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)
“Actually, I hope you’re not,” he replied, flipping through a file. “If your grandma refuses a plea, I’ll take her to trial and put her in prison for a long time. Poisoning someone’s pie is dangerous business. I’d love to try her on the psychedelic mushroom case, too, but the feds will probably step in.”
I stood. “Well, it was nice not reaching an agreement with you.”
“Ditto,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll call Brooke right now. I’m sure she’ll explain appropriately.”
Grabbing my bag and the packet of protein powder, I turned and left without another word. Would Nana hold up in a trial? Sure, she seemed strong, but she wasn’t young.
The hallway felt colder than before. I wound through the building, my heels striking hard against the marble floor, walked outside, and descended the courthouse steps.
Cormac Coretti stood waiting at the bottom. His black coat hung open, his stance casual but alert.
“Hi,” I said, stopping two steps above him. “What are you doing here?”
“I was waiting for you.”
I shook my head. “How did you know I was here?”
His grin curved slow, minus the dimple. “I find people. And things.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes. I have a line on your grandmother’s silver boxes.”
That caught my attention. “You do?”
“I do.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
My pulse ticked faster. “What’s the line?”
He clicked his tongue. “Oh, no. I follow my own investigations. But remember, when I get them back, I’m invited to the family barbecue.”
I exhaled through my nose, half a sigh, half a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“True.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
I frowned. “Why don’t you just ask Donna out again?”
“She doesn’t seem inclined.” He said it without a trace of frustration, like rejection barely grazed him.
My gaze dropped to the street below. Brooke Walton strolled past, her hand looped through Henry Johnston’s as they headed toward my sister’s restaurant. The sight made my brows rise.
Cormac followed my look. “They’re an odd pair.”
“She’s testing the field,” I said.
“Maybe she just hasn’t found what she wants.”
My focus stayed on the couple a moment longer. “Maybe not.”
“Henry’s a process server, right?”
I didn’t question how Cormac knew that fact. “Yes. I think he also wants to open a detective agency now.”
Cormac shook his head, looking tough as the storm gathered around him. “Everyone wants to be a detective. It’s not that easy. You need a gift for it.”
“Oh, do you?” I met his gaze. “You really think you can find those boxes?”
“Like I said, I have a line on them.” He shifted his weight. “Also have some bad news. The CCTV from the hospital doesn’t show who stole the silver boxes from your father’s vehicle. He parked in a blank spot, probably on accident.”
Of course it was an accident. My gaze narrowed.
Cormac lifted a hand. “Honest. It’s the truth. Sorry.”
Why was he so believable? We’d see. Aiden was also getting that CCTV.
Cormac shrugged. “Even so, I’ll find them. I promise.”
“All right.” I gave in gracefully. “Nana wants them back, so if you find and return them, I’ll invite you to one family Sunday night barbecue. Just one.”
The wind picked up and ruffled his brown hair. “I only need one,” he said easily. “Ms. Albertini, how’s Devlin doing? I heard he dropped hard in court earlier.”
There really were no secrets in Silverville. “He’s in the hospital, but he’s fine.”
Cormac nodded. “I knew that. I also know he’s planning to get discharged around five.” He checked his watch. “You’ve got time to pick him up.”
I gaped at him. “How do you even know that?”
“Like I said,” he replied, that grin settling back in. “I find people. And things.” That line rolled off his tongue like a practiced truth. He looked good in another cable-knit sweater, this one deep green, paired with faded jeans and black motorcycle boots.
My gaze caught on the boots. “You have a motorcycle?”
“Of course I have a motorcycle.”
It suited him. Something about the calm voice and sharp eyes fit the image perfectly.
“Does your sister like to ride?” he asked.
“You’ll have to ask her that.” Yet he did seem to know a lot about the town. I should make use of that fact. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the latest fiasco with my grandmother.”
“Of course. Psychedelic mushrooms.” His laugh came low and genuine. “They’re meant to calm the system, not send anyone on a trip. I haven’t done much research yet, but I know that much.” He waved a hand like the details bored him. “There are tons of companies selling health mushrooms right now. A few disguise the psychedelic kind, microdosed. It’s supposed to help with focus and mood, but the feds haven’t caught up.”
I swallowed. “You ever try them?”
“Heck no. I leave my brain alone. It’s perfect the way it is.”
The seriousness in his tone almost broke my composure. I started to laugh, then stopped when I realized he meant every word. “Well,” I said, smiling anyway, “that must be nice.”