As of last night, I have determined that Chain of Custody will indeed be 18 chapters rather than the standard 16-or-17. I will be fiddling with the posting schedule during the week this week and have a new one up for you by Friday’s update. In the meantime:
Chain of Custody, Chapter 16: “The Start of Everything”
“You know there’s not an Olive Garden in our house, right?” Tony’d asked after Miles’d finished his request, his shoulder propped against Bruce’s office doorjamb. “You can’t just request an endless pasta bowl and expect your dad and I to roll over and—”
“I like pasta,” Amy’d volunteered from where she’d been watering Bruce’s office plants out of her water bottle. Miles’d cocked his head smugly and almost smiled.
Tony’d raised his hands. “I retract my previous statement and hope to every deity available that the grocery store’s not out of fresh garlic.”
“Or out of anything else on our list,” Bruce’d reminded him, and predictably, Tony’d waved him off.
Chain of Custody, Chapter 17: “A Step You Can’t Take Back”
“We’re not becoming a home for wayward teenagers.”
“You sure about that?” Jessica’d asked. She’d shed her usual uniform of jeans and sweaters for dress pants and a blazer, never mind the file folder full of records that she’d tucked under her arm.
Witness stand chic, Tony’d mouthed, and Bruce’d rolled his lips together to keep from laughing.
Jessica, on the other hand, had just jabbed a finger into Tony’s shoulder. “The social worker giveth, and the social worker can taketh away,” she’d reminded him as he’d plastered on his best wide-eyed puppy-dog expression.
And, based on a scene from The Judge and Sara’s, you know, Sara-ness, we have part of a one-shot that might someday see the light of day:
MPU One-Shot: “Driving Miss Jimenez (et al)”
Tony checks his watch once and then a second time before he glances over at Amy. “You really want a turn?” he asks. She blinks in surprise, and he waves a hand toward the parking lot. “You’d be driving a steel death trap. Putting you and everyone else in this county in danger. Sending both of us into very long prison sentences if you run somebody over.”
“Bruce says the Prius is the safe car,” Amy points out.
“Bruce is filling your head with liberal propaganda, and I won’t allow it.” The Prius pulls into the lot—or rather, crawls into the lot, because Teddy Altman drives like a seventy-five-year-old pensioner with night blindness—and Tony hops to his feet. “If you ever tell him about what happened this afternoon,” he warns, “I’m giving your room to the dogs.”