by Elle Aycart
Rachel shrugged and smiled. “It was all the OGs.”
They stared at each other for a long while. “You look beautiful,” he said in almost a whisper.
“You clean up well yourself. Happy birthday, Sheriff.”
Oh God, he couldn’t stand this. He lowered his gaze, shuffled his feet. “Thanks.” He looked up again and lost himself in her big caramel eyes. “Listen, I…”
He didn’t even know where to begin. Thank fuck she came to his rescue. “Maybe we should talk?” She seemed nervous now too, her smile faltering. “Unless you don’t want to—”
“Yes, please,” he hurried to say. “I want to.” So fucking badly, he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Here you are, cutie pie,” he heard from behind him, as Jade clutched his arm. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Aren’t you going to introduce us?” She turned to Rachel. “I’m Jade. I came to celebrate his birthday with him.”
Rachel’s caramel eyes turned stone cold. She smiled at Jade, though. “Nice to meet you. I’m Rachel.”
What the fuck was Jade doing there? She probably noticed the fury brewing under his stunned facade because she blinked a couple of times, trying to feign innocence. “They said I could come in without an invitation. That I didn’t have to wait for you outside. I saw Amantis’s members walking in. You didn’t tell me it was that kind of party.”
He had no clue which kind of a party Jade was referring to. He disentangled himself, his eyes never leaving Rachel’s, pleading with her. “Let’s talk.”
“I’ll mingle in the meantime,” Jade offered, patting his arm. “We brought champagne, Rachel. Where should I leave it?”
“I’ll take care of it. You can mingle together.” Grabbing the bottle, Rachel briskly walked away.
Adrian caught up with her. “Wait, please. Let’s talk.”
“No need. It’s all clear,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I see you didn’t waste much time running back to her.”
“I didn’t run—”
“Save it,” Rachel interrupted. “It’s good you already have someone less… problematic to make you the focus of the afterparty. And she suits you.” She lifted the bottle of champagne. “Expensive booze, expensive clothes. The visuals are all there, cutie pie. I’m not sure about the substance, but that’s secondary, right? Happy mingling.”
Jesus fucking Christ. How had shit derailed this badly? He’d done nothing wrong, damn it. He’d been ready to talk things out, and yet he hadn’t been allowed to utter one full sentence. He went after Rachel, fuming, only to see her go into the kitchen with Josh. Always that damn Josh.
Adrian stormed out.
Jade was already making herself seen, with a crowd around her. She did know how to work a party. XL, Ash, and Monti were giving him the evil eye, probably assuming he’d brought her. Which he hadn’t. What should he have done? Left her at his place? Jade could smell a gathering a mile away. She would have found her way to Wilma’s. And where the fuck was the taxi he’d called for her? FUBAR, the whole damn thing. Fantastic way to uncork age thirty-five.
The following Monday, Rachel was in the garage when the geofence beeped on the tracking app she’d installed on her grandmother’s cell. It looked like the OGs weren’t in Alden or its immediate surroundings.
Ladies, you cruising?
There was no answer to her message, but the map showed they weren’t far away. They always had trouble hearing while they were cruising in the pickup, so she let it slide. Let them have some fun.
Until the geofence alarm sounded again and again. If they were cruising, they weren’t going in a straight line, but going in and out of the perimeter.
“What’s that sound?” XL asked.
She showed the map to him. “Wilma’s and Rebecca’s cells have a tracking app, and Mike added a geofence alarm.”
XL frowned. “And the old ladies agreed to that?”
“They don’t know,” Rachel admitted.
“That makes more sense,” he said, watching the map. “They’re west from here, but there’s only a straight road there. Why would the alarm beep?”
She sent a message to Mike. Yo, what’s up with the geofence alarm?
Malfunction? was the answer.
Maybe. The OGs hadn’t yet responded, so she texted them again, Ladies, forgot your phones?
