The Body in the Backyard (Riley Thorn #4)

by Lucy Score

“Jesus. These guys are the size of linebackers who retired and became lumberjacks,” Josie called from the porch. She wasn’t wrong. Both men looked as if they shopped exclusively in the Big and Tall section. “Am I dead?” Griffin’s head popped up on the other side of the Jeep, drawing Nick’s and Weber’s aim. The news anchor yelped and collapsed to the ground. “We should be so lucky,” Nick muttered.

“I’ll take the one dressed like a night prowler. You take Lizard Boots,” Nick said to Weber. “What?” Weber barked, shaking his head. “I can’t hear shit.” “Maybe you should have thought to put on your fucking ear protection, dummy.” “Don’t fuck with me, Nicky. I’m still hungover,” “Get the guy on the right,” Nick yelled.

Nick nudged Lizard Boots in the hip with his foot. “Hey, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. We’re all friends here. Go ahead and confess to Uncle Nick and Detective Pain-in-the-Ass why you shot up my goddamn yard.” Both shooters looked at him, their faces going carefully blank. “What are you saying?” Weber demanded several decibels louder than necessary. “None of us like your suit,” Nick quipped, tightening the zip ties on a very unhappy-looking Night Prowler.

He hooked a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in until they were forehead to forehead. “Good. Don’t ever fucking do that again. You took ten years off my life. And we could have a lot of sex in ten years.” She winced. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t leave Burt out here.” “I know,” he said. “Still mad though.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Go on,” he said, turning her toward the house and smacking her on the ass. “Oh, and tell Penny she better hide that fucking gun.” “How did you know?” she demanded. “I know the sound of a fifty caliber, and I know there’s only one person stupid enough to fire it from our porch roof.” “Handsome and smart,” she said on another sigh. “How did I get so lucky?” “We’ll talk about getting lucky later,” he promised.

“I can’t believe I didn’t get to shoot anyone,” Josie complained as they poked their heads into the empty kitchen, bar, and dining room. “Next time, babe,” Brian promised.

Riley rolled her eyes, then knocked on the carved molding surrounding the hutch. “Who is it?” Lily called sweetly from within the wall. “Pipe down! We’re supposed to be hiding, remember? It could be the bad guys knocking,” Fred said loudly. “Right! I forgot. Nobody’s here but us house ghosts,” Lily said. “Wooooooooooo.” “Buncha amateurs,” Mrs. Penny muttered. “Please remain calm…and much quieter,” Gabe said.

Riley sighed and swung the hutch open to reveal the secret staircase. Lily, Fred, and Mr. Willicott were playing cards on the stairs using potato chips for money. Gabe was eating the rest of the chips that hadn’t become currency. Billy the prodigy lawyer had loosened his dinosaur tie and was drinking a Dr Pepper with shaking hands. Mrs. Penny took a slurp of the bourbon in her glass. “I was here the whole time,” she announced.

“What in the name of all fuckery is going on here?” Jasmine demanded, shoving aside the crime scene tape and holding a hand in the face of the cop who dared to stand in her way. “Not today, junior.”

“What the hell happened here?” Jasmine demanded, returning the tight squeeze before releasing her. “Oh, you know, the usual. Griffin was being chased by two men with guns, so of course he drove straight here, endangering everyone and crashing his car into my Jeep. Then Nick and Kellen returned fire until a tree branch mysteriously crushed the bad guys’ car and they were forced to surrender.” “Mrs. Penny shoot down the branch?” Jasmine guessed. “Yep. But we’re pretending it was Mother Nature. You look good,” Riley observed.

“This is an active crime scene, not Sunday brunch. You need to leave,” Weber announced, stomping over to them. “Don’t even start with me, Detective Dick,” Jasmine challenged. “I already eviscerated one man today. I wouldn’t add myself to that list if I were you.” “I’m a homicide detective. Pain-in-the-ass attorneys don’t scare me.” Jasmine stepped closer until the pointy tips of her shoes were touching Weber’s boots. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah,” he growled. “It’s so nice to see you two getting along,” Riley said.

