Free Thrown Off: A Cozy Mystery (Brenna Battle Book 3) by Laney Monday

look at that big baby made me wonder whether he was a baby, or just babied. He chewed on a pacifier with a full set of teeth, like a guy in a nineteen-fifties TV show chewing on a cigar out of the side of his mouth. His little fingers navigated a very noisy game on an iPad with amazing dexterity. “Mommy! I need more coins!” he burst out.
    “Just a minute, sweetie.”
    Sweetie? Please, dear God, for the love of all that’s good in the world, don’t let this kid be four years old and about to join my judo camp.
    “Hi. I’m Jessie Pakowski.” She held out her hand. “I’d like to sign my two boys up for your judo camp, if it’s not too late.”
    I shook Jessie’s hand, then Blythe did the same. The little boy in the stroller screamed until his mother did what he wanted on the iPad.  
    I looked behind the stroller, but didn’t see a little kid hiding there. There was another one? And the kid in the stroller? I was just brainstorming ways to dispose of that binky when Jessie looked up and said, “Oh, here they come!”
    One boy slammed his european shoe into the glass doors in a karate kick, and the other threw straight punches at the air. The wicked part of me hoped his fist would make contact with something very painful, like maybe the wall. He sported a moppy headful of light brown hair.
    “Hello, boys.” Blythe’s smile was genuine.
    Mine was a little, shall we say, coerced by the business-minded side of myself. My gut instinct was to tell this lady that our program probably wouldn’t be a good fit for her kids, and send them on their way.
    “This is Holden,” Jessie said.
    I tried to shake Holden’s hand, but he was too busy throwing punches.
    “He’s seven. And Allen here is nine.”
    Allen wore his light brown hair in a long ponytail. He glowered at his brother and tried to trip him.
    Thank God, not the kid in the stroller. I had no problem with rambunctious kids. Or even kids, like Holden, who seemed just a little bit more out of touch with reality than most kids his age. Give me a mom struggling to discipline her kids any day. But kids raised without even that concept, as these boys appeared to be? I wasn’t so sure how I was supposed to deal with that.
      Their clothes had that intentionally faded and rumpled look—not the kind that came naturally to boys’ clothes that had been shoved haphazardly in drawers or sat in the dryer too long before folding, that had faded over lots of wear and handing down. Nope, these were a miniature version of the clothes some adults who are into the whole natural, outdoorsy look pay big money for. The kind that are already like that when you buy them and that match the spectrum of colors that are trendy for that niche in the current season.
    “We have a class starting at six,” Blythe said. Do you think you could swing by and watch a bit before you sign up? Just so you and the boys can see what they’ll be doing all day, and make sure it’s what you’re looking for.”
    “Oh, they want martial arts. They’re sure. And connecting with their chi will be good for them.”
    I grappled with how to politely explain to this lady that I’d never met my chi, let alone gotten in touch with it, and somehow I’d made it into the top five in the world. I lost that battle for words, but thank goodness, Blythe was there.
    “Well,” she said, “we’re really more focused on the sports aspect of judo. We like to leave any spiritual instruction to the parents. It’s such a personal thing, you know?”
    I wondered what this lady would think if she knew that international judo was run by Russians right now. I was pretty sure the top dogs didn’t spend their spare time meditating.
    “Hi-yah!” Holden came at me.
    I gently put my hand on the boy’s back, to turn him around, away from me. He whirled around, back toward me, with a wild flurry of kicks. I sidestepped out of danger, and he fell right on his face.
    “Hey!” He looked at me like I’d just snatched a