Chapter 2“Son of a b***h!”
Olive Elder’s whiskey-soaked voice rang from the kitchen, cutting through Frank’s headphones even with The Decemberists blasting. Swearing wasn’t unusual for his grandmother. She looked like Aunt Bea, but had the vocabulary of a trucker. It was one of the reasons Frank had always liked her so much, even if she did have the annoying habit of calling him Frankie Boy. She didn’t give a damn about appearances.
Hitting save on his laptop, he pulled the plugs from his ears and set the computer aside, rising from the couch. He followed the path of her continued string of curses, calling out, “What’s wrong, Grandma?” At the kitchen doorway, he ground to a halt and stared at the dark spill leaking from the cupboard beneath the sink. “Don’t tell me that was in the pipe.”