He was just working his way around Gentry’s stupid smashed-up car when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Mom. He sighed and answered the call. “Hello, Mother.” “Why am I hearing from your aunt Nancy that there was some sort of gunfight at your house?” his mother demanded. “Because Aunt Nancy has a gigantic mouth?”

Nick disconnected and made his way over to his girlfriend. “You have a stick shoved so far up your ass⁠—” “Hey, Jasmine,” Nick said, interrupting her insult. “Oh, hi, Nick. You doing okay? No stray bullets take a bite out of you?” “All good,” he promised. “You didn’t ask if I was okay,” Weber pointed out like a petulant child. Jasmine narrowed deadly brown eyes on him. “That’s because I don’t care if you’re alive or not.” “Really? Because kissing me on my mother’s doorstep seems like caring.” “They’ve been at this off and on for almost thirty minutes. I think it’s their love language,” Riley reported to Nick. “Love language?” Jasmine and Weber scoffed in unison.

“Have you guys ever heard of enemies to lovers?” Riley asked Jasmine and Weber as he dragged her away. “I wouldn’t sleep with him if he needed an orgasm to live,” Jasmine said, pretending to dry heave. “I don’t even find you attractive,” Weber shot back.

Weber jerked his head at Nick, which meant stay here and don’t fucking talk to anybody. Nick took it as an invitation to camp out at Weber’s desk and snoop through case files until a couple of rookies swung by and asked him about some of his more colorful exploits while with the department. “I heard that you jumped off a three-story building into a dumpster to beat a perp on the fire escape to the ground.” “That’s how I got this scar,” Nick said, pointing to his neck, where there was no scar because it had been the roof of a ranch house and he’d tackled the suspect on a half-inflated bounce house. “Are you telling them about the time you got stuck in the elevator of a suspect’s building and cried until the fire marshal carried you out like a baby?” Weber asked, elbowing his way through the crowd that had gathered. The rookies dispersed.

“It gets better. The lawyer came armed with extradition papers,” Weber said. “Seriously?” “It seems our gun-toting, compact-car-loving friends are getting a free ride back to Colombia, where they’re wanted for murder and extortion.” “Columbia, Maryland?” Nick asked hopefully. “Colombia, South America. Do you want me to draw you a map?” “I’ve played Pictionary with you before. Your South America would look like a three-legged horse wearing a bucket on its head.”

“So what’s the situation?” Jasmine asked as she careened into the left lane, barely eking past the back end of a city bus as it chugged along. Riley pumped the imaginary brake beneath her foot. “Mrs. Penny and Mr. Willicott went rogue, and instead of watching Theodoric’s house, they wandered inside when the housekeeper took out the trash. Why would they do that when we explicitly told them not to do anything illegal or suspicious? Great question. We’ll have to ask them when we’re all crammed in the back seat of a police cruiser heading to jail.” She was winded by the time she hit the end of her explanation.

“This is why you don’t work with amateurs,” Josie commented. “Offended,” Jasmine said, punching the gas. “Getaway driver excluded,” Josie conceded. “Yeah, well, when the list of suspects is longer than Santa’s naughty list, you use whatever resources you have available,” Riley said. “We need better resources,” Josie muttered.

“Why don’t we just ring the bell and say we’re looking for two confused elderly people?” Jasmine asked. “It’s at least partly true.” Riley sighed. “Because Mrs. Penny said it’s ageist and an offensive stereotype.” “Three days ago, she pretended she couldn’t remember where she was when the deli guy caught her ripping open containers of roast beef because she goes by smell, not expiration dates,” Josie said. “Apparently it’s different when the elder in question uses it as an excuse,” Riley explained.

