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)
The crowd instantly scrambled away.
Nana O’Shea looked like she wanted to argue, but the thought scattered across her face before it took root. She was still rattled from the explosion and, maybe, still thrown by Nonna defending her earlier. The two women shared a long look, something cautious passing between them. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted them to be united. That force scared the crap out of everyone I knew.
We remained in place.
The air smelled of burned wood and something metallic. Ash drifted down like gray snowflakes, settling on the green banners and shamrock balloons still bobbing around in the wind.
Nonna squinted toward the smoke. “Aiden? Do you need Three Hens on this?”
I gulped. The last thing anyone needed was Nonna’s new detective agency anywhere near actual dynamite. The Hens could handle a missing cat or a shady boyfriend, but high explosives? Not their genre.
Aiden’s blue eyes glittered against the hazy spring light, all steel and calm competence. “Thank you, but no, Mrs. Albertini,” he said, voice low but threaded with authority that made even Nonna blink and take a step back. Then his gaze cut to me, sharp and direct with no room for argument. “Take your grandmothers back to the stage. Away from here. Now.”
Yeah, he was bossy. Usually I liked that about him. Well, sometimes.
“What about you?” I asked, my pulse doing stupid things.
“Calling for backup,” he said, already moving toward the smoking debris.
The sheriff lumbered up beside him, brushing powdered sugar off his flannel like it might help. “You telling me somebody set charges in my town?” His gravelly voice carried over the murmurs from the disappearing crowd.
Aiden crouched near the blackened patch of earth, one hand brushing aside a twisted bit of wire. “Not charges, exactly,” he said, gaze on the debris. “Looks like old commercial dynamite. Maybe forty years. Whoever planted it didn’t know what they were doing. The blasting caps weren’t seated right, and the line wasn’t even connected.”
The sheriff leaned closer, peering over his shoulder. “So it’s not live?”
“Not anymore,” Aiden said. “It’s sweating nitro, so I wouldn’t go poking it with a stick, but I kicked the ignition flare delayed blasting caps, and firing leads clear. There’s no continuity left in the wire. It’s effectively dead.”
The sheriff gave a slow nod, jaw tight. “That’s a relief. I’d hate to evacuate the whole town again. Last time we lost half the funnel cakes to raccoons.”
Aiden didn’t even crack a smile. “Still, we clear the area until the Explosive Detonation Unit gets here from Spokane. They’re on the way. I don’t want anyone breathing this residue or stepping on stray shrapnel. Plus, the dynamite is unstable. Evacuate for a couple of blocks, Sheriff.” His voice remained calm and clinical, but the tension around his jaw told me he was running through worst-case scenarios anyway.
Two deputies were already stringing yellow crime scene tape around the smoldering section of street. Aiden gave them a nod, then turned back to us, one brow arched.
I gulped, not wanting to physically pull my Nana away.
She shivered and stared at him. “If the dynamite had gone off, would the entire shop have been destroyed?”
His gaze softened. “The entire block might’ve been in trouble, Mrs. O’Shea.”
She clucked. “Now, Aiden. I told you to call me Nana.” Yeah, she was hoping that Irish hottie would make an honest woman of me.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, turning to me again. “I’ll need to interview all of you later today.” Man, those eyes could talk. “Go,” he said quietly. “Now.” With that tone, the one that sounded like both a command and a promise, I moved, gently turning Nana toward Nonna. “Let’s go back to the pies.”
The sheriff stalked toward us. “Since the ATF is taking over the situation here until the EDU arrives, I’ll interview you about your shop now, Fiona.”
Gloria leaned her bulk around the building, only her head and shoulders visible. “And about my pie, Sheriff,” she yelled.
Sheriff Franco sighed. “Yeah. About the pies and lotion as well.”
Crap.
I’d spent more than my fair share of time lately in Sheriff Franco’s office—ever since I became a lawyer. Sure, I usually worked in the larger Timber City, but I’d grown up in Silverville, which was sixty miles through a mountain pass. I settled into a chair next to Nana as she once again claimed she hadn’t put lotion into Gloria’s pie.
Sheriff Franco sat back in his beaten leather chair, long and lean, his eyes a sharp even at his age. Pictures of his family and softball teams lined the bookcases behind him. We’d already been in his office for more than an hour, and he’d worked up to the questioning, going from the explosives to the lotion and back. Was he trying to keep Nana off balance?
If so, it was working. I totally felt off balance.