reached across me for a high-five. The motion sent a small flurry of leftover flour and spices drifting into my lap. The smell of paprika and grease hung thick in the air.
I glanced at Donna. She raised her eyebrows and gave a tiny shrug.
This was officially too much. I sighed and leaned back against the cold wall. The metal bars hummed faintly when someone down the hall slammed a door. “Hopefully nobody took pictures tonight,” I muttered.
“Oh yes,” Cormac said, his tone far too cheerful. “There were definitely pictures taken, but I didn’t see that reporter anywhere near here.”
“What reporter?” I tried to keep my voice level.
His eyes twinkled. “Jolene O’Sullivan, I believe her name is. She often catches you in… interesting situations.”
This guy really did his homework. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Just a guy looking for treasure,” he said, and his gaze slid toward Donna. If I wasn’t mistaken, she actually blushed.
My grandmothers exchanged a look over my head that could’ve launched a thousand conspiracies.
Before I could ask another question, the outer door jangled open and heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. A moment later, Detective Grant Pierce appeared on the other side of the bars.
He was dressed down in jeans and a gray sweatshirt, his dark blond hair rumpled, and his green eyes radiating barely contained irritation. The smell of rain and coffee clung to him, and I would’ve bet money someone had just dragged him out of bed.
“You got in a food fight at the Clumsy Penguin?” he asked, directing the question squarely at me.
I gulped. “I’m pretty sure I was just an observer on this one.”
“Yes, it’s true,” Nonna said suddenly, standing up and walking toward the bars. “Detective Pierce, it’s good to see you again. This one is my fault.”
“And mine,” Nana added, popping up beside her like they were synchronized swimmers.
I looked at Donna. If those two ever stayed united for more than five minutes, civilization might not survive it. Nana was at least six inches shorter than Nonna, but their posture was identical with straight backs, lifted chins, and twin looks of indignant pride.
Pierce sighed, long and hard, then turned toward the other cell. “Which one of you is Zippy?”
Zippy stood, brushing flour from his sleeves. “That would be me.”
“You’re a lawyer, right?” Pierce asked.
“I am.”
Pierce didn’t look amused. “My officer said you want to press charges.”
Zippy looked at Cormac, then at all of us, then down at the floor. “As an officer of the court, I’ve decided not to press charges.”
“There you go,” Cormac said, standing and clapping him on the back hard enough to make Zippy stumble forward.
Pierce’s expression didn’t change. “What kind of name is Zippy, anyway?”
“My mother was whimsical,” Zippy said with a shrug.
“Can you let us out?” I asked, hopeful.
Pierce glanced around the cells. “Anyone here planning to press charges?”
We all shook our heads.
“I spoke with Luanne over at the Clumsy Penguin,” he said, “and she also doesn’t want to press charges so long as you all agree to split the cleaning costs.”
“Gladly,” Nana said at once.
“I totally agree,” Nonna murmured. “We might have made a bit of a mess.”
Nonna looked down at her clothes and then at Nana. “These things happen, Fiona.”
“They do,” Nana agreed. She put an arm around Nonna’s waist, and my stomach dropped.
“Oh no.” I glanced at Donna, and she looked just as alarmed.