The answer came: Greta died
Rachel froze. XL did too. Then another message arrived
***DID
***Greta did forget her phone. Why?
Shit, fuck, crap. Too shocked to type, Rachel called. It took a while before her grandma answered.
“Yes, dear?”
“Jesus Christ, Grandma. You want to kill us?” There was so much sound and interference, she could barely hear anything. “Where are you?”
“Hmm, not sure. Around?”
“What do you mean, around?” Rachel asked, but she couldn’t understand much of the response before the call was dropped.
She was ready to head to Mike’s gym when he called her. “Sheriff’s been here. There have been several calls about a manned hot-air balloon flying rather low, west from Alden. Trajectory is a bit erratic, but it seems like it’s going to land at the park.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she muttered.
“Exactly my sentiment,” Mike replied. “See you there?”
“You bet.” Rachel ran outside and looked up.
XL followed her. “What’s up?”
She pointed at a hot-air balloon in the colors of the rainbow flag. “The damn OGs.”
XL’s eyes opened wide. “No shit.”
“Yes shit.”
Without bothering to change clothes, she rushed to her car and drove to the park, keeping an eye on the hot-air balloon in case it flew too low and got stuck on someone’s rooftop.
When she made it to the park, Mike was already there, with Adrian by his side. Paramedics and the fire department were on standby.
She looked up. The OGs were in the basket, smiling and waving and taking pictures. Man, she should have figured something like this was going to happen. Rachel waved back. Thank God there was someone else with them up there, manning the fire and directing the balloon. Without much success, it had to be said.
“What’s he doing here?” she asked Mike, gesturing toward the sheriff.
After XL’s party, the last person in the world she wanted to see was Adrian. She’d had enough of watching as that monument of a woman with curves in spades and legs up to her ears smiled at him and touched him and all but ate him alive. He’d seemed more interested in downing booze, but still. They’d left together.
He’d been so damn lucky Rachel had felt magnanimous and downplayed the whole situation to T-Bone. The OGs keeping her brother busy had helped too.
“This is an unauthorized hot-air balloon flying dangerously low over my town,” Adrian replied. “Of course I’m here.”
Mike tried to alleviate the tension. “We called the company that handles the rides. The instructor is a newbie and got lost.” The OGs were terrible at giving directions. If he’d relied on them, it was a miracle they weren’t headed to Alaska.
“He’s not fully licensed yet,” Adrian punctuated.
“There is that too.” Mike grimaced. “Apparently the OGs bought their tickets from some shady website. Either the instructor thought of making some money under the table, or the OGs convinced him to. Not clear yet who’s at fault.”
“Those ladies are going to be the death of me,” Adrian growled.
She really didn’t want to, but her mouth had a mind of its own. “Where did you leave Jade? If you’re both tired of slumming, you could go back to Boston. I’m sure we can find a more suitable sheriff. You wouldn’t have to deal with our grandmothers anymore.”
“They’re a public menace.”
“Sure.” She laughed curtly. “Gang members are a joke in comparison. Please. Give me a break.”
At the sound of a motorcycle
, Adrian turned around. “Of course Josh is here. Did you call him?”
She hadn’t, but she wasn’t going to give him an inch. “None of your business.”
“Yeah, nothing around here is any of my business. You made that pretty clear.”
By the time Josh walked up to them, they were almost screaming at each other. “What’s going on?” Josh asked.
“Not sure,” Mike replied, “but stay in case we need to pull them apart.”
The hot-air balloon landed, fortunately without incident. The OGs looked around at the paramedics, the firemen, and Adrian’s sour face and must have realized they were in trouble, because Rachel overheard Wilma asking the wannabe-instructor if he could launch the balloon again and land somewhere else. Thank God he had the presence of mind to refuse. Rachel didn’t want to think about what the sheriff would say if they tried to flee from the authorities in a hot-air balloon.
Rachel opened the door of the basket.
“We asked Connor,” Greta said, sounding apologetic. “He said no.”
“For the record,” Wilma said, “you never mentioned anything about rides in hot-air balloons being prohibited.”
