The outside door opened again, and both Delores Jerky and Loretta Randsom marched into his office, wearing their Sunday best with heavy coats due to the late hour.
Flossy floundered. “Delores? What are you doing here? I called you at your quilting party to take care of my greenhouse. That’s all.”
Delores looked Brock right in the eye. “I killed Hank.”
Loretta elbowed her to the side. “That’s not true. I killed Hank because he was in so much pain and I liked him.”
Obviously, the town phone and radio tree had been initiated the second Flossy called Delores. Brock sighed.
Delores elbowed Loretta right back, knocking her into Christian, who steadied her with a small smile playing on his lips. “Not true. My friends are covering for me. Everybody in town knows that Flossy keeps that shotgun by her back door to scare the squirrels, and her back door is never locked. Many of us have borrowed it through the years, and I know my prints are on it for sure.”
That was all true. Even so, Brock frowned. “Ladies, I understand what you’re doing?—”
More footsteps, and then Amka marched in. “I shot Hank.”
“Crap,” Brock muttered.
Christian gently grasped her arm and pulled her away from the doorway, protecting her as more footsteps pounded down the hallway.
Gus and Janet from the diner arrived next, followed by half the town. Snowmobiles lit up the night outside, and soon people stood in every room of the station, confessing to shooting Hank. Finally, a moment of silence reigned.
“Sheriff?” yelled a timid voice from the area of the basement door.
Brock hung his head. “Yes, Amos?”
“I shot Hank.”
Ace burst out laughing. Damian snorted. Christian glanced outside as if he couldn’t handle being around so many people, yet he still covered Amka with his body. Nobody could breathe on the bartender without going around him.
“Everybody out,” Brock ordered. “You, too, Flossy.”
The elderly woman looked a little disappointed that he hadn’t slapped the cuffs on her. “But I confessed, Sheriff.”
“So did the rest of the town,” Brock said. He had no doubt plenty of fingerprints marred that shotgun, including his. He’d borrowed it a few times. “I’m going to turn this over to the state prosecutor, and Olly has to turn it over to the federal one, but I’d bet my cabin they won’t press charges and try to take this disaster to trial. Reasonable doubt is an understatement here.”
A few muffled cheers echoed throughout the station.
Brock glowered. “I feel like I should give everyone a lecture about justice and all of that, but I’m too damn tired.”
“Brock,” Flossy admonished. “Watch your language. You’re the sheriff, for goodness’ sake.”
Brock’s mouth dropped open. The woman had confessed to murder and now lectured him?
Christian chuckled.
Brock stilled. When had his brother last laughed?
Damian finally stood. “Drinks and food are on EVE at Sam’s Tavern. For the entire town.” He gestured everyone out amid much louder cheers. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “Family dinner tomorrow night at your cabin. See you there.”
Then the office emptied, save Brock and Ophelia.
“Come here,” he murmured, taking his seat.
She crossed around the desk and faltered. Even with the sling, she looked beautiful with her dark hair in a ponytail, and her blue sweater that matched her eyes. The jeans were dark, and the boots not warm enough for the winter. He’d have to rectify that.
He helped her and set her on his lap, cradling her. “How’s the arm?”
“It hurts.” She snuggled into him as if she belonged there, which she did. “I didn’t know what to do. With Flossy.”
