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

those his whole life

open it with your wife,

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

Imperial Cognac? That was

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

brat! How could you

up from his grave and

All that was meant for Keaton's

Oh, dear God.

split it with Keaton just

under her

she prayed, 'Ancestors

told me to take it. He made

idea those

haunt Keaton, not me—I'm

Winona sat there in a cold sweat, Keaton