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)
“Oh, please,” Nana said, rolling her pretty green eyes. “You can say whatever you want in front of Moira.”
“I know,” I said, lowering my voice, “but that negates attorney-client privilege. Mom can be subpoenaed for anything she hears.”
My mom sighed, sliding out of the booth. “That’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll go sit at the counter until our food’s ready. Maybe I’ll help your sister. She’s way too busy.”
I stood so she could pass, then retook her seat, guilt edging the back of my throat.
“Anna, you don’t make up the law.” Nana gave me that pointed look she’d perfected over the years. “Stop feeling guilty.”
“Thanks, Nana.” My heart warmed. “Okay, this is kind of difficult.”
“Just spit it out, honey.” Her brogue thickened again.
“We have CCTV footage, which are camera recordings from the courthouse,” I began carefully. “It shows someone in a leprechaun outfit leaving the back of your shop a few hours before the pie tasting contest.”
Nana blinked. “Well, that’s good. Excellent. So we can figure out who it was.”
“The thing is…” I leaned in, lowering my voice. “The person was wearing your costume.”
She tilted her head, frowning. “Excuse me?”
“The person wore your leprechaun costume, Nana. I recognized it. It had the O’Shea logo on the vest.”
She shook her head. “It couldn’t have been mine. Mine is in the closet where it always is.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I looked at it just this morning because I’ll need it on Saturday. It hasn’t gone anywhere.”
I sat back, exhaling. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
She pursed her lips. “Then it must not have been my costume.”
“The person looks like a woman.”
“Interesting.” She tapped a manicured finger against her lips, her eyes narrowing in thought. “I wonder who would want to set me up?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Set you up and hurt Gloria at the same time. Is there anybody who doesn’t like both of you?”
Puzzlement crossed Nana’s features. “Why would someone dislike me?”
“I have no idea,” I said honestly, though my gut told me someone out there clearly did. “But obviously, you have an enemy somewhere.”
“Well,” she said, straightening in her seat, “I can’t think of anyone. However, Gloria has quite a few. You know she cheats at bridge, don’t you?”
I bit back a laugh. “I did not know that.”
“Also golf. Total sandbagger.” Nana shook her head. “I’d need at least a full ream of paper to write down her enemies.”
I fought the urge to grind my palm into my eye. This headache was going to take me out. I’d grabbed a couple of ibuprofen before leaving the office, but they hadn’t kicked in yet. I took a deep breath and forced my thoughts back on track. “Can you think of anybody who might dislike both of you? Because that would be really convenient right now.”
“Not really.”
I blinked once, my stomach aching with the next question. “What about Nonna?” I knew Nonna didn’t set up Nana, but the prosecutor might try to create some sort of scenario that hurt both of my grandmothers, so I had to ask.
“Nonna and Gloria definitely don’t like each other,” Nana said easily. “However, Nonna adores me.”
I was somewhat surprised she didn’t choke on that statement. I stared at her blandly. “Nana, I know it’s taboo to discuss it in our family, which I’m getting tired of, but you and Nonna are not friends. You do not get along.”
“We get along just fine, dear.” Her smile was too bright. “There’s nothing wrong between us.”
“Would you please tell me what the problem was?”
Her eyes widened. “There was no problem.” Her voice had that Stepford cheer that would’ve made any 1950s housewife proud. There was no getting past her.
“Okay, fine.” I set my glass down. “Will you at least ask around town? Maybe talk to Bampa and see if there’s anyone who might have a beef with both you and Gloria? Also, could you give me a list of everyone involved in the pie contests for, say, the last ten years? Any sore losers, any runners-up?”
“Of course,” she said easily. “Do you think the sabotaged pie was connected to the dynamite and the theft at my store?”
I took another sip. “Aiden doesn’t, and I think his logic is sound.” I hesitated. “I need to tell you that Brad Backleboff might pursue a criminal case against you.”
“A criminal case?” Her voice shot up an octave. “I’m not a criminal.”
“I’m aware of that, and I agree.” I glanced at my sparkling water. “But he offered a plea deal.”
Her head jerked. “I will not take any sort of plea deal.”
I smiled. “That’s what I thought. But I’m supposed to tell you.”
The bell over the door jingled, and I glanced up as two people walked inside and strode by our table. My brain stalled for half a second.
Brad Backleboff gave a half bow to my grandmother as he passed, then kept walking. Brooke Walton followed close behind him, giving me a brief look before sliding into a booth farther down the row by the window.