Page 83 of The Body in the Backyard

Night Prowler was indeed smirking through the rear window at Nick.

Nick held up a closed fist and made a cranking motion, with his other hand raising his middle finger at the man. The smirk turned to a glare.

“Very mature, Santiago,” Mabel said.

Nick turned his back on the SUV. “Weber and I didn’t find any IDs on them, but it shouldn’t be hard to track them through the rental car.” He nodded toward the crushed, bullet-ridden Fiat.

“These two goons fit in that little Matchbox car?”

“Barely.”

“Any idea why they were after Gentry?” she asked, jerking her chin to where a blanket-wearing Griffin was being examined by an EMT.

“I got grass stains on my pants. I need them dry-cleaned immediately,” Griffin whined.

Nick rolled his eyes. “I can give you a thousand reasons why someone would want that miniature moron dead.” Though there was only one reason he could think of that two idiots with no identities and guns with no serial numbers would go after Gentry. “I’d appreciate it if you kept me in the loop on this one,” he said to Mabel.

“You know I can’t do that, Santiago.”

“Think of it as professional courtesy.”

“You’re not a cop anymore,” she pointed out.

“No, but apparently I’m still protecting and serving. Besides, technically I’m a victim in this case.”

She gave a rueful shake of her head. “Yeah, you look like a victim.”

He grinned. “Appreciate it, Jonesy. I gotta go check in with my girl.”

He was just working his way around Gentry’s stupid smashed-up car when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Mom.

He sighed and answered the call. “Hello, Mother.”

“Why am I hearing from your aunt Nancy that there was some sort ofgunfight at your house?” his mother demanded.

“Because Aunt Nancy has a gigantic mouth?”

“Nicholas.” Dr. Marie Santiago had a way of packing a whole shitload of condescension into one word.

He dodged around two uniformed officers who looked like they were working on a pair of migraines while trying to question Lily and Fred. “Everything is fine. No one was hurt.”

“This is all because of that girlfriend of yours, isn’t it? Mark my words, trouble follows her. Why can’t you date a nice normal girl? I know a single pharmacist named Felicity on the research committee at work. She makes six figures a year and plays the harp.”

“Rileyisnice, I don’t want normal, and I hate harps, Ma. The sooner you get it through your snobby thick head, the better.”

“I am not a snob just because your father and I want you to date a respectable woman with an actual profession.”

“Oh really? What does it make you?”

“A mother.”

He finally spotted Riley running interference between a fiery Jasmine and a pissed-off Weber near the front porch. Relief coursed through him.

“Yeah, well, get used to Riley, Ma. If I have my way, she’s going to be sticking around for a long, long time.”

“If you’d just let me introduce you to Felicity?—”