Page 21 of A Dye Hard Holiday

“Yes, Mother.”

Mere and Chaz were ready to go when I swung by their homes. Chaz had a ginormous cup of coffee, and Mere had something that smelled like chamomile tea. I was convinced more than ever that Meredith and Harley were expecting their first child. She had never gone shopping without a large cup of coffee to spark her to life.

“I bet a fight breaks out over toasters or some stupid shit,” Chaz said hopefully. He was only there to people watch. “If something exciting happens, I can add it to the last-minute revisions of my Christmas novella.”

“What’s this book about, honey?” Martina asked eagerly.

“A stubborn, sassy hairstylist who fights his attraction to his true love,” Chaz replied.

“Does Wren know that you’re writing a book about him?” I asked innocently.

Mere giggled in the middle of the back seat. “Good one, Jazz.” I glanced up and caught her eye in the rearview mirror. She grinned from ear to ear, looking happier than I’d ever seen her—including her wedding day. I was looking forward to the moment when I could stop playing dumb and congratulate her.

“Wren is stoic and mysterious, not stubborn and sassy,” Chaz replied. “My new character resembles a certain blond guy we all know and love.”

“I’d make a terrible book character,” I said, waving off the idea as ridiculous. “Besides, I know you’re just yanking my chain.”

“Am not,” Chaz said. “I even have a working title for the first book.”

“Really? And what would it be?”

“The Brazilian.”

“As in wax?” Mere asked.

“Uh huh,” Chaz said absently, and I knew he was mentally making book notes. “It’s also the nationality of the dead guy our salon owner trips over in the alley behind his shop. I want each of the book titles to be a play on salon services.”

“Oh! The second book can be called The Blow Job! It’s what we jokingly call a blowout,” Mere said to the moms.

“I’m not sure how well that title would go over,” Chaz said.

“Are you kidding?” my mom asked. “It would be awesome. This series would be great with graphic covers.”

“Blow Me, Baby!” Martina blurted out enthusiastically from her shotgun position, sounding a lot like my blue-feathered pet.

“Oh! I like that even better,” Mere said. “It’s suggestive without being crude.”

“Curled Hard and Put Away Wet,” my mom suggested.

“Oh man! These are great,” Chaz told them.

I didn’t have to look to know that he was making notes in his phone. I smiled as I merged into traffic with the rest of the insane people out and about before the sun was even up. I had a feeling it was going to be a day I never forgot.

“Excuse me, Officer. I do believe I’m entitled to a phone call.” The cop just sneered as he slammed my cell door shut.Fuck my life!

“You’ve been watching too much television,” he groused.

“No, it’s because my husband is a police captain,” I said firmly. It sounded better than reciting episodes ofThe Closer.

That got his attention. He turned, gave me a harsh once-over, then sneered. “Yeah, right,” was all he said before he walked away.

“Blissville Police Department,” I yelled, but wasn’t sure if he heard me before he closed the door.

I flopped down on the hard bench then winced.How the fuck did things escalate to the point that I was arrested?My mom, that’s how! Not that it was her fault, but it didn’t matter, because Gabe was going to kill me. He’d especially be angry if we were late getting home and ruined his tree chopping excursion. I vacillated between wanting them to leave me there and calling Gabe to get me out of the slammer. I feared his reaction, even though I knew damn well that I was justified.

Apparently, the officer must’ve heard me and decided to look up the name of the BPD’s captain and saw that our names did match because he came back not fifteen minutes later and released me on my own recognizance with a warning.

“You’re lucky the lady didn’t want to press charges,” he told me.