The world seemed to tilt just slightly. The fire snapped again, and the warmth that had been seeping into my skin drained right out. I moved over to the sofa and flopped onto it, my stomach sinking. “You have to arrest Nana? Seriously?”
“You know I don’t have a choice,” Franco said, his voice gravelly but steady. “They got the warrant issued, so I have to execute it.”
I closed my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Um, okay.”
“How about this plan. You bring her in tomorrow morning, around ten. She can voluntarily surrender. I’ll get her to a judge right away and get her released. It’ll be clean, quiet, and fast.”
“That works for me,” I said after a pause.
Franco coughed. “I’m sorry about this, Anna. I think Backleboff wanted to make it happen tonight.”
“Of course he did,” I muttered, my heart aching. “She doesn’t need to go through this, Sheriff.”
“I know. I’ll make it as painless as possible,” Franco promised. His voice softened, the weight of his years sounding even through the staticky line. “I’ve got everyone looking into the pie situation.”
The fire crackled in the hearth, the only light in the room flickering across the windows where rain still sheeted down. The dog let out a quiet whine from the rug, picking up on my mood.
“I don’t have anything solid yet,” Franco continued, “except the video Aiden gave me. It’s obvious it isn’t your Nana.”
“It is?” I asked, sitting up straighter.
“Well, it is to me,” he said firmly. “I’ll testify to that in court.”
I exhaled, tension draining from my shoulders. “Thank you, Sheriff. That helps.”
“Of course,” he said. “Though Backleboff will probably point out that your grandmother and I have known each other for decades. Still, it can’t hurt.”
Very good point. “I can’t believe this could actually go to trial,” I said quietly.
“We’re a long way from that,” Franco replied. “Just take it one step at a time. If I can figure out who managed to sabotage the pie, we could make this go away. I’m checking all key replicating services throughout Idaho and Montana.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
Static hissed over the line, sharp enough to make me pull the phone from my ear.
“Shit,” Franco muttered.
I froze. “What?” Never in my life had I heard him swear.
There was a rough breath, and then a clatter.
“Sheriff?”
The phone crackled with a strange rhythmic noise, broken and uneven. Gunfire? Somebody was firing at the sheriff.
“Sheriff?” I said again, louder this time.
Aiden walked in from the kitchen, still drying his hands with a towel. My pulse jumped. I hit speaker so he could hear.
“Shots fired,” Franco said, his voice suddenly loud, raw, and panicked. “Shots fired—ah—” He gave a strangled hiss of pain.
“Sheriff,” I yelled. “Where are you?”
“Marker nineteen,” he gasped, the sound ragged, strained. “Close to the bend in the river.”
Gunfire erupted over the line, deafening and close, like the shots were coming from inside the cabin.
“Sheriff,” I shouted again, standing now, my breath catching in my throat.