“So what do we do? Break in? Drive over the mailbox? Set fire to the lawn?” Jasmine asked. “No more fires. Remember what happened last time? As in last week?” Riley said. What should have been a simple surveillance had turned into arson. Granted, the “victims” were terrible people, and the neighborhood was still celebrating the arrest of their horrible son. But still. “The fire part wasn’t our fault,” Jasmine insisted.

Riley: We’re here and we have a plan. Get ready to run when the diversion happens. Mrs. Penny: Speaking of the runs, hurry the hell up because these seaweed snacks aren’t sitting well with my intestines. Riley rolled her eyes. “We better get up there. Mrs. Penny got into the seaweed snacks.” “Are you sure she’s not Burt’s soulmate?” Josie quipped as they started the hike up the driveway.

“Try to look unsuspicious.” “That means put the knife away,” Jasmine translated for Josie. “How’s a girl supposed to be prepared to stab someone or cut up some charcuterie if she doesn’t have a blade handy?” “You will be doing neither of those things because stabbing is illegal and charcuterie is off-limits while you’re pregnant,” Riley reminded her. “Damn it,” Josie muttered.

They made their way up the imposing stone steps to the heavy oak front door. The doorbell, when pressed, set off an impressive symphony of gongs inside. “Somebody thinks he’s fancy,” Jasmine noted. “You know what they say. Loud doorbell, small penis,” Josie said.

“Ouch! This tree just pulled my hair,” Jasmine complained, batting at a prickly blue spruce. “How do we keep ending up in landscaping together?” Riley wondered out loud. “Some friends do spa days. We do breaking and entering.” “I wouldn’t say no to a nice manicure next time,” Riley panted as they fought their way along the stone wall.

But Riley’s spirit guides knew he was close. “Hide.” “In a hallway? Seriously?” she muttered.

Riley let out the breath she’d been holding and dragged Mrs. Penny back into the hallway. “I got a vacuum cleaner up the butt in there,” the woman complained. “I’ll take you to a proctologist if we can get out of here alive,” Riley said, yanking Mr. Willicott out from behind the tapestry.

Riley had just cleared Ingram’s office patio when Burt bolted past with what looked like the roast clutched in his jaws. The two tiny yappers raced after him. Josie, Jasmine, the chef, and the disgruntled housekeeper appeared, looking slack-jawed. “Is that your dog?” the housekeeper demanded as Burt zigged, then zagged into the neighbor’s yard. “Uh, no,” Riley said wisely. “Pork Rind is smaller and doesn’t break and enter.”

“Go potty in the yard right now,” Riley ordered when they returned home and exited Jasmine’s car. Burt looked up at her with soulful doggy eyes and a muzzle saturated in a red wine reduction. “Don’t give me that look. You ate an entire roast. I don’t want your rear end anywhere near the furniture when that bill comes due,” she insisted. With a grumble, Burt trotted off into the trees, taking his two new four-legged friends—who hadn’t stopped yapping the entire car ride—with him.

“Nicky is going to flip when he finds out you stole two more dogs,” Josie predicted before shoving a saltine in her mouth. “I didn’t steal them. I temporarily took possession of them so we could return them to their rightful owner,” Riley said. “And I didn’t steal Burt either. I liberated him and then he refused to get out of my car.”

“Are you asking me to keep something from my business partner?” Mrs. Penny demanded, looking stern behind her thick glasses. “You always keep things from Nick,” Riley pointed out. “Only for dramatic flair purposes. It’s all about timing, see?”

“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” Josie said, nudging her toward the door. “Why do I have to go first?” Riley hedged. “I’m pregnant.” “Come on, you big babies. I’ll protect you from Scary Nick,” Jasmine said, leading the way.

“Thorn,” Nick said, his voice deadly calm as the dachshund scrabbled her little paws at his legs. “Um. Yes. Present,” Riley said, trying to look both alive and competent. “He’s gonna blow like my elementary school science fair volcano,” Josie said in a stage whisper.

