No Good Mitchell - Riley Hart Page 0,23

what we do.”

“Do you just want me posting boring pictures of the distillery all day long? I’m doing the best I can, and even then, I don’t think the two hundred people we have following us on Instagram will be rattled by the deviation from business as usual.”

He didn’t seem satisfied with that response. But I reminded myself his critique had less to do with my not-very-impressive skills as our part-time social media PR guru and more to do with our overall lackluster annual performance.

I sighed, Walker and I exchanging looks in that way where we didn’t need to do more to express our frustration with Big Daddy. Big Daddy continued our business meeting over dinner before I felt my phone vibrate.

I slipped my cell out of my pocket, surprised to see No Good Mitchell pop up on my screen. I couldn’t help but chuckle. Hadn’t expected him to be such a smartass, but I probably should’ve.

“Gotta take this real quick,” I said, hopping up from my seat.

“Take what?”

“Official social media affairs here, Big Daddy. Gotta call Instagram and get them to take down those offensive horse posts, ya know?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to learn to take some constructive critic—”

I was in the adjoining hall before he could finish his sentence, eagerly answering the call—

“You fucking smartass,” I said, unable to stifle a grin.

“You need to get over here right now.” It wasn’t Cohen’s voice. It was Isaac’s. “Holy shit, it’s coming this fucking—”

“What the hell is going on?”

I didn’t hear anything on the other end, so I checked my screen only to find we’d been disconnected.

Fuck.

“Everything cool?” Walker asked, stepping into the hall.

“We gotta go visit the enemy. Now.”

He didn’t ask questions. We excused ourselves, and Big Daddy assumed it was because I was annoyed about the Instagram stuff, so he didn’t ask questions either. Walker and I jumped in his truck and headed over to the Mitchell house.

“You sure we don’t need to call 911?” he asked, not for the first time.

I’d dismissed it when he’d first made the suggestion, but I decided he needed more to soothe his concern. “They’re city boys. If they needed emergency services, that’s the first place they would have called. Not looked up my number.”

“Fair point.”

Although, given Isaac’s tone, it didn’t keep me from being concerned about the guys. As soon as we pulled up the gravel drive to the house, I noticed just a few lights were on.

I pulled the truck to a halt, and we hopped out, headed up the front porch, and rang the bell.

We waited in silence.

I rang again…then again.

Still nothing.

“Strange,” I muttered.

“You think they’re over at the distillery?”

“Let’s run over there, I guess…” I began before a loud sound, like screaming, came from inside.

Walker and I shared another look, like the one at dinner earlier.

I checked the doorknob. Locked. Suddenly, 911 seemed like a more reasonable suggestion than I’d initially considered.

“Take it down,” I said, holding the screen door open. Walker backed up and launched himself at the door, full-force.

“Fucking hell,” he said, grabbing his shoulder.

“Okay, together.” I propped the screen door open with a planter, and we barreled into the door on a count of three, popping the wood on the doorframe as we forced our entry.

“We’re here! No one shoot!” I didn’t imagine either of them had guns, but being born and raised in Buckridge, I knew better than to break down a door without clearly alerting the homeowner of my presence.

The screaming sound came again.

“Upstairs,” I said, following the sound up the stairwell.

We entered the upstairs hall, and I noticed the ladder descending from the open attic door. I didn’t waste time, and when I reached the top, in the dim light of a lone bulb hanging from the middle of the space, I saw Isaac and Cohen, arms stretched to the sides as they stood totally still on adjacent walls.

I eyed them peculiarly before Isaac pointed toward the floor, where a cell-phone light danced around. In its shadow, it took me a moment for my eyes to adjust and see the little guy.

A raccoon.

Walker stepped up beside me as I approached it. “Oh, hey, fella…aren’t you a cutie?”

As soon as it spotted us, it dropped the phone and hissed.

“Don’t make it angry,” Cohen said. “I think he was looking for food or something when I found him.”

“Aw, he’s just scared,” Walker said, moving to the middle of the room. “They scare easily, so you have to get him in a corner, and then…”