Her lips tightened. “I’m warning you. Back off, Regan. They each proved they weren’t the father of that girl’s baby, so leave them the hell alone.”
“I’m going where this investigation takes me, and if it takes me to Kip and Kywin, and I find out they’re complicit—”
“Did you hear me? You’re barking up the wrong damned tree. My sons are innocent!”
“Maybe if they stopped hiding things, we’d get to the truth.”
“You miserable—”
“Hey—” Billie cut Wilda off. “Let’s go into the bar. Get a drink. Forget this.”
Pescoli said, “Good idea. You don’t want to get in the way of a homicide investigation.” She was looking pointedly at the Bell brothers’ mother, and Wilda got the message.
“You’ve always been a bitch, Pescoli.”
Pescoli’s ire rose. “But a convenient bitch, right? When you needed me? When Frank was beating the living crap out of you in front of your boys?”
Wilda threw off Billie’s grip and hurled herself at Pescoli, grabbing her by her neck.
Despite her bulk, Pescoli moved quickly, took hold of the woman’s right wrist, and turned it back on itself.
Wilda shrieked and, with her free hand, slashed at Pescoli’s cheek, raking her nails across the skin, drawing blood.
Pescoli pushed a little harder on the arm and Wilda’s knees buckled as she fell against Grizz, her cheek pressed into his hairy belly, the heavy bear rocking unsteadily.
Pescoli didn’t let go.
“Stop!” Wilda cried. “Stop! Stop!”
“Hey!” a sharp voice yelled.
From the corner of her eye, Pescoli saw Sandy, the owner, carrying two large bags as she and the hostess raced into the entryway.
“What the hell’s going on here!” Sandy demanded, dropping the bags. “For the love of God, Detective!”
Wilda whimpered and Pescoli yanked on her arm a little harder, tweaking those ripped muscles. “You don’t really want to attack a police officer,” she advised into the other woman’s ear. “Especially a pregnant one whose hormones are way out of sync.”
The big woman howled in pain.
“Stop it!” Billie cried.
“That’s right. Enough!” Sandy said, and Pescoli, breathing hard, released her grip and took a step back, allowing Wilda to climb unsteadily to her feet.
“You’re crazy!” Wilda cried, rubbing her arm and glaring at Pescoli. “Fucking Looney Toons. I’ll have you up on charges.”
“Good thinking,” Pescoli snapped. “Use that excuse after you attack a pregnant police officer.”
“You’re a freak, Pescoli!” Wilda yelled. “Frank said you were and . . . and for once that SOB was right!” She looked as if she wanted to spit on her, and Pescoli glared at her, silently saying, Go ahead and try.
“Enough,” Billie declared. “Come on, Wilda. I’ll buy you that drink. A double margarita.”
Terri, who’d been silent and staring at the fight in horror, cleared her throat. “It’s still happy hour, right, Sandy?”
“Sure, sure,” the owner said, obviously just glad the fight was over.
Terri glanced down at Pescoli’s pregnancy bump. “You’re due soon. Real soon. Shouldn’t you be on maternity leave?”
Man, she was tired of hearing that, but before she could respond, Terri added, “Seems to be a lot of that going around.”