SHE STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of the kitchen, arms crossed over her ridiculously padded chest, and glared at him. “I don’t care if the killer finds me and tortures me slowly to death...I’m not wearing this disguise.”
Percy cleared his throat and covered his mouth, working hard to fix a frown on his face. “Don’t even joke about that, Brit.”
She shook her shaggy, pink-haired head. “I’m not joking, Percy.”
Moxie sat several feet away, her tiny face looking perplexed. She c****d her head and whined at her mistress, the slim fringe of her tail sweeping the floor once with uncertainty.
“Even Moxie’s afraid of me.”
Heathcliffe breezed past Brita and planted a kiss on his girlfriend Nita’s lips. “It’s probably the mustache.”
Nita giggled before turning back to her dough. “It’s not that bad, Brita.
