“Audrey would have wanted it like this, I’m sure,” Wilma answered.
Rachel was sure too. Audrey had loved mayhem as much as her friends, or so Rachel had been told. “Well, it’s not Audrey dealing with the aftermath, it’s me, so no more shenanigans. Please. I’m already in the doghouse with the sheriff as it is. I don’t need any more trouble with him.”
He was a stickler for rules, the jackass.
In the first seven years she’d spent in Alden, she could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she’d talked with the old sheriff, a very accommodating, sweet man, but then her grandma and friends had decided to regress to their teens right about the same time the new sheriff stepped in. Now, because of all their run-ins with the law, she had Adrian’s number on speed dial. And he had hers. She spoke with that jerk more often than she did with her mother. Well, not so much talking like a sane, balanced, thirty-four-year-old would, but more like scolding and yelling like a nut. Or begging and apologizing, or everything all at once, depending on the situation. Which always had her at a disadvantage.
“Complain all you want about Adrian, but you were lucky he called me to bring clothes for the OGs; otherwise, they would have appeared in front of the judge in their bathrobes and impressive caps. That wouldn’t have helped your case either, Rach.”
True. Mike was not big on Twitter or social media. There was no chance he’d have seen their message in time.
“Are you coming with us to the gym?” Mike asked. “Today is Wednesday. Self-defense class. You could take out your frustrations on the guys.”
“No, thank you.” There were two self-defense classes at Haddican’s, the first one for seniors. She had already had enough of crazy grandmas for the day. How Mike could deal with them en masse was beyond her. If she’d had time, she would have loved to drop by Kyra’s dance studio, Alden’s Dance Factory, where Mike’s wife and Sara, Mike’s sister, held dance classes, but she was extremely busy today, not to mention she wasn’t the most feminine person in the world. Pole dancing when you smell like gasoline and your nails are dirty with motor oil? Not that sensual. “The boys are waiting for me in the garage. We’re swamped. Maybe another day.”
Wilma shook her head reprovingly. “You spend all your time in that garage of yours.”
“Cars don’t repair themselves, and they don’t talk back and argue, either,” she said, that last part in a barely audible mutter.
Her grandma ignored that completely. “How is it going with the dating service? Did you find any interesting candidates?”
Mike turned to Rachel, his brow pinched. “What dating service?”
“They signed me up for one of those dating apps,” she explained. “They faked my profile like you wouldn’t believe.” By now, Mike’s frown had disappeared and he was laughing. Or so she thought, because he’d covered his face and his shoulders were shaking. Either he was laughing or crying. She had a good hunch which it was.
“It’s what everyone does, honey,” her grandma justified herself. “They all exaggerate a bit.”
Rachel looked at Mike, whose face had resurfaced. Yep, laughing his ass off. “Exaggerate a bit? The only real thing on there is my name. You guys even uploaded a picture of me from ten years ago. I’m the youngest-looking thirty-four-year-old in existence.”
“Correction. You’re twenty-nine,” Rebecca pointed out. “We heard thirty is the tomb for dating.”
Wilma assented. “Besides, what could we do? You’re always in the garage, wearing those greasy coveralls. We can’t upload a picture of you working under a car. It’d scare the candidates.”
Why on earth Rachel had taught the OGs how to use their smartphones, she didn’t know. One thing was clear: she had no one to blame but herself.
“Results are what matter,” Greta decreed. “So, have there been any, honey?”
“Nothing promising yet,” Rachel muttered, “so don’t get your hopes up.”
She could have told them about the dates from hell she’d gotten on that app, but she feared the OGs weren’t ready for so much gruesome reality. Besides, they did mean well. It wasn’t their fault the world of dating was a cesspool.
“Now I’ve got to go.” After kissing her grandmother, Rebecca, and Greta, she took off in the direction of her business, waving at Mike. “If they get into trouble, it’s on you. I’m off duty.”
She heard his chuckle and a “you got it” before she turned the corner and entered the garage.
Rachel went straight to her office. She loved her grandma and the other OGs, but she was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to keep up with them and their shenanigans today. Man, and she’d thought she would never set foot inside another cell or courtroom. Ha. Think again, Rach.
“So, boss, how did it go? You going to prison?” Rico asked, peeking around the door, a smirk on his smudged face.
“Worse,” she said, dropping into a chair. “Community service. I have to teach automotive mechanics to a bunch of juvenile delinquents.”
Rico looked at her and burst out laughing. “Is the judge trying to put you away for murder?”
Probably. Rachel wasn’t the most patient, most diplomatic person in the world. Far from it. Add a group of unruly teenagers to her garage and disaster was bound to happen. “All this is Adrian’s doing, I’m sure.” He was the one trying to reinsert the thugs back into society. Convicting her for murder would just be an added bonus.
“The sheriff wants to keep them out of trouble,” Rico said.
“Why the heck doesn’t he take them into his office to help? He’s always complaining about being short-staffed.” Rico gave her a “duh” look and she sighed, resigned. “I know, I know. Those delinquents would burn down the sheriff’s department, so we get them instead.”
“Look at it this way,” Rico offered. “They might not know how to repair a car, but stripping it bare and reselling the parts? They must have that down pat. It’s a start.”
Chapter Two
Putting on the boxing gloves, Adrian walked out of the locker room at Haddican’s gym and headed for the punching bag. It had been forever since he’d had an afternoon free.
Mike approached, looking suspiciously amused. “You here to blow off some steam? I heard you had a rough day.”
Adrian frowned. “What did you hear?”
“I had karate class for kids earlier on. They were all talking about it.”
Of course they were. It had been a week since the grandmas from hell went in front of the judge, and today was their first day of community service. They’d been sentenced, among other things, to help with Pedestrian Safety Education Day. What the judge hadn’t kept in mind was that the sheriff, or one of his deputies, took care of those classes.
Adrian had begged and threatened and cajoled—all to no avail. Both his deputies had had airtight reasons why they couldn’t switch with him. And that had been before the trio made it to the station. After that, his deputies had said they’d rather go to jail than trade places with him.