The morning sun peeked over Wellsbury, casting a soft glow on the Randolph house. Inside, Georgia Randolph was her usual whirlwind self, multitasking as she cleaned up the remnants of breakfast. The family had devoured the pancakes, bacon, and eggs she made with love (and a little spite, given her mood after last night's encounter with Holt Scotto).
"Alright," Georgia muttered, rinsing the last plate and setting it in the drying rack. "Time to restock the pantry."
She grabbed her purse and keys, slipping on her heels before heading out to the driveway. But as she approached her mint-green convertible, she froze. Something shiny caught her eye underneath the car.
Bending down cautiously, she found an oil pan and a wrench sitting directly under the vehicle. Her brows furrowed. "What in the—?"
She set the tools aside, brushing her hands on her skirt before climbing into the driver's seat. Everything seemed fine, but the moment she turned the key, the car sputtered loudly, groaning like an old man waking from a nap. The engine rattled violently, followed by a loud bang and a puff of smoke from the hood.
Georgia jumped, clutching the steering wheel in shock. "Oh, for the love of biscuits, what is happening now?!"
Before she could process the situation, a loud tap tap tap at her window made her yelp. She turned to see Paul Randolph grinning like a mischievous kid.
"Paul!" she snapped, rolling down the window. "You scared the daylights outta me!"
Paul leaned casually against the door. "What's going on? I heard a noise, thought maybe your car was auditioning for a demolition derby."
Georgia threw her hands up. "I don't know! I found an oil pan and a wrench under the car, and now it's makin' noises like it's possessed!"
Paul tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "An oil pan and a wrench, huh? That's... weird."
"Weird doesn't even begin to cover it!" Georgia said, climbing out of the car. "I've got groceries to buy, errands to run, and now my car's actin' like it's on its last legs."
Paul scratched his head. "Well, I hate to say it, but you might wanna call someone."
Georgia sighed dramatically, pulling out her phone. "Fine. I'll call the police."
Paul's eyes widened. "The police? For car trouble?"
"Yes, Paul," Georgia said, her tone sharp. "Because someone's messin' with my car, and I'm not gonna stand for it!"
Paul opened his mouth to protest but wisely decided against it, stepping back as Georgia dialed.
The police arrived twenty minutes later, Officer Doug leading the way with his usual calm-but-tired demeanor. He approached Georgia, clipboard in hand.
"Morning, Georgia," he said, glancing at the car. "What seems to be the problem?"
Georgia crossed her arms. "Morning, Doug. My car's got issues—big ones. I found tools under it, and now it's makin' noises like it's about to explode. I need you to figure out who's behind this."
Doug crouched down, examining the tools and the car. After a few minutes, he stood up, brushing off his hands. "Well, looks like someone tampered with your oil system. That wrench and pan weren't just left there by accident."
Georgia's eyes narrowed. "Tampered? Who'd do somethin' like that?"
Doug gave her a pointed look. "Got any enemies, Georgia?"
Her mouth opened in mock surprise. "Enemies? Me? Never!"
Doug raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Georgia. We both know there's one name that comes to mind."
Georgia sighed, throwing her hands up. "Holt Scotto. Of course it's him! Who else has the nerve?"
Doug smirked, clearly amused. "Well, if you want, I can talk to him."
"No need," Georgia said, her eyes flashing with determination. "I'll handle it myself."
Minutes later, Georgia stormed across the street, heels clicking furiously against the pavement. She didn't bother knocking, pounding on Holt's door like she was collecting debts.
Holt answered a moment later, looking far too relaxed in a gray t-shirt and sweatpants. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, if it isn't my favorite neighbor. What can I do for you, Georgia?"
"Don't play dumb," Georgia snapped, jabbing a finger at him. "I know what you did to my car!"
Holt leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Oh, do you now?"
"Don't act all innocent," Georgia said, her voice rising. "Oil pan, wrench, engine damage—you're the only person petty enough to pull somethin' like this."
Holt's smirk deepened. "Petty? Georgia, you deflated all four of my tires yesterday. That was petty."
Georgia scoffed. "That was retaliation for all the nonsense you've put me through! Crabs on my car, poop in my yard, megaphones—should I go on?"
"Borderline psychotic," Holt muttered, shaking his head. "That's what you are."
Georgia's eyes widened, and she took a step closer, her finger practically poking his chest. "Borderline psychotic? Oh, you're one to talk, Mr. Megaphone! You're the one sneakin' around, messin' with my car like some kinda lunatic!"
"Lunatic?" Holt laughed, his tone mocking. "Coming from the woman who breaks into houses to let bees and birds loose? That's rich."
Georgia opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself, taking a deep breath. "You know what? I don't have time for this. I've got a car to fix and groceries to buy."
"Good luck with that," Holt said, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Maybe next time, you'll think twice before starting something you can't finish."
"Oh, don't worry," Georgia said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I always finish what I start."
With that, she turned on her heel and marched back to her house, muttering under her breath about egos and Dungeness crabs. Holt watched her go, shaking his head with a smirk.
As she stepped inside her house, Paul looked up from the couch, raising an eyebrow. "How'd it go?"
Georgia sighed, kicking off her heels. "Well, Paul, let's just say the feud isn't over yet."
Paul groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Of course it isn't."