The kitchen door swung open, and Griffin trotted inside, holding a plate with a sandwich on it. Gabe was behind him. “Excuse me,” Griffin sang. “I believe I ordered my sandwich with truffle mayonnaise. This tastes like regular mayonnaise.” Nick was still staring at Riley, his left eye twitching. “This ain’t no diner, bub,” Mrs. Penny said to Griffin. “You want truffle mayo, you gotta cough up the cash for it.” Griffin sighed and pulled out his money clip. “Fine. How much does mayonnaise cost? Forty dollars?” Mrs. Penny snatched the twenties out of his hand and pocketed them. “Who wants to go on a grocery store run?” “I’ll go,” Lily volunteered. “That cutie with the booty stocks shelves on Saturdays.”

“I’ll take over,” Riley volunteered. “The hell you will. I have yelling to do,” Nick snapped. “Don’t you tell my friend what to do.” Jasmine stepped in front of Riley and crossed her arms. Jasmine’s idea of conflict resolution was to throw as much gasoline on the fire as possible until everything exploded. “Don’t criticize my feelings about my girlfriend putting herself in the literal line of fire!” “Don’t you tell me what to do!” “Wow. She really has no sense of self-preservation at all,” Josie said, hopping up on the kitchen island to get a better view of the argument.

“Fred, your balls are on the table,” Josie noted. He peered down at his short shorts. “Oops!” “What the hell is going on in here?” Brian wheeled into the kitchen and paused. “Why do we have extra dogs?” Nick tried to peer around the seething Jasmine. “Riley Middle Name Thorn, you better have a good explanation for why you would willingly run toward an armed man, steal two dogs⁠—” “Don’t forget the breaking and entering,” Mrs. Penny piped up. “You did the breaking and entering first,” Riley argued. “I was just coming to rescue you!” “Pfft, I would have had us out of there in no time,” Mrs. Penny argued. “Yeah, with a body count,” Josie shot back.

“Everybody shut the hell up!” a voice of authority snapped. Everyone looked toward the kitchen door, where Weber was standing looking almost as pissed off as Nick. “Who let you in?” Nick demanded. “The Denzel Washington look-alike,” Weber answered.

“Hey! I’m not done with you, Santiago.” Jasmine drilled a finger into Nick’s chest. “And I haven’t even gotten started yelling in concern at Riley,” Nick said. “If you don’t step aside right now, Patel, I’ll cut your bangs.” All the women in the room gasped together.

Weber was suddenly standing between Nick and Jasmine. “Back off, Nicky,” he growled. “I can take care of myself,” Jasmine snarled at the cop’s back. “Oh really? Because from what I heard, so far today, it’s been breaking and entering, abducting dogs, and encountering a shooter.” Great. Riley was definitely going to jail. “We were running lines for a play,” Nick lied. “What play? How to Fuck Up Your Life and Everyone Else’s by Nicky Santiago?” Weber said. “Why didn’t I get an audition? I’m leading man material,” Griffin whined.

The yelling started again, this time accompanied with wild gestures and some french fry throwing. Mr. Willicott walked into the room, clapped his hands to his cheeks, screamed, and then disappeared again. “Did he just Home Alone us?” Riley asked Fred, who had thankfully t...

“Is your gut usually right?” “It was right about you.” “Aw.” Another chorus of barks erupted from the kitchen, making Nick groan. “I swear to you I’ll track down their owner tonight and return the dogs. She’s Theodoric’s ex, so she might have information we could use about him.” “Are you sure you won’t get shot at or kidnapped?” “I’ll leave Mrs. Penny here to even the odds.”

