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)
“I can take you to the hospital here real quick.” The one in Silverville wasn’t much compared to Timber City’s, but it existed.
“I’m fine.”
We pulled up to the sheriff’s station, the tires splashing through a shallow puddle before I parked. The old brick building looked solid with the flag snapping lazily in the breeze.
Sheriff Franco stood at the top of the steps, cane in hand, guiding Nana toward the door. My heart eased a little when I saw she wasn’t cuffed and that Bampa was right by her side.
I hustled out of the car and hurried to hug her. Her long wool coat smelled faintly of lavender and rain.
“Hello, dear.” She rose on her toes to kiss my cheek, then her eyes went wide as she looked beyond me. “Aiden Devlin, you are not supposed to be out of the hospital.”
He winced. Nobody wanted to face my grandmother’s wrath. She was too sweet when she got angry. That combination was terrifying.
“I came in to make sure you were okay.” He limped around the car and up the wet sidewalk. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head.
Her hands fluttered. “Oh dear. I’m fine. I’m sure this is just a big mistake.”
I looked at Sheriff Franco’s face—jaw locked, eyes hard. Oh no. This wasn’t good.
The door to the station opened, and Jolene O’ Sullivan stepped out, her gaze taking in everyone. She wore gray slacks pressed to perfection, maroon boots gleaming under the weak light, and a matching sweater that hugged her narrow frame. Smooth blonde hair framed her pretty face, and she practically purred with satisfaction.
“Now really, Mrs. O’Shea,” she said, her phone raised and the microphone glowing red. “Wouldn’t you like to defend yourself?”
My temper snapped, heat rolling up my spine. Aiden’s hand shot out and caught my arm, the very one I would’ve swung with. Probably a good thing. “We have no comment. Leave us alone,” I said.
“Oh, please. It’s not every day that a pillar of the community gets caught selling shrooms.” Jolene’s voice dripped with glee, her perfect smile sharp as glass.
Aiden smoothly stepped between us, putting his back to her. “What’s going on now?” he asked Sheriff Franco.
“We’re going in front of the judge, just like last time,” Nana said, looking at me. “Honestly, Anna, I had no idea—”
“Nana.” I cut her off, jerking my chin toward Jolene, who still had her phone aimed. “Please don’t speak right now.”
Nana pressed her lips together and then gave me a slow, unapologetic wink.
My head dropped a little. I’d wanted Nana to be terrified, just a little, but she wasn’t. Then I caught the faint pinch at the corners of her eyes, that tiny tightening she couldn’t hide. Okay. She was taking this seriously and just trying to reassure me.
“What are the chances?” I asked Sheriff Franco, knowing he’d understand what I meant about bail.
He shrugged. “Dunno. Okay, let’s go.”
That didn’t sound good. I brushed hair out of my eyes. “How’d you get a judge to come in so fast?”
“I called in more favors,” Franco said quietly, voice low so Jolene couldn’t catch it. He tightened his grip on the cane and pressed into it, pain flickering across his face. I nearly told him to turn around, but that would’ve gone about as well as telling Nana to skip dessert. We headed down the sidewalk toward the courthouse.
The rain had left the air fresh and cold, the faint scent of cedar and wet stone clinging to everything. Silverville’s courthouse rose at the end of the block, a proud holdover from the mining boom, its marble steps slick underfoot. We made our way up to the district court instead of the magistrate one we’d visited last time.
Inside the bigger courtroom, the place still carried a ghost of wealth and ambition. White marble veined with gray lined the walls, and the carved cedar trim glowed golden under the overhead lights. Dust motes drifted in the colored beams of sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows, turning the air almost holy.
Our footsteps echoed as we walked up front, where Brad Backleboff already waited at the prosecutor’s table. He wore a slick gray suit with a silver tie that probably cost too much, and his blond hair was combed back into perfect arrogance.
He smirked. “I’m willing to plead this out.”
“Let’s get this over with,” I said, sliding into my seat beside Nana.
Bampa, Aiden, the sheriff, and Jolene all found seats behind us on benches.
Judge Mahoney strode in, her black robe whispering over marble. Thick dark hair framed a face ruled by sharp brown eyes that missed nothing. She worked throughout the five northern counties of Idaho, and whatever town she called home, Silverville didn’t make the list. She settled into her chair and perched her spectacles on her nose before reading the charges. Nana entered her plea, calm as ever, while Brad immediately requested that she be held at the jail.