Poppy shook his head sorrowfully. “It tastes really bad, but she’s free to make her own choices.”
“What about sugar?” Mrs. Blackfire frowned. “Everyone needs sugar.”
It was confirmed. She’d stepped into the Syfy Zone and would soon be involved in the zombie apocalypse. Her neighbor from hell was questioning her food choices after trying to cut down her tree illegally. “I avoid refined sugar and keep to natural ingredients. Dried and fresh fruit. Dark chocolate. Whole grains in cereals.”
“So who drinks all the wine you take out to the curb?” Mrs. Blackfire asked. “You don’t drink alcohol?”
Her grandfather spoke up. “Oh, no, she drinks plenty of alcohol.”
Arilyn fought off a blush. “Red wine helps the heart,” she said.
Poppy tilted her head. “You like those cosmos and martinis,” he pointed out. “And lots of white wine, too.”
Mrs. Blackfire gave a knowing humph. “Knew it. The recyclables never lie.”
Okay, she’d had enough. She tugged at her grandfather’s arm. “Umm, we’d better go in.”
“Are you joining us for dinner, then?” he directed toward her neighbor. “Maybe we can sort out this tree problem. Neighbors should get along.” Arilyn held her breath, heart beating madly, praying for just one tiny, itty-bitty break in her crappy week. Of course, Mrs. Blackfire would never agree. Her neighbor hated her, and Kate, and her whole crew. Lenny and Mike would probably howl as if they’d seen a ghost, sensing her dark, innate evilness.
“Yes, I’ll be over in a minute. Just need to lock up.”
“We have dogs!” Arilyn burst out. “Lenny and Mike are very misbehaved. Puppies. They’re still learning, and I know how you dislike dogs.”
“Why wouldn’t Joan like dogs?” Poppy asked with confusion.
“I never said I hate dogs,” her neighbor snapped. “I don’t like them doing their business on my property and ruining my roses. I’m fine with dogs.”
No. No, no, no, no . . .
Poppy lit up, looking ten years younger. “Wonderful. Looking forward to getting to know each other better. Let’s go, Arilyn.”
Arilyn’s mouth fell open.
He walked away, and she followed in a fog. Then he patted her arm. “I’m quite disappointed in you. Not inviting your next-door neighbor over is horribly rude. Why don’t we open that bottle of champagne you’ve been saving? It’s a special occasion.” With a light step, he walked inside, humming under his breath.
A shudder broke through her. She gripped the turquoise crystal around her neck and tried to absorb some of its healthy, clearing energy. Why was this happening to her? What had she possibly done in her previous life to deserve a neighbor from hell, a broken relationship, and an annoying, sexy cop?
Arilyn sighed and prepped herself for the long night ahead.
STONE CAREFULLY SCREWED THE caps back on the two Coke bottles and breathed a sigh of relief. Perfect. It had been way too long since he last attempted such a classic practical joke with soda and Mentos, and even had to YouTube the steps, but now he was in business. He headed over to McCoy’s desk first, placing the bottle on the right-hand side and quickly tossing out the half-empty one.
“Whatcha up to, Petty? Aren’t you still on suspension?”
He turned around. Sergeant Tim Dunn was nicknamed Make It Work Dunn, in honor of Project Runway’s host. Of course, this drove him apeshit because the host’s name was really Gunn. To Stone and the others, it was close enough. Dunn gave him a suspicious look. And well he should. Stone slouched and sneered. “Just looking for McCoy. Wanted him to check on a speeder. He’s going to court in my place. Here, want this? I’m ready to piss like a racehorse, I’ve had so much Coke.”
He shoved it in Tim’s hand like he didn’t give a crap. Tim took it. “I’m a Pepsi man, but sure. Thanks. Hey, we’re having some problems with the rookie.”
Stone lifted a brow. “Patterson? What’s up?”
Tim rolled his eyes. With his cropped blond hair and Irish red cheeks, he was the scrappy sort, with a mean hook that could knock a guy on his ass in two seconds flat. “He’s got a stick up his ass. OCD sort. Organizes his locker, paperwork, desk. Don’t care if he keeps it to himself, but he’s starting to piss everyone off. Trying to get Jessica to alphabetize the call-ins by last name and shit. Then told McCoy his paperwork wasn’t up to snuff.”
The dispatcher, Jessica, didn’t like anyone to tell her how to run her desk. When she got pissed,