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)
Happily, I sat and pulled out the drawers, noting he’d filled them with the contents of my other desk. The one not nearly as beautiful as this one.
I loved my family.
Twin candles burned in my bookcase across the room, filling the space with the scent of vanilla. I kind of liked it. My phone buzzed. “Anna Albertini.”
“Hi. It’s Sheriff Franco.”
I sat back in my newish leather chair. “Hi, Sheriff. Did you find the thief of Nana’s boxes?”
“No. Not yet. Devlin has the CCTV for the entire town, and he’ll share if they find anything. For now, I need to let you know that Gloria Walton has filed a criminal complaint against Fiona O’Shea.”
I tensed. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“I wish.” For the first time, he sounded as if he’d lived all of those years that showed on his face. “I already interviewed her, so I don’t feel it necessary to do so again. Plus, I’m sure her attorney would object.”
“She surely would,” I agreed. “This can’t be serious.”
He was quiet long enough I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. “I think it’s incredibly stupid, but the prosecuting attorney has already called me.”
Oh, absolutely not. “We have got to get Backleboff out of office,” I snapped. Brad Backleboff had moved to small town Silverville from California, gotten divorced, and then run for Gem County prosecuting attorney. Nobody had been paying attention, and the guy actually won. He seemed to just want to make a name for himself.
“Maybe.” A chair creaked over the line as it sounded like the sheriff sat in his old leather chair.
I wanted to sputter. “You can’t tell me you’re going to arrest her.”
“Nope. Not without an arrest warrant, which I have no intention of obtaining right now.”
I sat back, my mind reeling. “What is the possible crime?” This was out of my experience.
“Gloria swore out her statement first thing this morning. Says Fiona O’Shea intentionally contaminated her entry, and Backleboff claims that it was food tampering under Idaho Code § 37-115.”
I rubbed at my forehead and quickly typed the statute into my computer, bringing it up and reading quickly. “That’s absurd, Sheriff. There’s no evidence, no pie, and no intent. It’s a misdemeanor statute, and even if it weren’t, the concoction was thrown out after the contest.”
“I told her that,” he said. “She didn’t care, especially since Brad Backleboff’s hovering like it’s Christmas morning.”
Of course he was.
“Backleboff’s been waiting for something like this,” I muttered. “I think I’ve only met him once, but I didn’t like his eyes. Too beady.”
Franco gave a tired laugh. “He told me this could be his ‘public integrity moment.’ I almost choked on my coffee.”
I rolled my eyes. “That idiot tried to charge my sister for a murder that she was nowhere near committing.” Poor Tessa had been worried, and Backleboff hadn’t even been in town. He’d tried to order his staff from vacation.
“Yes. He’s been telling anyone who’ll listen that his career got stalled because of small-town interference. You cleared Tessa, and he hasn’t forgotten it. He’s determined to find a case he can’t lose.”
“So he’s going after a sweet woman who sells lotion,” I said flatly.
“That’s the one,” Franco said. “He’s calling it a matter of public trust in community events. Thinks he can stretch Idaho Code § 18-7001 for malicious injury to property.”
I snorted. “Gloria’s pie was property now?”
“Apparently. He says the lotion destroyed it, therefore it’s criminal mischief. You can’t make this up.”
I exhaled through my teeth. The guy was itching for a fight, and I was more than ready to go to the mat. Nobody railroaded Nana. “He’s trying to climb his way out of Gem County, and the idiot thinks that Nana is his ladder.”
“Pretty much,” Franco said. “He’s already talking to the paper.”
I stared at the candles, the scent of vanilla suddenly too sweet. “It’s stupid and unfair, but there’s kind of a case since Nana admitted in front of the entire crowd that the lotion was probably hers.”
“Exactly,” Franco said. “Backleboff wants to file for an arrest warrant if he can find a magistrate willing to sign a warrant.”
My stomach lurched. “Which one?”
“That’s the funny part,” Franco said. “Both judges have been scarce lately. One’s hunting, the other’s visiting his sister in Butte. Nobody’s in chambers, and nobody’s answering their phones.”
“Smart men,” I said.
“Self-preserving,” he corrected. “Nobody wants to be the one who signs an arrest warrant for Fiona O’Shea over a pie.”
I ground my palm into my right eye. Was there a migraine coming my way? “What can I do?”
He was silent for a moment. “Get ready to defend her, and hopefully Aiden and I will have good news soon. Maybe the CCTV will show somebody going into the Elks to inject lotion into that pie.”
“Hopefully.” I wasn’t sure there was enough CCTV around Silverville. “I appreciate you giving me a heads-up.”