Sally was behind the wheel.
Agatha was riding shotgun.
Oh boy.
The passenger window cranked down. “Get in, already! You girls are slow as molasses!”
“Thisis who you called?” Flo hissed as we rushed down the front steps toward the street. “The Golden Girls?”
“I didn’t exactly have many other options!” Gwen hissed back. “All the Gravewatch boys are out in the field!”
“You could call Graham.”
“No way!” Gwen protested. “You know how he feels about the O’Banions. Specifically, about me being near them.”
“They did try to kidnap you,” Florence pointed out.
I gasped. “What?”
“Mickey and I had a teensy issue involving my previous psychic, Madame Zelda.” Gwen shrugged, like this was a minor detail instead of a monumental one. “Gravewatch resolved it.”
I blinked at her, not sure how to respond to that.
Gwen turned back to Florence. “Look, the bottom line is, if I call Graham, he’ll tell us to stand down. Do you guyswantto stand down?”
I sucked in a breath. “No.”
“No,” Flo concurred. “I just wish our backup had not been born before the Industrial Revolution.”
“I heard that!” Agatha yelled form the passenger seat.
Gwen giggled.
So did I.
(What could I say? We were still drunk on tequila.)
We all studied the peeling side-panel of the minivan for a long beat in silence. Eventually, Florence sighed, then reached for the handle.
“Oh well,” she muttered. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
We rolled open the door and clambered into the back. Sally and Agatha were turned around in their seats, peering at us in the dark. There were still curlers in Sally’s hair. Agatha appeared to be wearing a nightgown.
“Um…” I blinked at them. “Did we wake you?”
“It’s 10PM on a Sunday night,” Agatha groused. “Of course you woke us, you dingbat.”
“Sorry.” Gwen grimaced. “It’s kind of an emergency.”
“Don’t call Imogen a dingbat,” Sally chastised. Her eyes moved to mine. “Ignore Agatha. She’s always cranky, but she’sespeciallycranky after eight.”
“I am not! But if I’m missing my beauty sleep, there better be a good reason.” Agatha pinned Gwen with a severe look. “You said there was trouble, Gwendolyn?”
“Yes. It’s our friend Georgia O’Banion.”
“The mother of that missing little boy?” Sally’s thin white brows shot up toward her hairline. “Have they found him?”
“No, he’s still missing.”