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“Where are you going to pee? There’s no bathrooms that I can see.”

“There’s a vacant lot over there behind that fence. That all right with you?”

Ever since they’d launched the neighborhood watch, Vesta had been thinking of a simple solution to a problem that had vexed them from the start: both she and Scarlett were ladies of a certain age, and their bladders weren’t what they used to be, meaning that if they sat in a car all night, following doctor’s orders in regard to the regular intake of fluids, there came a moment they needed a bathroom break. Unfortunately, Hampton Cove wasn’t exactly littered with public restrooms, and since bars and restaurants were mostly closed by the time they started patrolling those mean streets of their small town… It was one of those vexing problems, and thus far they hadn’t been able to solve it—apart from peeing in the bushes, of course.

“Or maybe I’ll go to that house over there,” said Scarlett now, as she pointed to a derelict structure right next to the empty lot. The house looked ripe for demolition.

“Better don’t go in there,” Vesta advised. “Place is a crack house.”

“You think so?”

“Why do you think we’re parked out in front of it?”

“I thought you wanted a quiet spot to eat our midnight snack.”

Scarlett always brought a midnight snack, as both women got those midnight cravings most people get, but amplified by the fact that they were engaged in a high-peril endeavor, which as everyone knows makes the blood pump faster, which in turn makes you hungry. She wasn’t sure this was all scientifically kosher, but it was her explanation for the phenomenon and damn if anyone said it wasn’t so.

“My contact at the precinct tells me drugs are being dealt out of this here house,” said Vesta. “And I want to catch them in the act, snap some pictures, and get them all arrested.”

“Your contact at the station? You mean your son?”

“No, I don’t mean my son,” she scoffed. “If it were up to Alec we wouldn’t even be out here patrolling. I’m talking about Chase. At least he’s on our side. Unlike my own son, who seems to think we’re just two crazy old ladies out to create trouble.”

“Look, I don’t care if that’s a crack house,” said Scarlett. “I need to use the bathroom, and if I wait much longer I’m going to have to go right here in your car.”

“Maybe we should get you those Poise Pads. The heavy-duty ones.”

“Hey! I’m notthat old!”

“Okay, so go if you have to. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Maybe you can come with me?” Scarlett suggested. “And bring the pepper spray,” she added. “And the stun gun.”

“I’ll bring the stun gun, the pepper spray and my ex-husband’s shotgun,” said Vesta as she grabbed the gym bag that sat patiently on the backseat for just such a contingency. So far they hadn’t seen a lot of action, but she had a feeling that was about to change.

So they both got out and Vesta suddenly got one of those bright ideas that sometimes came to her out of the blue. Probably as a consequence of all the vitamin B she’d started to pop. She’d read somewhere it helped boost your brain activity. “You know what?” she said. “We should probably pretend that we’re two drug addicts looking to score. That way we can catch these drug dealers in the act!”

“Isn’t that called entrapment or something?”

Neither of them was exactly on top of the finer points of the law, but that had never stopped them before.“Who cares? Don’t you want to stop these people from selling drugs to kids?”

“I don’t have any kids,” Scarlett reminded her.

“I’m not talking about your kids. I’m talking about all the kids, Scarlett.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes.“Honestly? I just want to pee.”

Just then, the door to the crack house suddenly flew open, and a man came hurrying out. He was holding his phone and was talking into it, even as he crossed the street and got into a car, which just happened to be the car Vesta and Scarlett were parked right behind. In a reflex action Vesta snapped a picture of both the man and the car, and as it drove off, Scarlett suddenly yelled,“Fire!”

“I know, right?” said Vesta. “We’re on fire tonight!”

“No, there’s a fire!” said Scarlett, and pointed to the crack house.

“No shit,” said Vesta as she saw that Scarlett was right: the house they’d singled out for their big drug bust was on fire—smoke wafting from the door the man had left ajar.

“We gotta do something!”

“It’s probably those crack dealers,” said Vesta. “They must have turned the heat up too much when they were cooking all of that crystal meth.” She pressed the phone to her ear and bellowed, “Yeah, Dolores. Vesta Muffin. I want to report a fire at a crack house!”

“You got a fire in your crack?” asked the raspy-voiced dispatcher with a chuckle.

“Watch your tongue, Dolores. I’m being serious here.”

“Well, that’s a first,” said the wise-cracking dispatcher.