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.

around, shouting at Keaton, "You little punk! Those were your grandfather's

those

Glenfiddich from 1935? He wanted you to open it with your wife, when you shared your first toast as a

vodka? For you and your bride to offer the guests at

That was meant

your granddad dreamed of seeing you married. Now, before

How could you do this

rise up from his

Wedding toasts? All that was meant

Oh, dear God.

1935 Glenfiddich? She'd split it

prickled under her

she prayed,

I swear-Keaton told me to take it. He made me

had no idea those

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

a cold sweat, Keaton just shrugged, a little tipsy