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)
“I think he’s a shyster,” Nana said casually, stirring her coffee.
“Yeah, but what is he doing with Brooke Walton?” I asked.
Nana turned, glanced back toward them, then faced me again. “Well, they’re both single. He’s mid-thirties, she’s mid-twenties, which is too far apart, I think.”
“She’s Gloria’s niece,” I said.
“Yes. She grew up in the Naperville area and moved to Montana about a year ago. She spends a lot of time with her aunt.” Nana glanced over her shoulder. “She’s a pretty girl, isn’t she?”
I angled my neck to get a better look. “Are they dating?”
“Well…” Nana looked off, considering. “I’ve seen them together in Silverville quite a few times. Never holding hands or anything, but out to dinner and such. They make a fine-looking couple, though I don’t like him very much. Of course, that could be because he tried to charge your sister with murder and now he’s charging me with something ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, still watching the pair. The two of them looked too comfortable, like this wasn’t a new thing. I leaned forward. “You know she’s been dating Clark too.”
“Our Clark?” Nana’s voice sharpened like a whip crack.
I grimaced. “Yes. I think he asked her to be his girlfriend, and she said no.”
Nana’s jaw dropped, pure shock flooding her face. “Why would anyone say no to Clark?”
I couldn’t help smiling. “I know, right? He’s the best.”
“Oh, he didn’t get his heart broken, did he?”
“Not yet,” I said, chewing on my lip. “But I don’t think he knows she’s also seeing Brad Backleboff.”
Nana’s expression turned fierce. “You have to tell him, Anna. Clark could do so much better than someone who’d date that man, no matter how pretty she might be.” She smoothed the napkin on the table. “Plus, she’s Gloria’s niece.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That about sums it up.”
My phone dinged. I looked down, read the screen, and groaned.
“What is it?” Nana asked.
“I’ve got a settlement agreement going south,” I said, exhaling. “It’s over farmland outside the valley in a boundary line argument. I thought we had it handled.” I grabbed my purse. “I need to go. Can’t stay for lunch.”
Nana sipped her coffee, unruffled. “That’s okay. Do you know when I can look at that film of the fake leprechaun?”
“I’ll see if I can get a copy so we can go through it together,” I said. “Maybe you’ll recognize something the rest of us missed.”
She nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. “Good. I’d like to see what kind of fool copied my outfit. I worked very hard on it, and I love the stitching.”
I slid out of the booth, pausing halfway up. “I wish I had more news about the dynamite in your shop.”
She placed the napkin on her lap. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty confident we’ll get the boxes back.”
That stopped me. “You are? Why?”
A small shrug lifted her shoulders. “I think that young Cormac Coretti knows what he’s doing.”
That damn charmer. I kept my tone even. “Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know,” she said, eyes bright with something between amusement and faith. “There’s just something about him. He’s Irish.”
“Yeah, I caught that.”
Nana leaned forward slightly, her expression full of certainty. “You don’t trust him because you’re young. But I’m telling you, he has a lovely aura full of sparkles, light, and a little bit of mischief. Truly Irish.”
I wanted to hang my head but didn’t. “Okay, Nana. I’ll see you later.”
“All right, sweetheart. Are you going to make it tomorrow for the children’s pageant? There are new Irish jigs they’re performing.”
I winced. “It’s during work hours, but I’ll do my best.”
“Very good. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I kissed her cheek and then walked down the row of booths, passing the hum of voices and the smell of fried onions and coffee. At the far table, Brad Backleboff and Brooke Walton were still seated by the window, both pretending not to notice me.
“My grandmother refuses your plea offer,” I said dryly, stopping just long enough to make eye contact. “Hey, Brooke. How’s it hanging?”
She looked up, unimpressed. “Charming.”
Brad shook his head. “Your grandmother’s making a mistake.”
“See you in court, counselor.” I gave him a sharp smile and turned toward the counter.
Our mom perched on a stool, her pink dress looking perfectly pressed despite the chaos around her.
I slid an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, Mom.”
She looked up with a smile that softened everything. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Leaning closer, I kept my voice low. “Do you know why Nana and Nonna have never gotten along?”
The question caught her mid-sip. She blinked once. “No,” she said slowly. “They didn’t even speak to each other in town, like not a word, until after your dad and I had Donna. They were statues at our wedding.”
“So what was it?” I asked.
Mom shook her head. “No idea. I asked a few times when I was younger, but they both clammed up. Solid walls. Eventually, we all learned not to ask.” She set her cup down. “They’ve mellowed, though. They get along fine now and maybe even like each other.”