Tied With a Bow and No Place to Go (Tizzy/Ridge Trilogy Book 3) by Ann Everett

around, her floral muumuu fluttered in the air
like flowers being thrown from a rose parade float. “Come in,” she trilled.
“I’m so glad to see y’all.” Then she stopped spinning, and stretched her eyes
wide, as if trying to focus. “There’s not anything wrong, is there?”
    “Oh, there’s something wrong, all right,” Synola said. “You
are in a shit load of trouble, Granny!”
    Nana frowned, then brightened. “Y’all want something to
drink or a brownie? Fresh out of the oven and they’re extra delicious with
butter on them. I just finished my third one, but there’s plenty left.” She
motioned them forward and danced into the kitchen.
    On the counter, pans of brownies and cookies shaped into dog
bones covered the surface. Tizzy inhaled a deep breath. The air hung heavy with
an odd mixture of what she thought smelled like chocolate and crayons.
    Synola reached for a brownie and Tizzy slapped her hand.
    “Sorry,” Synola said. “Those things are so damn good, one
more won’t hurt me.” She went for the brownie again and brought it to her lips.
“Mmmm.”
    “Nana, I need to see the ingredients you’re using to make
this,” Jinx said, sweeping his hand over the countertop.
    “Oh, okay. I add extra eggs so they’ll be more like cake. I
don’t enjoy gooey brownies.” She pointed to her work island, where sacks of
flour and sugar sat next to butter and eggs. Jinx lifted the lid from a metal
canister and brought it to his nose. “Whew. What’s this?”
    “That’s Om’s special herbs. He grows them. They have done
wonders for Princess Mirabella’s depression. See for yourself.” Nana cupped her
mouth with her hand and raised her voice an octave. “Mira-bell-aaaaa!”
    Within a minute, the poodle ran in, first spinning in a
circle at Nana’s feet, then yo-yoing, yipping on the upswing.
    “See how frisky she is. Until Om put his herbs in my
homemade dog treats, all she did was sleep. Now, she’s got more energy than
ever.”
    “Where is Om?” Tizzy asked.
    Nana raked crumbs from the counter into her hand and lowered
her palm for Mirabella to lick it clean. “He’s out back. He’s been studying
Native American culture. Turns out, he’s one sixteenth Navajo, so he built a
sweat lodge for purification rituals. He purifies every day seeking spiritual
guidance.”
    Synola snorted. “From what spirit—Chief Mare-ah-ja-wanna?”
    “Oh dear Lord,” Tizzy said.
    “Where does he grow these herbs?” Jinx asked.
    Nana walked to the sink, washed her hands and dried them on
a tea towel. “In your grandfather’s old calf pen. The soil is so rich there,
the herbs and mushrooms flourish.”
    “You check out the crop,” Tizzy said to Jinx, “Synola and I
will get Om.”
    Jinx left and Tizzy and Synola stepped out onto the back
porch. In the corner of the yard sat a wooden domed hut, with smoke billowing
from the structure. They crossed the lawn, threw open the cloth door covering,
and stooped to enter. Om sat Indian style in the middle of the hut. Naked
except for a loin cloth draped between his legs, and war paint on his cheeks, he
looked up and smiled. Long braids hung over his shoulders with what appeared to
be chicken feathers sticking from each one. On top of a shallow fire pit, a
pile of dried leaves burned.
    Tizzy and Synola coughed from the smoke. “Listen to me,
Ommmm,” Synola said. “Are you aware you’re implicating Nana in illegal drug
use? What’s the matter with you?”
    Om shifted his position, making Tizzy and Synola gasp.
    “Keep your knees together! Synola yelled. “We’ve seen enough
manhood this week. We can’t take anymore.”
    Tizzy sat and fanned smoke from her face. “You’re going to
get Nana in a lot of trouble. She says you’ve got a crop of this stuff.” She
pointed to the smoldering mound. “Having that much will up the charges from
possession to intent to sell. Have you lost your mind?”
    Om nodded, heavy-lidded. “Girls, chill out. It’s