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chair, and Officer Kentworth had been the fairly obvious choice.

Especially since his sole opponent, recycling her campaign materi-

als from her last failed attempt, had been Monica Morrell. She’d

gathered about five percent of the vote, mainly from the irony de-

mographic, but she was still determined to find something to be in charge of. She’d talked about buying the old Daylight Foundation

building— locked up tight now— and making it into a dog board-

ing facility. Shane had found that weirdly, hilariously appropriate.

“He’s a pretty decent guy when he’s not finding dead bodies in

your house,” Eve said. “Speaking of that, I’m not going into the

basement anymore.”

“The laundry room’s in the basement.”

“Then you are on laundry duty.”

“Hey!” Claire poked at her, and Eve poked back. “So . . . the

date?”

“We were thinking next Saturday. You busy?”

“I might be,” Claire said. She kept her poker face well enough

that Eve looked momentarily crushed, and then she reached into

her backpack to pull out another piece of paper, which she slid

across to Eve.

Who unfolded it, read it, squealed in ranges that only dolphins

could hear, and practically knocked Claire’s laptop off the table in her haste to hug her.

“Wait, am I late to the orgy?” Shane asked as he came through

the kitchen doorway carrying two Cokes. “I didn’t get the Evite.

Man, I hate slow Internet.”

“Shut up,” Eve said. She wiped her eyes, carefully because of

her extremely expert makeup, and hugged him, too, before he even

had the chance to set down the glasses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Uh . . . did I mention slow Internet? Wait, what?”

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Eve brandished the marriage license in his face, and he gave

Claire a quick glance before he said, “Because you were all

knee- deep in the paperwork swamp. It took us about an hour. I

didn’t want to rub it in, because you get all blotchy when you

angry- cry.”

“Idiot,” Eve said, and kissed his cheek. Then she kissed Claire’s.

“Now I’m all blotchy.”

“Can’t even tell,” he said, and finally set down the Cokes.

“What with all the layers of spackle on your face.”

“It’s nice to know that being on the verge of losing your free-

dom hasn’t made you any less juvenile.”

“Excuse me, you’re dressing like a Living Dead Doll, and who

exactly is—”

“Hey,” Claire said, and held out both hands to stop the come-

backs. “I love you both.”

“Let the orgy begin,” Shane said. “Who brought tacos?”

“Michael.”

“And he left them unattended? What a fool.” Shane grabbed

two from the bag, along with a paper plate, and dumped them on

it. “More for me.”

As he was taking his first bite, Michael came down the steps,

guitar case in hand, and set his instrument down on his armchair