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)
My phone dinged, cutting through the steady sound of the outside drizzle. “Hey, Oliver.”
“Hi. There’s a Brad Backleboff here to see you, Miss Albertini.”
I sat a little straighter in my chair. “All right. Bring him back, would you?”
“Absolutely, ma’am.” He clicked off.
I took a deep breath to keep from slamming the phone into the cradle. If he wanted to call me Miss Albertini, fine. But ma’am? That was a no-go. It made me feel ancient, and I wasn’t even close.
A moment later, Oliver appeared with Brad and lingered in the doorway. “Can I get either of you anything?”
“No, I’m good,” Brad said.
“Thank you, Oliver,” I added.
Oliver’s eyes twinkled as he closed the door behind him. I’d handle the ma’am situation later.
“Have a seat, Brad,” I offered.
He crossed the room and sank into one of the guest chairs, moving with easy confidence. Today he wore gray slacks and a white shirt open at the collar, no tie.
He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with darker blond hair and sharp brown eyes that scanned our environment. Taller than me and polished, in that big-city-prosecutor kind of way, he seemed comfortable in my office. His briefcase gleamed where he set it on the floor, the leather smooth and expensive. His loafers were definitely Italian.
“This is a surprise.” I was suddenly glad I’d chosen a blue skirt suit today, with a green-and-blue shell under the jacket. It worked for both the office and St. Patrick’s week.
“I’m here with a plea.” He settled in.
A plea? My stomach tightened.
“For your grandmother,” he added.
“Considering that’s the only case we have against each other, I figured,” I said lightly. “Last I heard, she hasn’t been charged.”
He nodded once. “I’m still trying to obtain an arrest warrant. It’s funny how small towns sometimes work against an honest citizen.”
If he only knew my Nana, he’d realize how ridiculous that sounded. “If you understood her at all, which apparently you don’t, you’d know she would never sabotage anybody’s pie.”
He leaned forward slightly, the movement calm but calculated. “She admitted in front of too many witnesses that the ingredients in Ms. Walton’s pie included her lotion.”
I stared at him. “She could’ve been wrong, and even if she wasn’t, there’s no proof she’s the person who injected it into the pie.” I refrained from noting that Gloria’s pie had probably sucked before being infused with peppermint lotion.
He nodded again, one side of his mouth quirking. It wasn’t a smile. “As you know, I could charge her with felony food tampering, which carries up to fifteen years in prison.”
My jaw tightened.
“Not to mention false pretenses, maybe reckless endangerment, even public nuisance. That’s just off the top of my head right now.”
“It’s all baloney, and I think you know that,” I said evenly, studying him.
His eyes widened a touch. “No, I don’t. The only person who would’ve put her own lotion in that pie was your grandmother. She always takes first place. Gloria second. This was Gloria’s year.”
I cocked my head. “Gloria, huh? You sure went from Ms. Walton to Gloria pretty quickly.”
His chin dipped, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ve been working with Ms. Walton for the past day, trying to craft a decent case. I find her kind and deeply hurt by your grandmother’s actions.”
“What’s the plea?” I asked, noting how highly irregular it was to make a plea offer before there was even an arrest warrant.
Brad folded his hands on his lap. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll drop the felony food tampering if she pleads guilty to misdemeanor deceptive practices, pays a two-thousand dollar fine, and accepts six months unsupervised probation.”
My mouth dropped open. I shut it before it could betray me and start spitting out Italian curses. “Are you insane?”
“I’m letting her off with no jail time. Give me a break, would you?” His brows knit down, creating a deep groove above his nose. “In addition, Fiona O’Shea has to sign a statement admitting she knowingly added a non-food substance to the contest entry.” He paused as if wanting the words to sink in. “And she agrees never to enter any baking contest in Silverville again.”
I fought the urge to hurl my stapler at his head. “You are insane.”
Brad sat up straighter, posture perfect. “I suggest you watch your words, Ms. Albertini. I would love a slander case.” The threat had a soft, polished edge.
I looked him over slowly. “Well, gee, Brad, considering there’s nobody here to hear that statement, I don’t see how you could possibly be damaged.” What a joke. I leveled my stare. “Tell you what. Go get that arrest warrant, and we’ll fight this out the right way, and just so you know, I will absolutely kick your ass.”
His face hardened. “I can make a strong case without additional evidence. I strongly advise your client to take my offer.” He rose then, gathering his briefcase with a quiet efficiency, and closed my door softly behind him.