Chapter Twelve
Bobbi Jo
Cleaning up the bedroom, I looked over at Betty Sue’s side of the room we’d shared our whole lives. “Such a pig.” I kicked a pair of barely-there underwear of hers that had somehow made it to my side of the floor. “Yuck.” They flew to her side of the room, now covered in a pile of dirty clothes, dishes, and bits of paper for some reason.
Hearing the front door to our small, two-bedroom house open, I knew it had to be Betty Sue coming in. “Bobbi Jo? You here?”
My car was in the drive, so she knew I was. “Yep. What tipped you off, Columbo?”
She opened the bedroom door and looked at the heap of crap on her side of the room. “Cleaning, I see. Just once, would it kill you to put my dirty clothes in the washing machine instead of piling them up this way?”
“Have you
