Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Of course. If I thought Fiona was guilty, I’d be arresting her myself.”
That’s right. They’d known each other forever. “Didn’t you attend high school together?”
“No. I’m much older than Fiona.” He sounded pleased.
I rolled my eyes. Of course, everyone wanted to seem younger than reality. “Hey—before I forget, have you ever heard of Zippy O’Bellini? He’s the attorney Gloria hired to sue Nana civilly. I’ve never heard of the guy.”
“Hmm. O’Bellini? I’ve never heard of a Zippy, but I do remember when the Bobcat Thrift Store was called O’Bellini’s.”
I sat up. “In Silverville?”
“Yeah. It’s a popular name in the Pacific Northwest, though. I have a colleague in Seattle named O’Bellini. Jeremy. Good guy who grew up over in Billings.” The sheriff sighed. “Is he with a firm?”
“No. The complaint just had his name and bar number. I have Pauley finding info on the guy.”
The leather chair creaked over the line again. “Zippy is an odd name.”
“That’s what I thought.” I tapped a pencil on my calendar pad. “If a judge issues an arrest warrant, would you let me know?”
“Yes. I’m hoping I can keep that from happening. The food felony charge is stupid, and I assume you can get it tossed. The misdemeanor is another story,” Franco muttered.
I could not believe this. We had to find out who really ruined Gloria’s pie. “I know. I’ll let you know if we discover anything.”
“Okay. In the meantime, I’ll stall Backleboff as long as I can and tell him we’re still reviewing Gloria’s statement. Maybe the judges will stay out of reach until next week. But Anna, be careful. He’s on a mission.”
“I know,” I said.
Franco cleared his throat. “Keep your Nana calm and stay away from Gloria. Whatever you do, don’t poke at Backleboff yet. He’s itching for attention.”
“Understood.”
He grunted softly. “Good. I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, the soft light of the candles trembling across the room. The vanilla scent had turned thick and cloying.
A shadow crossed my doorway, and I looked up, expecting to see Pauley.
“Hi, Anna.” Jolene O’Sullivan, our local reporter and my main nemesis, strode inside wearing a slick black pantsuit with a green shell, her blond hair up in a ponytail. “I’m on a story that your Nana O’Shea committed a felony interference with food, or something like that. She might spend the rest of her golden years in prison.” Jolene’s smile was catlike. “Care to comment?”
Chapter 8
I heard footsteps, and then Oliver stood behind Jolene.
“Hey, how’d you get by me?” Oliver snapped, his face redder than usual. He’d been working out for months and nicely filled out his worn denim shirt.
Jolene turned to look over her shoulder at the tall kid. “I didn’t see anybody at the front desk.”
“I was in the bathroom,” he said through gritted teeth.
“That’s okay. Jolene was just leaving,” I said.
Jolene slid farther inside my office, standing near one of two guest chairs. “I could go to print without your statement, but—”
“Excuse me?” a man asked.
I knew that voice, didn’t I?
All of a sudden, Cormac Coretti stood behind Oliver. People were stacking up in my doorway like something out of a bad sitcom. My office wasn’t big enough for one ego, much less three.
“Good afternoon,” Cormac said, his voice smooth and polite enough to have me pausing to take him in.
Oliver stepped to the side, still blocking half the light from the hall. “I told you to wait in the reception area.” He glanced at me, eyes annoyed. Seriously so. “Ms. Albertini, there’s somebody here to see you.”
Now wasn’t the time to once again tell him to just call me Anna. All the time. Even in front of clients. I wanted to smack my hand against my forehead. “Thank you, Oliver. Cormac, come in. Jolene, leave.”
Oliver pivoted and stomped away.
Cormac stepped inside, taking in both of us with one quick, assessing glance. He didn’t fidget or rush and just stood there like the room was already his. Jolene’s eyes went wide. She gave him a once-over that was almost professional, almost not.
She extended a manicured hand and brightened her smile. “Hello. Jolene O’Sullivan.”
“Cormac Coretti,” he said gallantly, shaking her hand. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“If you were afraid of interrupting, you would’ve stayed in the reception area,” I said blandly.
He looked at me, his bluish-green eyes twinkling with the kind of amusement that made me wish I kept a spray bottle of holy water on the desk. “I suppose that’s true.”
Jolene licked her lips and looked over at me, the air suddenly too warm. “This is interesting. Is Devlin already out of the picture?”
“Aiden Devlin?” Cormac asked.
I stilled. “You know him?”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just asked around town a bit. Apparently he’s the ATF agent in charge of the, well, explosive part of the missing antique boxes investigation.”