“And we hired an instructor,” Rebecca added.
“He’s not fully licensed yet,” Mike replied.
The three OGs turned to the guy. “Shame on you, young man,” Wilma chastised him.
After the paramedics made sure the old ladies were okay, the sheriff approached them, looking mighty pissed.
Rachel stopped him. “Do not dare harass them. Go and talk with that instructor. It’s not their fault. They’re the victims here.” She wasn’t sure about this, but the best defense was a good offense. She grabbed her cell. “If you dare put a finger on them, you sanctimonious prick, I’m calling a lawyer and suing your whole department.”
“The pictures are a bit blurry, but we got some good ones,” Rebecca said, glancing at the screen on her phone.
“There is that,” Wilma conceded. “Didn’t I tell you curtains would brighten the whole place? I was right.”
Rebecca and Greta agreed. “Never thought we’d visit so soon, though.”
They were sitting on the bench in the happy-hour holding cell. The instructor was there too. It wasn’t clear if they were under arrest or not, but they’d walked in of their own accord to wait out the resolution of the shouting match that was taking place between Rachel and the sheriff in his office.
“I have a feeling your poor Rachel is going to end up in here with us again,” Greta whispered to Wilma.
“Don’t worry. Mike is here,” Rebecca said. “He’ll calm the situation down.”
Wilma wasn’t convinced. Last she’d seen, Mike had been at a loss for words, lifting his hands up in surrender and sitting down.
“Thank God we didn’t try fleeing the scene,” Rebecca added.
The three OGs laughed softly. Yep. How many laws had they inadvertently broken? Wilma counted with her fingers. “Reckless and unlicensed maneuvering of a special vehicle. Endangering the public. Were we driving over the speed limit, Arnold?” she asked the instructor.
“Balloon flight doesn’t work like that. The wind and the amount of hot air creates the speed. I already told you, ladies.”
“Let’s say we did,” Wilma decided. After all, what was one more charge? “Then there’s negligently mobilizing paramedics and the fire department. Disturbing the public order? I can’t come up with more charges, but the sheriff probably can. I’m afraid this time we’ll be doing community service until we drop dead and beyond.”
“What were you thinking, partying the night before?” Greta chastised the young instructor. “No wonder you were white as a sheet and got disoriented.”
“Never again,” he swore pitifully. “Lesson learned.”
“In his defense, his condition got worse the second we tried to help,” Rebecca mused. “Those thingies aren’t so easy to control.”
Wilma nodded. “I told you watching a YouTube tutorial wouldn’t help.”
“Oh,” Greta added, lifting his finger. “He threw up over Alden. That’s littering. I didn’t see where it landed. You?”
Wilma and Rebecca shook their heads. If it had fallen in someone’s face, that was probably punishable by law too.
“I should have stayed in bed,” Arnold complained.
Yes, he should have. “Don’t worry.” Wilma patted him on the arm. “We’ll take the fall for everything except for not having the license. That’s on you. You have to go get one ASAP. Are we clear?”
Arnold nodded, almost in tears.
Wilma would follow up on that and check on Arnold. Young people were allowed to make mistakes, and they were allowed to repent and make up for them. They were allowed to get their asses kicked if they didn’t, too.
“This thing between the sheriff and Rachel is going from bad to worse,” Greta whispered, as they heard Rachel yell something about an age-based discriminatory hunting of minorities.
Wilma nodded. Such a pity. They did look good together. Too bad they couldn’t get within ten yards of each other without fighting.
“Let’s get a selfie for posterity,” Rebecca proposed.
“Are you sure?” Greta grimaced. Her turban had gone AWOL somewhere over Alden, and none of them was having a good hair day, to say the least. “What the heck. Let’s go for it, girls.”
They patted their hair down with little effect. “We would have killed in our youth for such a blowout hairdo, huh?”
Laughing, Wilma positioned the cell in front of them. “Okay, girls. Now.”
