ME: Huh. You’re right.

DICK GUY: It happens. LOL. I have to go to work. Sorry again, and thanks for being cool about all this.

ME: Don’t worry about it. Shit happens.

CHAPTER TWO – REAGAN

Shit Really Does Happen

“Aunt Bethel,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I am not going to stage a boudoir shoot for you to give Harry James for his birthday. He has a pacemaker and a stent. You’ll kill the poor man.”

She leaned over the kitchen table, her blue hair flying in corkscrew curls around her face. I guessed she’d gotten a perm at some point in the last few days, because it hadn’t looked like that the last time I’d seen her.

She pointed at me, her bright-pink nail flashing through the air as numerous bangles jangled on her wrist. “You should see the posters in his bedroom at the care home!”

“I don’t think they like it when you call it a care home. They prefer the term ‘shared community’ at Creek Community.”

“Creek Community is a stupid name for a care home, and if there are live-in nurses, it’s either a hospital or a care home.”

“Nurses don’t live at the hospital.”

“Ah-ha! It’s a care home!” She threw her arm into the air in triumph, and I winced, waiting for her bone to pop out or something.

“It doesn’t matt—wait, how did you get into Harry’s bedroom? Did he let you in? If so, you’ve already killed him, Aunt Bethel. He doesn’t need your nudes.”

She sniffed, standing up and straightening her ghastly orange dress. “Margaret and I were there for a card event they were hosting and he showed me around.”

I stared at her. “You broke into his room, didn’t you?”

“I would do nothing of the sort!”

“You broke into his room and snooped around.”

Leaning forward, she looked around conspiratorially and whispered, “He takes a lot of medication. I could make some money on the black Amazon.”

“The black Amazon?”

“Under the table deals. You know. The shady guys at gas stations with their non-descript brown paper envelopes.”

“You mean the black mark—it doesn’t matter.” I waved my hands in front of me. “Aunt Bethel, you cannot break into someone’s room and snoop around. Even the police need a warrant for that.”

“The state could save a lot of money if they let nosey old ladies snoop around instead.”

Now there was a point I wasn’t going to argue with.

That didn’t make it right. True, yes, but half of them would probably pop out their hip or something halfway through climbing the stairs.

“You cannot break into someone’s room,” I repeated, letting my hair out of the bun I’d had it in all day. It was still damp in places, and I grabbed my brush from the counter to detangle the few knots that were buried in it. “It’s illegal. An arrestable offense. And before you try to tell me; no, I do not care to know what’s on Harry’s walls.”