Hitched & Hitched Again: A Comedy of Marital Mayhem

"Where's that godawful stench of booze coming from? Have you been drinking?"

Richard stormed in, his voice echoing off the hallway walls.

Winona shrank closer to Keaton, barely daring to breathe.

Mrs. Windham and Mrs. Murphy both wrinkled their noses, fanning the air.

"Oh, mercy, that's not just a little whiskey," Mrs. Windham muttered. "Someone's been on a real bender."

Mr. Windham's eyes narrowed as he spotted something glinting near the fireplace a bottle, rolling on its side.

He picked it up, squinting at the faded label, and gasped, "Good Lord above! Is this... a 1935 Glenfiddich? That was Harold's pride and joy! He wouldn't even open it before he died. Keaton, you let him drink it?!"

Mr. Murphy, poking around, found a few more empty bottles. Reading the labels by candlelight, he blurted out, "A limited edition Russo-Boro vodka, an Imperial Collection Cognac-my God, Keaton, did you just plunder your grandfather's entire stash?"

Richard's eyes went wide as he glanced at the empty bottles, then rushed to the family altar where Harold's picture stood.

He barely needed to look. The collection of rare spirits Harold had hidden behind his photo-gone. Every last drop.

"You little punk! Those were your grandfather's wedding

he saved those his whole life just for your

your wife, when you shared your first toast as

bride to offer the guests

Imperial Cognac? That was

you were born, your granddad dreamed of seeing you married. Now, before you've even found a wife, you've gone and guzzled

could you do this to

from his grave and come knocking on your

went wide. Wedding toasts? All that was meant for

Oh, dear God.

split it with Keaton

under her

prayed, 'Ancestors

Huber family, if you're watching, I swear-Keaton told me to take it. He

those bottles

spirit is angry, please, please haunt Keaton, not me—I'm innocent in

a cold sweat, Keaton