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The kettle whistled and Macdara wet the tea. He stirred in milk and sugar and brought them to the table. "Sans poison, dear wife." He set hers in front of her and gently touched her shoulder. "I know you're nervous. But this is never going to work if we can't even get through a single question."

He was right. She hated when he was right. "Fine."

Macdara eagerly sat down and supped his tea before pulling the manual toward him. " 'He stops the car, they pull to the side of the road, and he orders him to get out.' Now. Ready for the question part of the question?" She pursed her lips and nodded. " 'Is Officer Healy within his rights to conduct a breathing test?' "

"Yes, if—"

Macdara held up his index finger and wagged it. "It's multiple choice. I haven't read the choices." Siobhán crossed her arms, slouched in the chair, and patiently waited. " 'A: No. He has no right to tell him what to do and he shouldn't have stopped him in the first place. B: No, he has no proof the accident even happened—he only suspects it happened. C: Yes. But the test must take place within or close to an area where the requirements for Joe to cooperate can be imposed—'"

Siobhán pounded her fist on the table. "What in the world does that even mean?"

" 'Or D: Yes. Officer Healy can do whatever he wants because he's a police officer.' " Siobhán opened her mouth, and there was her husband's index finger again. It wasn't the first time she thought about biting it. "Don't do it, Siobhán," Macdara warned. "Do not say D."

"I cannot answer the question if I do not understand what in the world they're trying to say in answer C."

"Well, that's unfortunate because explanation C is the correct answer." 

"What?" She was starting to wish there was whiskey in her tea.

Macdara began to mansplain. "Since Officer Healy has spoken to the cyclist hit by the vehicle and confirmed the accident—"

"It didn't say he confirmed the accident. It said he confirmed your one was forty years of age and married with two sons."

"If the cyclist didn't confirm the story, I'm sure it would have said that cyclist denied it. Why would they even write up this question if there was no accident?" By now they had both risen to their feet and were competing to project their voices over the commotion outside. Siobhán was wondering exactly where this argument was headed when someone pounded on the front door. Had they disturbed the workers outside? Saved by the bang. Siobhán hurried to the window above the kitchen sink and peered outside. Planted at the front door was a baby-faced deliveryman and next to him was an enormous wooden crate. It had to be for Cassidy Ryan and her garden design. Siobhán opened the window.

"That goes to the white tent," she said, startling the poor man. He whipped his head around and raised his cap. He was so young. Nineteen at the most.

He glanced nervously in the direction of the large tent. It was big enough to house a traveling circus. All the gardens in the competition had tents erected around them so that their creations would be hidden until the official unveiling. "Where exactly would you like it?" His voice started off deep and then squeaked.

"You're not going to like me answer," 

Siobhán said. "Join the club," Macdara piped up.

The poor lad looked terrified. "I'll take you over to the tent," Siobhán said. "If the recipient isn't there, I can sign for it." She glanced at Macdara. "I need some fresh air."

Macdara rose and grabbed the manual. "Not a bother. I can walk and talk." 

Ugh. He was relentless. They headed outside and Siobhán once again glanced at the enormous person-sized crate. It was propped up on a rolling dolly. "Is it an elephant?"

The lad leaned forward and glanced at a sticker on the crate. "Statue." 

"She's going all out." Cassidy Ryan had already caused quite a bit of trouble with the other gardeners, and not just because she was a blond only 'professional' landscape designer of the group, and the other gardeners were incensed. Unfortunately, no one had thought to write a clause barring professionals into the bylines, so they were stuck. It wasn't just the test questions that were aggravating. It was life. Rules and regulations. Everything revolved around rules and regulations. As Siobhán led the way, she could hear the wheels of the dolly squeaking and bumping, not to mention a fair amount of grunting as the delivery lad strained under the weight.

Macdara continued to yammer behind her. "If Officer Healy has reasonable grounds to believe Joe hit the cyclist, then he can ask for the breath test." He was committed to her passing these exams and using tough love to accomplish it. Was he worried it would be a poor reflection on him if she didn't pass the first time around? And why was this flustering her so much? She was normally an excellent student. Her head just wasn't in it. Did she even want to be a detective sergeant? Wasn't one in the family enough? "Can we put this on hold?" She called over her shoulder. "I need a break."