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)
“How about you?” He took a drink of his latte. “You’re the one whose Nana is about to be arrested.”
“True,” I said, picking up my coffee. “I’ll head over to Silverville around noon.”
Clark’s expression tightened. “That’s unbelievable. Is there anything I can do?”
It never hurt to plan ahead. “If either this or the civil case gets to trial, I’ll definitely need a second chair.”
He sat forward, already game. “You’ve got it. They won’t know what hit them.”
I smiled. “Thanks. You have any interesting cases going on?”
He shuffled a few papers before answering. “Got a new timber trespass case up in Bonner County with two neighbors at each other’s throats. Also some new CCNRs for the subdivision your sister’s selling.”
“That sounds like fun,” I said. “I don’t know much about it, but that area overlooking Lilac Lake will sell well.”
“It certainly looks like it,” he said. “The CCNRs are going to be strict. We don’t want any bright purple houses, or even white ones, that mess with the natural beauty.”
I leaned back in the chair. “I’m so glad to hear that. Did you see the jackass who put a white house up on Canfield Mountain?”
Canfield Mountain overlooked the entire Timber City, and someone had actually built a blinding white house smack in the middle of it. We’d all grown up looking at trees, and now there was a glowing beacon of bad taste cutting through the green.
Clark grimaced. “Yeah, I saw it. Jerks. Also, thanks for the latte.”
His phone buzzed on the desk.
“Anytime.” I stood and slipped out of his office and walked down the hall to Pauley’s. He was typing at his computer, wearing a red-and-white striped shirt and tan dockers. “Pauley, I brought you a steamed milk if you’d like it.”
He looked up, his brown hair perfectly in place. “I would like it.”
Taking that as permission, I walked in and placed the cup on his desk. “Do you have any news for me?”
He reached for the latte and held it in one hand. “I do,” he said. “Actually, a few things.”
I took a sip of my chai latte with its almond milk, a little sweet. I always went for the sweetness. “Hit me.”
Pauley grabbed his notepad. “Gloria Walton grew up in Silverville, owns an optometry business with her husband, and has been a Lady Elk forever. She played softball and volleyball when she was young, got married at twenty, still married now. There’s really nothing remarkable about her that would make me think she’d go after our Nana this way.”
“That’s what I’ve got too,” I said. “What about her niece, Brooke?”
He flipped a page. “Brooke Walton. Grew up in Illinois, moved to Montana, has a degree in psychology, and is considering opening a practice in Silverville.”
“Really?” I drank deeper. “I didn’t know that.”
Pauley nodded. “Yes. She’s never been married and she has a clean criminal record.”
I raised a brow. “You know she dated Clark?”
“Yes, I did know that,” he said evenly, gaze on his notes.
I shifted my stance. “What about Zippy O’Bellini?”
“Same as before,” Pauley said. “He’s an attorney, very successful. He has worked on several high-profile criminal cases where he defended his clients well, and he’s got a solid civil practice. Personal injury, defamation, slander. He wins, Anna. He’s got a great record.”
I took another drink. “Is he married?”
“He became divorced ten years ago. As far as I could find, he has two kids, both living in Missouri near his ex-wife.”
“How old are they?” I asked.
Pauley looked up. “Old.” Then he grimaced. “I mean, forties and fifties. They all live in the same town.”
I frowned. “You’re telling me there’s no dirt on him?”
“None. Absolutely nothing I could find.”
“Well, that’s too bad. What about Cormac?”
Pauley put down the notebook. “Again, nothing,” he said, frustration creeping into his tone. “I could find nothing about him. You might need to ask Aiden to run a government check.”
“Seriously?” Although I’d already done just that.
“Seriously. There’s no social media, no mentions anywhere. I even checked newspaper archives and the databases I can legally access.”
This wasn’t looking good. “That’s odd.”
“Yeah.”
I turned toward the hall. “Okay, well, thanks, Pauley. Oh, wait—what about Brad Backleboff?”
Pauley shook his head. “Nothing new or interesting. Just Silverville gossip.”
“Great,” I muttered, heading back to my office. I sat at my desk, booted up my computer, and answered a few client emails before my phone buzzed. “Hey, Oliver,” I said, picking up.
“Thank you for the latte,” he said. “Did you have the extra protein powder added?”
“I certainly did.” He was taking his workouts seriously these days.
He cleared his throat. “Great. I need to talk to you later today.”
“All right, I’ll try to catch you. I’m heading out for Silverville around lunchtime. For now, what’s up?”
His tone turned more formal. “You have someone here to see you.”
“All right. Bring ‘em back.”
A moment later, Oliver opened the door, and Henry Johnston walked in wearing an ill-fitting blue suit that had seen better decades. The green-and-white striped tie might’ve been a leftover from the seventies.