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 yes,” Cormac said, his tone far too cheerful. “There were definitely pictures taken, but I didn’t see that reporter anywhere near here.”
“What reporter?” I tried to keep my voice level.
His eyes twinkled. “Jolene O’Sullivan, I believe her name is. She often catches you in… interesting situations.”
This guy really did his homework. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Just a guy looking for treasure,” he said, and his gaze slid toward Donna. If I wasn’t mistaken, she actually blushed.
My grandmothers exchanged a look over my head that could’ve launched a thousand conspiracies.
Before I could ask another question, the outer door jangled open and heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. A moment later, Detective Grant Pierce appeared on the other side of the bars.
He was dressed down in jeans and a gray sweatshirt, his dark blond hair rumpled, and his green eyes radiating barely contained irritation. The smell of rain and coffee clung to him, and I would’ve bet money someone had just dragged him out of bed.
“You got in a food fight at the Clumsy Penguin?” he asked, directing the question squarely at me.
I gulped. “I’m pretty sure I was just an observer on this one.”
“Yes, it’s true,” Nonna said suddenly, standing up and walking toward the bars. “Detective Pierce, it’s good to see you again. This one is my fault.”
“And mine,” Nana added, popping up beside her like they were synchronized swimmers.
I looked at Donna. If those two ever stayed united for more than five minutes, civilization might not survive it. Nana was at least six inches shorter than Nonna, but their posture was identical with straight backs, lifted chins, and twin looks of indignant pride.
Pierce sighed, long and hard, then turned toward the other cell. “Which one of you is Zippy?”
Zippy stood, brushing flour from his sleeves. “That would be me.”
“You’re a lawyer, right?” Pierce asked.
“I am.”
Pierce didn’t look amused. “My officer said you want to press charges.”
Zippy looked at Cormac, then at all of us, then down at the floor. “As an officer of the court, I’ve decided not to press charges.”
“There you go,” Cormac said, standing and clapping him on the back hard enough to make Zippy stumble forward.
Pierce’s expression didn’t change. “What kind of name is Zippy, anyway?”
“My mother was whimsical,” Zippy said with a shrug.
“Can you let us out?” I asked, hopeful.
Pierce glanced around the cells. “Anyone here planning to press charges?”
We all shook our heads.
“I spoke with Luanne over at the Clumsy Penguin,” he said, “and she also doesn’t want to press charges so long as you all agree to split the cleaning costs.”
“Gladly,” Nana said at once.
“I totally agree,” Nonna murmured. “We might have made a bit of a mess.”
Nonna looked down at her clothes and then at Nana. “These things happen, Fiona.”
“They do,” Nana agreed. She put an arm around Nonna’s waist, and my stomach dropped.
“Oh no.” I glanced at Donna, and she looked just as alarmed.
Nonna smiled sweetly at Pierce. “I don’t know if you knew this, Fiona, but Detective Grant Pierce here has both Italian and Irish in his lineage.”
Pierce froze mid-step, color creeping up his neck.
“Really?” Nana asked, her accent deepening. “How did you know that?”
“I did a genealogy study on him,” Nonna said proudly. “Back when he kept arresting Anna. I thought there might be a romance there, but I got that one wrong.”
Nana’s smile turned full Irish. “Aiden is the right one for her, and he’s so Irish. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a bit of Italian in his background too.”
Nonna nodded solemnly. “I can see that.”
The sound of Pierce’s sigh filled the cell block. He looked like a man who wished he had called in sick.
“You did get Nick Basanelli for Tessa,” Nana offered magnanimously.
“Yes,” Nonna said. “But he has some Irish in him. Mainly Italian, but there’s a little Irish.”
“That’s good to hear,” Nana said cheerfully.
Cormac stared at both of them, then looked at Donna and finally at Pierce. He blinked slowly, as if trying to process the unique chaos.
Nonna smiled, pure mischief glinting in her eyes. “Detective Pierce, I would love it if you came over for one of our family barbecues. You could escort Donna.”
I swear, Pierce paled two full shades. He was a great guy, steady as a stone wall, but he’d once told me he’d rather be shot, stabbed, and set on fire before dating an Albertini. I tilted my head, peering around my grandmothers at him. “Donna very rarely gets into trouble like I do,” I said.
Pierce snorted. “She gets into the same kind of mess about seventy percent of the time.”
“Seventy percent?” Cormac asked, glancing at Donna and then at Pierce. “That seems like a lot.”
Pierce threw his head back and laughed, the sound filling the station. “You have no idea. Who are you again?” he asked after a beat, still chuckling.