Feels like Trouble (Lake Fisher Book 4) - Tammy Falkner Page 0,3

around me.

“No idea.”

She shoves me to the side so she can walk out of the bedroom door.

“Hey!”

“Oh, shut it,” she says. She walks toward the kitchen, where Ms. Markie is standing with Little Robbie Gentry, who is holding an official-looking piece of paper in his hand. He’s wearing his state trooper’s uniform and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen him wear.

“Robbie,” I say, as he tips his head in my direction.

He looks down at the apron, which is still my only clothing, and his eyebrows shoot up. “Grady,” he replies.

“What are you doing here, Robbie?” Evie asks.

Robbie scratches his head. “I’m here to pick you two up,” he says, refusing to look at either one of us.

I hitch my hip against the counter. “Why?”

“Well, it appears as though somebody drove out to Mr. Jacobson’s place at Lake Fisher last night, and whoever it was vandalized the big old building that sits next to the road.”

“The one that gets tagged by graffiti all the time?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“What’s that got to do with us?” Evie asks. She looks at me like she’s waiting for me to give her some great big revelation.

Robbie scratches his head again. “Well, the last time Mr. Jacobson’s building got tagged, him and Jake decided to put up some surveillance cameras in case somebody had the audacity to do it again.”

“That’s actually a really good idea,” I say. Kids were always tagging that building. It had become a rite of passage to put your initials—at the very least—on the side of it. In great big letters easily seen from the road. Then Jake had to go and cover it all up the next day with fresh paint.

“Well, you’ll never believe who his cameras caught last night.”

I watch as Evie goes and pours herself a glass of sweet tea. I would ask her for one, but she’d probably sooner pour it over my head as look at me.

“Who got caught on camera?” I ask, although I pretty much already know.

Robbie grins. “You two,” he says, then he snorts out a laugh.

Evie lets her glass thud onto the countertop. “That’s not funny,” she says, as her cheeks turn as red as her hair.

“No, ma’am, it’s not,” Robbie says. He tries to look like he doesn’t think this is funny at all, but he does a shit job at it. “It’s tragic. Mr. Jacobson wants to press charges this time.”

I press my hand against my chest. “Against us?”

“Yep.” Little Robbie is all-out grinning now.

“But we didn’t…” We really didn’t do anything that bad. Everybody tags that building. I see Evie look down at her hands, which are streaked with red and black paint. On the back of my left hand, I have a similar mark. “Oh, fuck,” I say. Guilt is painted all over me.

Ms. Markie picks up her fly swatter and slaps my naked shoulder with it. “Watch your language,” she warns. She shakes that fly swatter while she glares at me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say quietly, as I rub the sting out of my arm. “Sorry,” I add for good measure.

“I have to take you both in,” Robbie says.

“In where?” Evie asks. She looks from Robbie to me and back.

“To the station,” he says. He stands up a little taller and tries to look intimidating, but no matter the uniform, or the gun he’s resting his hand on, he will always be Little Robbie Gentry when I look at him. “So, let’s go.” He motions toward the door.

“You have got to be kidding,” Evie says, disbelief all over her face.

“Wish I was,” he replies with a sigh.

With a huff, Evie walks past him toward the door. She points her finger at me. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Did you hear that?” I ask Robbie. “She just threatened my life.”

“I didn’t hear a thing,” Robbie replies. He winks at Evie. “Sorry about this, Evie,” he says quietly. “Proper procedure and all that.”

“It’s not your fault, Robbie,” she says. She glares at me. “It’s his.”

I follow them to the car. I still have no idea where my clothes are, so Robbie has me get in wearing the apron. “This is undignified,” I complain.

Robbie grins. “It rather is,” he agrees.

He pushes my head down as he puts me in the car. I settle in the back seat, and Evie glares at me from her side. “If you so much as touch me—” She stops and lets the words hang there in the air.

“Clifford,” I say, “I wouldn’t touch you if you were the