“Whoa.” Nick stared intently at a place over the judge’s right shoulder. “Ah, Judge? We need you to sign a warrant.”
“Crazy people out late at night.” The judge moved back and grabbed a white woven blanket off what looked like a Damask decorated sofa. He wrapped it around his waist. “Who in tarnation are you?”
Nick looked up. “Nicolo Basanelli, and I’m the current prosecutor for Elk County.”
The judge looked at me and scratched the salt and pepper whiskers on his sagging chin. “You, I know. Alberto, right?”
“Albertini,” I murmured, trying not to stare at his bare chest, which was covered with pink flowers from a marker that smelled like blueberries. They were upside down as if he’d drawn them himself, which he must have. “Anna Albertini, Judge.”
“Huh.” The judge shook his head, and the tassels danced around him. “Whatta you want?”
“Warrant. Two, actually.” Nick took the papers from my chest and handed them over. “Sorry to awaken you.”
The judge squinted down at the first document. “You want to search the residence of Melvin Whitaker.” He read through the application, hummed a bit, and handed it back. “Nope.”
It was the first time I’d seen Nick speechless. So, I stepped in. “Excuse us, Judge?”
The judge shook his head again, and the wild tassels caught my gaze. “You don’t have enough. Some kid who’s dead might or might not live there? What proof do you have that the deceased lived with his uncle?”
I cleared my throat. “The deceased gave me a piece of paper to find him at his new address, which is Melvin Whitaker’s address. We also have the statement of Melvin’s neighbor, Thelma Mullens, who said that Randy lived with his uncle.”
The judge narrowed his faded blue eyes. “Where’s the affidavit of the neighbor attesting to that fact?”
Geez. Come on. I sighed. “We don’t have an affidavit.” Although Thelma would probably love to be part of the case. “I talked to her, and I’ve sworn to it in my affidavit. I am an officer of the court, Judge.”
“I know who you are, Alberto!” he thundered. “Get me the affidavit, and I’ll sign the warrant. If that’s all—” He clutched the door.
“No.” Nick wedged his foot in and then winced as the judge pushed. “We have another warrant application, Judge.” He handed over the other papers and managed to kick the door open a little more, pushing the judge back a couple of feet.
The judge frowned and read over the papers, drawing them up to his face. “Cheryl Smythers.” He glanced up. “What kind of name is Smythers? It’s not even spelled right. There should be an ‘i’ instead of ‘y.’ Who spells their name like this?”
I couldn’t find an answer. The judge was really losing it. “She was in possession of drugs, Judge.”
The judge rubbed his whiskers again, reading the papers. “At her place of work. Where’s your proof that she has drugs at her personal abode?”
Okay. The guy did know the law, even though he was crackers. “It just seems likely,” I said, not sounding sure.
The judge slapped the papers back at Nick. “Get me probable cause, Basanelli, and I’ll give you a warrant. If you come here at night again, this late, bring me a fuckin’ ice cream cone.” Then he slammed the door.
I gulped.
Nick let loose with an impressive litany of swear words strung together in Italian, reminding me of my dad trying to fix his carburetor. There was nothing like a string of fierce Italian expletives. He ended with a nice ‘fucking tassels.’
I glanced his way. “You know, he wasn’t wrong.”
“I know,” Nick said grimly, turning to go back to my car. “We’ll get that affidavit from your witness tomorrow, or rather, later today, so the police can at least search Whitaker’s house. For now, you’ll have to drop me off at home on your way.”
I paused at the base of the steps as the night grabbed hold of me. I’d seen a dead body. What if Aiden was at my cottage again? While I didn’t fear him, whether I should or not, I didn’t want to see him right now. “How about you drop me off at my sister’s and just bring my car to work tomorrow?”
He paused and looked over his shoulder at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” This time of year, I rarely stayed alone, anyway. I glanced at my watch, seeing it was now the next day. Tuesday. One day before I’d receive the anniversary note. My stomach lurched, and my head began to hurt. The note would arrive, I’d deal with it, and then the gate would open for six months more of breathing easily. Until the next note. “She lives over Smiley’s Diner on Main Street.” I tossed him the keys; my hands suddenly too shaky to drive.
He caught them in one hand, cool guy style. “All right. Let’s go.”
* * *
I’d calledTessa on my way up her stairs so she wouldn’t shoot me when I used my key. The smell of the diner, eggs and bacon, wafted through the ceiling, and I took a deep breath. When was the last time I’d eaten? Was it only the night before? So much had happened. My stomach rumbled.
