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)
So we walked. The four of us, Sheriff Franco, Deputy McCracken, Nana, and I, made our slow, ridiculous parade through Silverville’s main street. The air smelled of warm dirt and spring rain, and the river roared faintly in the background.
A handful of townspeople stopped what they were doing to stare. Some pressed faces to shop windows, others leaned out car doors. A few honked as if cheering on a parade float.
Nana waved at every single one of them. “Morning,” she called, smiling like she was on her way to brunch.
I could feel my blood pressure spike. This couldn’t be happening.
We reached the courthouse steps, climbed them, and walked through the double doors into the small magistrate courtroom. Judge Wallowby was already waiting behind the bench, a sharp-nosed man pushing ninety with eyes so blue they almost glowed.
Brad Backleboff, wearing a dark suit and red tie, stood at the prosecutor’s table, looking smug enough to curdle milk.
“Hey, Judge,” Nana said cheerfully, waving.
“Hello,” Judge Wallowby said formally, ignoring the fact that she’d just greeted him like a friend at the grocery store.
We took our seats at the defendant’s table. The judge called the case, read the charges, and went through her rights like he’d done it a thousand times.
Brad straightened. “Your Honor, we would like the defendant held without bond.”
I couldn’t stop the snort that rumbled out of me.
Nana leaned closer. “What does that mean?” she whispered.
“It means you’d sit in a jail cell until trial.”
Her face paled.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered back. “It’s not going to happen.”
I rose from my chair. “Judge, that’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard. Fiona O’Shea is a pillar of this community. She’s opening a new shop this Saturday, and she has family all over town. She’s not going anywhere.”
Brad’s jaw tightened. “The defendant has lucrative financial holdings and could flee. She’s charged with recklessly poisoning food, and she could have killed someone.”
“With my lotion?” Nana said, aghast. “That wouldn’t kill anybody. You could eat that stuff, it’s so natural.”
“Nana,” I said under my breath. “Don’t talk.”
“I didn’t do it, Judge,” she added quickly. “I thought I should make that clear.”
The judge rubbed his temple. “Thank you, Mrs. O’Shea. Please let your attorney speak for you.”
“Oh. Sorry, Judge.” Nana clasped her hands together.
I took a deep breath. “Your Honor, my client isn’t going anywhere. She’s ready to fight these ridiculous charges and has every intention of staying in town.”
The judge looked down at his notes, sighed, and finally said, “The defendant will be released on her own recognizance.”
“What does that mean?” Nana whispered.
“It means you get to go home,” I said quietly.
Her delight returned immediately. “That’s a relief. Let’s get this over with.”
The judge nodded. “We’ll need a preliminary hearing for probable cause. What’s everyone’s schedule?”
“As soon as possible, Judge,” I said.
“Fair enough. June first,” he said.
Brad flipped through his planner. “I’m busy that day, Judge. That whole week, actually.”
“Too bad,” Judge Wallowby said. “That’s when it’s set. If you can’t make it, send someone else from your office.”
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. The judge didn’t like this circus any more than I did, and that gave me some hope, even if we somehow ended up in trial.
“That’s it for today.” The judge slammed the gavel and stood. “If there are any preliminary matters, file them. Otherwise, we’re done.” He stormed out, his bailiff trailing close behind.
Brad gathered his papers with a stiff smile and walked over to me. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Pretty sure,” I said flatly.
“Good,” he replied, handing me a folded sheet of paper. “I haven’t filed this yet, but here’s your copy.”
I unfolded it and scanned the first line. “What is this?”
“It’s a motion to move the venue. I want this case out of Silverville,” he said.
My stomach sank, and I couldn’t even blame him. “You want to move the venue to Timber City?”
“Oh, hell no,” Brad said, smug as ever. “I want to move it to Boise.”
“Boise?” Nana hissed. “All the way down south?”
He nodded. “Exactly. Somewhere nobody’s ever heard of the O’Sheas or Albertinis.” He tucked his papers into his briefcase, gave us both a polite smile, and walked out like he’d just won a prize.
Nana exhaled hard. “Is there a chance he’ll get this?”
“Probably,” I muttered.
Nana hooked her arm through mine as we walked outside and down the sidewalk to the sheriff’s office with Franco and McCracken following behind. “That man needs help, but all right, sweetie, let’s go home.” Her mood hadn’t dimmed one bit, and I didn’t have the heart to ruin it. But this was bad.
I opened the car door for her, the metal warm under my hand. As an attorney, I technically had to follow my client’s instructions, but I was definitely meeting with Zippy O’Bellini that afternoon.