can do that. I could even take photos. I have a digital camera."
"Okay," I agreed. "That could be useful."
"Will you be armed?" Mom asked.
"No."
"What if you get shot or stabbed again? I worry. Are you carrying now?"
"Carrying?" I repeated. She motioned putting her hand under her jacket, and withdrawing her fingers shaped like a pistol as I caught her gist. "Oh no. I barely use my gun unless I really need to."
"Good. I worry about you getting trigger snappy."
"Trigger happy," Dad corrected.
"There's nothing to be happy about pulling a trigger," replied Mom. "But I think better safe and shooting, than sorry and dead. A stakeout sounds nice and safe. I'm glad you asked me."
Dad coughed again. It hit me why in a rush of clarity. My dad felt left out that I hadn't asked him.
"Dad, would you be able to help with some of the surveillance too?" I asked, wondering why it never occurred to me to ask him before. He spent his entire career on the force. He would have been the perfect one to help me the most. Plus, I suspected he was a little bored in his retirement.
"Oh, I don't know," started Dad, his lips twitching at the edges as he desperately tried to mask his eagerness to jump in.
"I'd be really grateful, Dad," I cajoled, playing along.
"I'm so busy these days, but if you insist. If you really need the help, sure! I'll put in a few hours."
"Thank you."
"No problem," he said, waving away my thanks. "Happy to help."
"Graves, Graves, and Graves," said Mom. "Should I print some business cards?"
"No!" Dad and I replied in unison.
Chapter Eight
"How was your day, sweetheart?" Solomon asked. We were walking hand-in-hand out of the movie theater, the crowd around us talking excitedly about the action movie we just sat through. It was hugely fun with enormous explosions, car chases, and a hot romance; the perfect distraction to take my mind off my day.
"My mom tried to set me up with her gay plumber."
"Clearly, no flaws in her plan," said Solomon without missing a beat.
I laughed. "Guess who's hosting family dinner in a couple of days?"
"Garrett," Solomon replied, his voice full of hope.
"Nope."
"Serena."
"No. Try again."
"You?"
"You got it. I have to host a dinner for twelve adults, including you and me, and six children."
"Can you fit that many people into the house?"
"Sure, but not around the table. What was I thinking when I offered?"
Solomon tossed our popcorn carton in the trash and gave me a raised eyebrow look. "What exactly were you thinking?"
"That my parents’ kitchen was flooded, and Mom and Dad are both helping me out, and I should take the load off them for once."
"By hosting and feeding eighteen people?"
"It seemed a good idea at the time."
"What are you feeding us all?"
I winced. I hadn't thought that through yet. "Takeout pizza?"
"Do you want to live through this?"
"I do, but I don't know what I can make for eighteen people that will be enough, fit in my oven, and not bankrupt me."
"So don't make a dinner. Make something casual."
"Such as?" The cool air made me shiver as the breeze snaked its way down my neck and inside my sweater. I wasn't a terrible cook, but I was no chef; and never cooked for that many people. I could make small dinners, but this would be a challenge, and one I couldn't back out of. My entire family would have heard about my offer by now, thanks to my mom's phone tree. The phone tree was a euphemism. It meant, her calling everyone on it as fast as possible. I could hear their incredulous responses now. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out, glancing at the screen . Looking forward to dinner , texted my sister, Serena. I'm bringing Antonio and Victoria. Victoria doesn't like mushrooms. "No mushrooms," I told him. "My sister says so."
"A hot and cold buffet. Finger foods. Serve yourself and grab a seat anywhere. Sit all the kids on pillows around your coffee table. Let the adults find their own perches. Make it relaxed and
"Okay," I agreed. "That could be useful."
"Will you be armed?" Mom asked.
"No."
"What if you get shot or stabbed again? I worry. Are you carrying now?"
"Carrying?" I repeated. She motioned putting her hand under her jacket, and withdrawing her fingers shaped like a pistol as I caught her gist. "Oh no. I barely use my gun unless I really need to."
"Good. I worry about you getting trigger snappy."
"Trigger happy," Dad corrected.
"There's nothing to be happy about pulling a trigger," replied Mom. "But I think better safe and shooting, than sorry and dead. A stakeout sounds nice and safe. I'm glad you asked me."
Dad coughed again. It hit me why in a rush of clarity. My dad felt left out that I hadn't asked him.
"Dad, would you be able to help with some of the surveillance too?" I asked, wondering why it never occurred to me to ask him before. He spent his entire career on the force. He would have been the perfect one to help me the most. Plus, I suspected he was a little bored in his retirement.
"Oh, I don't know," started Dad, his lips twitching at the edges as he desperately tried to mask his eagerness to jump in.
"I'd be really grateful, Dad," I cajoled, playing along.
"I'm so busy these days, but if you insist. If you really need the help, sure! I'll put in a few hours."
"Thank you."
"No problem," he said, waving away my thanks. "Happy to help."
"Graves, Graves, and Graves," said Mom. "Should I print some business cards?"
"No!" Dad and I replied in unison.
Chapter Eight
"How was your day, sweetheart?" Solomon asked. We were walking hand-in-hand out of the movie theater, the crowd around us talking excitedly about the action movie we just sat through. It was hugely fun with enormous explosions, car chases, and a hot romance; the perfect distraction to take my mind off my day.
"My mom tried to set me up with her gay plumber."
"Clearly, no flaws in her plan," said Solomon without missing a beat.
I laughed. "Guess who's hosting family dinner in a couple of days?"
"Garrett," Solomon replied, his voice full of hope.
"Nope."
"Serena."
"No. Try again."
"You?"
"You got it. I have to host a dinner for twelve adults, including you and me, and six children."
"Can you fit that many people into the house?"
"Sure, but not around the table. What was I thinking when I offered?"
Solomon tossed our popcorn carton in the trash and gave me a raised eyebrow look. "What exactly were you thinking?"
"That my parents’ kitchen was flooded, and Mom and Dad are both helping me out, and I should take the load off them for once."
"By hosting and feeding eighteen people?"
"It seemed a good idea at the time."
"What are you feeding us all?"
I winced. I hadn't thought that through yet. "Takeout pizza?"
"Do you want to live through this?"
"I do, but I don't know what I can make for eighteen people that will be enough, fit in my oven, and not bankrupt me."
"So don't make a dinner. Make something casual."
"Such as?" The cool air made me shiver as the breeze snaked its way down my neck and inside my sweater. I wasn't a terrible cook, but I was no chef; and never cooked for that many people. I could make small dinners, but this would be a challenge, and one I couldn't back out of. My entire family would have heard about my offer by now, thanks to my mom's phone tree. The phone tree was a euphemism. It meant, her calling everyone on it as fast as possible. I could hear their incredulous responses now. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out, glancing at the screen . Looking forward to dinner , texted my sister, Serena. I'm bringing Antonio and Victoria. Victoria doesn't like mushrooms. "No mushrooms," I told him. "My sister says so."
"A hot and cold buffet. Finger foods. Serve yourself and grab a seat anywhere. Sit all the kids on pillows around your coffee table. Let the adults find their own perches. Make it relaxed and
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