8
“What are we looking at?” Lil whispered, peering at my phone.
“I think Sylvia tucked us into her bra,” I answered in the same whispered tone.
Light filtering through zebra stripes was my clue. Why Sylvia was in charge of the communication phone while she was feeling up T was beyond me. And I didn’t have to be an eyewitness to know she was doing just that.
“Such strong arms you have,” Sylvia purred. “It’s like squeezing a ripe melon.”
“Please don’t— Mrs. J., come down from there!” T barked.
“Where’s the ammo? I know you hid it again.”
“Again?” Lil raised a brow.
“Look at the way your vein just pops along your neck,” Sylvia cooed. “It makes your tarantula tattoo dance.”
“Stop touching my neck! Mrs. J., stop knocking on the walls. I moved everything the last time you snooped.”
“I
