“How unfortunate,” she muttered. “Any other questions?”
I blew out air. “As you mentioned, Nick’s knife was found with the bodies. Any thoughts on that?”
Sandrine shrugged. “The boys have always owned hunting and fishing knives. Richard probably took it. Jerk.”
Not a bad response. I shoved my pen into my bag. “That’s it for now.”
She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “That’s it for business. Now, to the good stuff. I saw the ring.”
I livened up. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“It’s just beautiful,” Sandrine said. “Nick said he’s going to propose tonight, though I thought he should wait until Valentine’s Day.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I was thinking down by the lake with rose petals. But, apparently, it’s too cold, so he’s going for a romantic dinner tonight.”
“That’s what he said. At least he ordered from Tratto’s, which is most certainly romantic.” Sandrine winced. “I don’t know that Nicolo is a big-gesture type of guy.”
I chewed on my lip. “Yeah. Tessa’s not really a big-gesture person, either. Something romantic and simple.”
“They’re just a wonderful couple. We’ll be family, Anna.”
I smiled. “How wonderful, right?”
“Absolutely. But you’ll have to make sure Nick doesn’t end up in prison, won’t you?”
I sat back, sobering. “Yeah.” My body chilled. I really needed to get my hands on that autopsy report.
Chapter14
Idropped by the bakery on the way to the sheriff’s station and plopped a carton of homemade Valentine’s cookies, complete with frosting and sprinkles, in the bullpen before meandering back to Sheriff Franco’s office.
He looked up, his eyes zeroing in on the small plate I had brought him. “Cookies. What do you want, Anna?” he asked, reaching for the plate, nonetheless.
I handed the sweets over and settled myself in one of his chairs.
Franco had been the sheriff my entire life, and if anybody could be a doppelganger for Sam Elliott, it was him. His thick, white hair waved back from his hard-cut face, and like usual, he wore faded jeans and a plaid shirt. His cowboy hat perched on the credenza behind him.
“What do you know about the Basanelli case?” I asked.
He sighed and tapped on a series of papers spread across his desk. “I was just looking over it. The gossip’s all true, and I’m sure you’ve heard it.”
“Do you mind filling me in? I’m representing Sandrine,” I said.
Franco probably already knew I was representing the Basanellis, but Sandrine was a fixture in town and a sweetheart to boot. Sheriff Franco had protective instincts wider than the Montana sky.
“I’ve heard,” he said. “Several witnesses saw Richard and Imogen leaving in Richard’s rig that Friday night. They stopped at the Pig’s Tavern on the outskirts of town, drank a lot, and then got back into the truck and drove away.”
“The Pig’s Tavern?” I chewed on my lip. “Didn’t that burn down about ten years ago?”
“It sure did. Had a bunch of dollar bills stapled everywhere. Thing went up like kindling.” He shook his head. “It was an accidental fire, and Max—the owner—was a decent guy. He died a few years ago.”
I vaguely remembered Max from seeing him around town. I’d been too young to go to the bar before it burned down. “All right, so you have a bunch of witnesses who saw them safe after they left home. That’s significant.”
“Yeah.” Franco looked down at some hand-scrawled notes. “Richard was beat to shit, had a fat lip, a black eye, and some bruises around his neck. A couple of the witnesses reported that he was moving slow, too, like he had broken ribs. When asked about it, he claimed he got into a scuffle with some out-of-towner at the gas station.”
“Was that ever corroborated?” I asked, already knowing how Richard had gotten the crap beat out of him.
Franco sat back. “No. I never found anybody to corroborate it. However, Richard was known to get into fights once in a while, so it wasn’t a shock. Do you know something I don’t?”
