Jump. J on t he triple letter for 28 points. Great word, Betsy, you bitch. That was my spot. Don’t spoil my fun, Chelsea. You’re winning by 50 points. You’re my word idol— Woof! —And, speaking of vicarious thrills, has that guy from Frank’s gym called you yet? Frank? The one who couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He’s the Frank. And no, he hasn’t called. What about you? Woof! Woof!! Calm down, Thor. You just had walkies. Chelsea, I can’t flirt like you. It’s fun to watch, but I’m not built that way. We are built exactly the same. We may be similar in size, but you have discernable breasts and glowing, flaxen hair. You need that new shampoo and I need to make a word of vowels. There. Eight measly points. Ai is a word? It’s a three-toed, sloth. Look it up. You see Chels? You make the best with what you have – in Scrabble and life. You make a great word out of two vowels, and you point your breasts and flaxen hair at handsome men who own gyms. I’ve be
“Well, if I had to hazard a guess…” Bobby let his sentence trail off without finishing. He’d heard his mom use that phrase and it sounded so smart. Hazzard a guess . Bobby wasn’t smart, but he was good at guessing. He figured that sooner or later he’d guess what it was these two men wanted him to say. “Don’t guess, Bobby. Tell us what really happened,” Farbester said slowly. “Something relating to her head.” Bobby figured the question was important since the detective asked it so often and spoke so clearly and slowly. “Her head?” he asked. “Her head,” Farbester repeated while the other cop motioned to the back of his own head with his index finger cocked just behind the right ear. Bobby couldn’t remember the other cop’s name, but he stunk of aftershave. He looked at the clock. Five hours. Five hours he’d been in this room with these men, and it still reeked of shitty aftershave. “Bobby!” Farbester shouted. “Focus! Her head. What happened to her head?” “I don’t know. I hit