CHAPTER 12: THIRD DEGREEThey followed the faint sweet-sharp whiff of m*******a smoke to the back porch.
The french doors were closed. The porch itself was dark except for irregular patches of light from outside. The wicker chairs were empty, the tables littered with dirty plates and glasses. Lydia stifled an impulse to clean up and groped along the wall for a light switch.
“Who’s there?” rasped a voice from the shadows.
“Mudge. And Lydia.”
A tall skinny figure unfolded into view. Mack still looked wild-eyed, but not as twitchy or crazed as the last time Lydia had seen him. He’d changed into dry jeans with no holes, and a T-shirt for a band she hadn’t heard of.
“So what’re you doing?” He exhaled a thin puff of smoke.
”Catering,” said Lydia. “What’re you doing? Besides weed.”
Mack ha