The three of them yelled “LOLO” while Rebecca grabbed a freaked-out Arnold by the neck and Wilma took the picture.
Chapter Fourteen
Adrian was already changed out of his uniform and ready to go to the gym when he got a call from a freaked-out Sara.
“Sheriff, XL got hurt at the garage. We’re at the doc’s office.”
“Is he okay?” he asked, running out of the locker room.
There were some groans of pain in the background from his kid. “His hand is injured.”
“On my way.”
Fuck, that unruly punk meant the world to him. If XL was at the doc’s office instead of the ER, he couldn’t be losing his hand, right? Or maybe the doc was doing first aid to tide him over until the ambulance arrived. Shit.
Holly frowned as she saw him dashing out with his gym bag in one hand and his cell in the other, but he didn’t stop to explain anything.
When he made it to the medical building, Wilma was at the front door, waving to Rachel, who was running toward her. She was wearing coveralls, so she must have come from the garage.
“What happened?” Adrian asked, totally forgetting they weren’t on speaking terms.
“I don’t know,” Rachel replied. “I was running some errands. I only left the shop for five minutes.”
Too impatient to wait for the elevator, he looked for the stairs. “They’re doing some work on the stairwell,” Wilma said, following his gaze. “They’re closed for public use.”
He harrumphed and pressed the elevator button repeatedly. Only three floors. Why the fuck was it so slow?
Wilma checked her cell. “Rebecca is on her way. You guys go ahead,” she said, motioning toward the elevator doors that had just opened. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Adrian walked into the big cargo-style elevator, adapted to fit at least two wheelchairs, followed by Rachel. He pressed the third-floor button and crossed his arms as the doors closed. He’d stay in his corner. She could stay in hers. They didn’t even have to breathe the same air.
Halfway up, the lights went off and the elevator stopped.
“What happened?” Rachel asked from her corner. “Are we stuck?”
He had his cell in his hand, so he illuminated the control panel. He pressed the third-floor button again. Nothing. Then he pressed the second-floor one. Again, nothing. They weren’t moving. “It seems so.”
She came closer
and hit the alarm button. Nothing. “Press the call button.”
Adrian scoffed, punching it. He didn’t need instructions, much less from her.
It took a while before a voice came from the intercom. “Rachel? Are you okay?” Wilma.
“Grandma? How—”
“There’s been a power outage. Elevator is stuck. I’m with the security guard in the control room.”
The only building with an elevator in all of Alden, and it had to be where the doc’s office was. “Contact the elevator service provider,” Adrian ordered.
“We did. They’ll be here in an hour.” Then Wilma must have forgotten the intercom was open and continued in whispers. “Are you sure your guy won’t call maintenance?”
“Sure. Don’t worry.” That was Rebecca. “Roger went for a break. No one is coming.”
Adrian turned to Rachel. She looked stunned. “Grandma!” she yelled to the intercom. “You’re behind this? Did you lie about XL too?”
“I think they might have heard us,” Wilma whispered to her friends.
“We heard everything,” he roared. “Turn the power on and let us out of here.”
Suddenly there was a scraping sound, as if someone was crunching a sheet of paper. “Sorry guys… there’s interference… we can’t hear you,” Wilma said.
“You already tried that paper trick with Mike when you locked him in the community center. It didn’t fly then, remember?” Rachel said, fuming.
“We did?” Greta asked.
There seemed to be a bit of a discussion about it before Wilma spoke. “Please. We don’t even remember what we had for breakfast today.” Adrian wasn’t sure if that was meant for them or for the other OGs. “Anyway, sit tight. Help is on the way.”
That last bit surely was meant for them. “Don’t you dare,” he warned, loud and clear. He should have booked them after the hot-air balloon stunt. Put them on house arrest with an ankle monitor.
They ignored him. “In the meantime, you could use the occasion to talk things out. Do not fight, or you’ll risk running out of air.”
“That’s an urban legend.” Those whispers came from a male voice. XL?