Keith goes to check on Gram Stoker, knocking on and opening Gram's door. Gram sneers, "What do you want?" from under a glaring brow and a forehead almost large enough to make Gram the goth Dawson. Gram's room is decorated in the usual angsty, gothy teen style -- lots of blocked light and a British flag. Add a few more pentagrams, pyramids, and "Oi, Oi, Oi!"s and you have my older sister's room. Gram Stoker is also listening to headphones out of which loud music spews. Keith just wanted to make sure everything is okay. "Everything is awesome," Gram tells him sarcastically, fingering the headphones with his black painted nails. Keith nods, gives the room an appraising look, and closes the door.
Downstairs, Keith says he thinks Gram Stoker is okay, but admits that it's hard to tell. The Widder explains that Dean Ed was thinking of sending Gram to a "teen discipline school," but she doesn't even know if that would work. Keith makes moves toward home, advising the Widder to call the cops the next time Freako shows up: "People with his kind of problem can be more trouble than you realize." Widder snorts, "Which problem?" Keith explains that he saw a lot of meth heads in his years as sheriff. The Widder admits that Freako has been in and out of rehab, and decides that she is too freaked by her ex's vase snatching to let Keith go home. She asks him to stick around a bit longer. Keith agrees, and asks if he can pour himself a drink admitting, "My nerves are a bit frayed myself." Heh -- nice lie. It would take more than brittle Richard Freako stealing a Target vase and a frozen turkey to fray Keith's nerves. The man dragged himself across a desert with a murdering Irishman on his ass, for chrissake! The Widder invites Keith to help himself. Keith pulls a glass out of the kitchen cupboard and looks around before making for the garage. He walks over to the Volvo and picks something out of the windshield. For the life of me, I don't know what it is. It looks like lint. Or a piece of paper. Or a squashed babies-breath blossom. Is it supposed to be dried egg? Because that wouldn't look so white or solid. The other night, Belchaimaera took me gently by the hand and explained that it's probably eggshell. God, I'm way too dumb. Anyway, the Widder catches Keith in the garage and wonders what he's doing. Keith plasters a bland look on his face, explaining, "Growing up, my parents would keep the adult beverages in the fridge out in the garage." He's lucky there's a fridge out in the Widder's garage. The Widder nods tightly and gestures back at the house, saying that they keep all their stuff in the kitchen.