“I told her that,” he said. “She didn’t care, especially since Brad Backleboff’s hovering like it’s Christmas morning.”
Of course he was.
“Backleboff’s been waiting for something like this,” I muttered. “I think I’ve only met him once, but I didn’t like his eyes. Too beady.”
Franco gave a tired laugh. “He told me this could be his ‘public integrity moment.’ I almost choked on my coffee.”
I rolled my eyes. “That idiot tried to charge my sister for a murder that she was nowhere near committing.” Poor Tessa had been worried, and Backleboff hadn’t even been in town. He’d tried to order his staff from vacation.
“Yes. He’s been telling anyone who’ll listen that his career got stalled because of small-town interference. You cleared Tessa, and he hasn’t forgotten it. He’s determined to find a case he can’t lose.”
“So he’s going after a sweet woman who sells lotion,” I said flatly.
“That’s the one,” Franco said. “He’s calling it a matter of public trust in community events. Thinks he can stretch Idaho Code § 18-7001 for malicious injury to property.”
I snorted. “Gloria’s pie was property now?”
“Apparently. He says the lotion destroyed it, therefore it’s criminal mischief. You can’t make this up.”
I exhaled through my teeth. The guy was itching for a fight, and I was more than ready to go to the mat. Nobody railroaded Nana. “He’s trying to climb his way out of Gem County, and the idiot thinks that Nana is his ladder.”
“Pretty much,” Franco said. “He’s already talking to the paper.”
I stared at the candles, the scent of vanilla suddenly too sweet. “It’s stupid and unfair, but there’s kind of a case since Nana admitted in front of the entire crowd that the lotion was probably hers.”
“Exactly,” Franco said. “Backleboff wants to file for an arrest warrant if he can find a magistrate willing to sign a warrant.”
My stomach lurched. “Which one?”
“That’s the funny part,” Franco said. “Both judges have been scarce lately. One’s hunting, the other’s visiting his sister in Butte. Nobody’s in chambers, and nobody’s answering their phones.”
“Smart men,” I said.
“Self-preserving,” he corrected. “Nobody wants to be the one who signs an arrest warrant for Fiona O’Shea over a pie.”
I ground my palm into my right eye. Was there a migraine coming my way? “What can I do?”
He was silent for a moment. “Get ready to defend her, and hopefully Aiden and I will have good news soon. Maybe the CCTV will show somebody going into the Elks to inject lotion into that pie.”
“Hopefully.” I wasn’t sure there was enough CCTV around Silverville. “I appreciate you giving me a heads-up.”
“Of course. If I thought Fiona was guilty, I’d be arresting her myself.”
That’s right. They’d known each other forever. “Didn’t you attend high school together?”
“No. I’m much older than Fiona.” He sounded pleased.
I rolled my eyes. Of course, everyone wanted to seem younger than reality. “Hey—before I forget, have you ever heard of Zippy O’Bellini? He’s the attorney Gloria hired to sue Nana civilly. I’ve never heard of the guy.”
“Hmm. O’Bellini? I’ve never heard of a Zippy, but I do remember when the Bobcat Thrift Store was called O’Bellini’s.”
I sat up. “In Silverville?”
“Yeah. It’s a popular name in the Pacific Northwest, though. I have a colleague in Seattle named O’Bellini. Jeremy. Good guy who grew up over in Billings.” The sheriff sighed. “Is he with a firm?”
“No. The complaint just had his name and bar number. I have Pauley finding info on the guy.”
The leather chair creaked over the line again. “Zippy is an odd name.”
