“For three days,” she hissed back. “I threw them up for three days, and it tasted like cinnamon on each day.”
“The last six hours of the puke fest tasted like Big Macs and a Wendy's baked potato,” Heidi told us.
“You swore we’d never mention this again.”
Ignoring her sister, Heidi continued, “She was excited she found the broccoli from the potato in it, but not so happy she found pickles.”
“You know I hate those things. They’re like green snot suppositories.”
All of us looked at her at the same time.
“Girl, just how big is your outie hole? I don’t know about you, but if I had suppositories as big as a pickle, I’d be wrecked,” Jacinda said in her no muss and no bullshit way.
What she was saying might be blunt, but it was also very accurate.
Flopping back on her chair, Sayla dramatically dropped her arm over her eyes. “Ugh, I feel sick just thinking about it.”
Completely non-plussed, Jacinda just shrugged. “That might be the case, but you’re still doing the challenge. We’re going to mix it with some Vaseline before we apply it. Some of the girls put it on their lips neat, and it was too painful for them and caused the skin around their lips to rash up for twenty-four hours.
“We’ll each have a plate that we put some of the Vaseline on and then add some drops of the oil on top and mix it up. Every minute for twenty minutes, we’ll do a photo of our lips for a before and after.”
“Shit,” Sayla moaned. “I’m going to be sick, I just know it.”
“Yasss, Aun Say-laaa.” Nemi did her best imitation at clicking her fingers. “Keen!”
“I don’t think she is, baby badass,” Jacinda told her, ruffling her hair as she walked by her on her way to the kitchen. “She’s definitely not keen to do this game with Aunt Jaci, Mommy, and Aunt Evie.”
“She means queen. It’s her latest thing,” Heidi snickered, looking completely overwhelmed with the love she felt for her kid when she winked down at her.
I knew that look because I wore it every day when I looked at my son. Well, aside from when he was a shithead. When he did that, I looked at him like I wanted to incinerate him with eye lasers that I didn’t possess.
It took Jacinda all of two minutes to come out armed with what we’d need.
“Okay, I brought the cinnamon oil and Vaseline with me.” She put it all down on the table. “I also took the liberty of picking up your powdered cinnamon in case that’s what we’re meant to use instead. I know it’s only there”—she pointed at the door to the kitchen—“but I hate repeating myself or using energy when I don’t need to.”
So, we all tried varying amounts of cinnamon oil in our splat of Vaseline and applied it to our lips. Mine had five drops in it, and almost immediately, I felt them begin to heat up.
Frowning down at her plate, Jacinda muttered, “I think mine’s a dud. I’ll try with the cinnamon powder.”
And that’s where she went wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alex
It’d been a long day, and what added to my misery and aching joints was that I was stuck in the room where the feed from the interview rooms played. I was currently watching Carter and Logan interview Mrs. Bane about her husband’s disappearance.
“What do you think?” DB asked, leaning back on his seat. “You and Carter are the best at this, but Logan’s starting to kick ass with it.”
From the first one I’d done with him, I’d thought Logan was born to do the job.
Leaning forward and pressing my steepled fingers against my lips, I watched as Mrs. Bane gave away clue after clue that she was lying about something and withholding information on some of the areas she’d been asked about.
“She knows more than she’s letting on about the days before he disappeared, and she’s outright lying about who she suspects did it. Given how much time’s passed and her age, I might have given her a pass about some details, but she isn’t being completely honest on practically every question.”
“That’s what I was worried about,” DB muttered, tiredly rubbing his forehead. “Okay, I’ll pull them out, then you can go back in with Carter.”
Usually this part of my job didn’t bother me, it’s what we were here for. But Mrs. Bane was a well known and respected resident of the towns and was getting on there in age. It was like interrogating Sophia from the Golden Girls.
I watched as he called them out of the room, all the while thinking over how to get through to her and get Mrs. Bane to open up.
Nothing inside me or from her answers and reactions gave me any indicators she was involved in what’d happened to her husband, but that didn’t mean she was innocent. Sometimes even the most seasoned detectives and interrogators fucked up, so I needed to be realistic.