“I got my hand stuck in a pickle jar,” Griffin said, holding up the jar in question and raining pickle juice all over the floor. “How…? Why…?” Riley began. “I didn’t know you were supposed to use a fork. My pickles always arrive on my plate with my truffle mayonnaise. Not to be a jerk, but poor people mayonnaise is terrible. I fed the sandwich to the dog that looks like a lion.” “Christ,” Nick muttered. “Trust me, after this afternoon, a sandwich is the least of our worries,” Riley said. “And so is an idiot with a pickle jar stuck on his hand,” Weber said. Griffin held up the jar and banged it experimentally off a filing cabinet. Nick and Weber both rolled their eyes. “Why don’t you go ask Lily if she has any of her organic lube handy,” Riley said, climbing off Nick’s lap and giving her ex-husband a push out of the room.

“Weber here is gonna help us keep that vapid bowl of butterscotch pudding alive,” Nick announced. “That’s great. Now, I hate to be that girl, but is there any way we can negotiate a you-won’t-arrest-any-of-us-during-the-investigation deal?” she asked Weber. It looked as if it physically pained him to answer. “As long as everyone stays on their best behavior and doesn’t break any laws, I’ll stay focused on the investigation.” “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Nick said. “Fine. As long as no one does anything worse than whoever the hell we’re looking for, I’ll try to maybe look the other way. Within reason. Final offer.”

“Gabe, do you have a minute? I need to ask you something,” she said, tilting her head toward the door. “It would be my pleasure to leave this room as quickly as possible,” Gabe said.

“You’re a very good teacher,” Riley told him. Gabe winced. “I have a confession to make. I am not a good teacher or a good person. It was I who suggested Mr. Gentry insert his hand into the jar.” She patted him on his muscled forearm. “You’re not a terrible person. You’re just human. Griffin has the ability to bring out the absolute worst in everyone. And if your worst only involves a pickle jar prank, I think you’re still pretty wonderful.” “I have never wished ill will upon someone before. However, I cannot help but hope chronic constipation will haunt him for the rest of his life,” he confessed. “Me too, big guy. Me too.”

“Would you care to join us, Riley?” “I think I’ll stay here and look at this leaf for a few minutes.” There was a horrible clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen. “I’m okay,” Lily yelled. Riley winced. “Maybe a few hours.”

“You’re looking at engagement rings. Are you actually thinking about proposing?” “I would be, but my girlfriend is a psychic, and Muscle Milk over there refuses to tell me how to hide it from her.” Gabe joined them at the case. “This is what you wished to hide? I naturally assumed it was a gambling debt or a bed-wetting problem.” “You know, the more time you spend with us, the meaner you get. And the meaner you get, the less I hate you,” Nick said. “I believe you just complimented me,” Gabe said.

“Don’t you think it’s a little unethical to crash a support group meeting?” Wander asked. “I don’t think. I know it is. But maybe we can just wait outside for her,” Riley said. “Unless you want pink hair.” “Let’s go invade a woman’s privacy,” Wander said and hit the unlock button on her key fob.

Riley glanced down at her own. Griffin Gentry Sucks. Well, shit.

“What brings you and your daughters to our group tonight?” Kiki asked magnanimously. “Oh, well, Riley was married to Griffin a few years back,” Blossom began. The collective gasp egged her on. “I know, right? I mean, I’m sorry, sweetie, but what were you thinking? Actually, what were any of us thinking? I mean who decided the construct of marriage was a good idea? You’re just going to pick a stranger, decide to start a life and maybe a family with them, then before you know it, you’re arguing over whose farm animals are more problematic.” Wander hid her face in her hands.

“So you were actually married to Griffin Gentry?” Kiki asked with a sympathetic smile. “Unfortunately, yes,” Riley admitted. “I bet you have your share of stories,” Kiki ventured. “I guess we all do.” Riley gestured around at the women still gathered. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you. If you ever need someone to listen, someone to show up with a tarp, a shovel, and no questions, or anything in between, you can count on me,” Kiki offered. “We’re a full-service support group, if you know what I mean.” Oh boy. “Um, thanks?” Kiki grinned. “I’m totally joking.” Then she shook her head and mouthed, No, I’m not, before waving at another one of the group members.