“I don’t know, Ava!” Emmie wailed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen!”
“Now, see here,” Ida scolded Officer Girthman. The elderly woman ran the local general store and seemed to be the font of all the small-town gossip,. “Emmie did the world a solid. You can’t arrest a woman for killing her cheating husband. She should be thrown a parade, not thrown into jail. I’m calling my congressman!”
Winston dropped his handcuffs.
Emmie helpfully picked them up off the floor for him, tears still streaming down her eyes.
“I spent a lot of money on that advent calendar. I need my cupcakes. I’m going to be suing the police station,” Ava complained.
“Good! Arrest her!” Alice, the crazy cat lady, was screeching. “You’re going to rot in jail for what you did to these poor cats! Cats belong outdoors.”
“Can we go, Aunt Frances?” I begged. “We can buy a coffee next door.”
It was hopeless; she ignored me, still speculating about the murder with her friends.
More people streamed into the cramped shop. I was jostled.
Moose meowed. The Bengal cat was in his harness and perched on my shoulder so he didn’t get stepped on.
A pudgy, short man froze, looked up, then beamed. “Marius! You didn’t tell me you were in town.”
Because I’d hoped to avoid everyone I’d gone to high school with.
Abbot grinned. “Long time no see.” He held up his notepad. “I work for theHarrogate Chroniclenow! Finally got that full-time gig after old Mr. Harrison kicked the bucket. I’m so glad there was a murder. I bet papers sell out tomorrow. Shit, I gotta get the scoop. Web traffic is up. You want to give a statement?”
“No, thank you.”
Abbott pushed his way through the crowd to the corpse.
“Ooh! I need to get a better view.” Aunt Frances grabbed my wrist like I was five and dragged me through the surge of rubberneckers.
“I really don’t want to get involved.”
The police handcuffed the crying murderer.
Moose hissed when one of the café cats got too close.
“She didn’t do it!” Aunt Frances’s friend Edna was yelling to anyone who would listen. “My granddaughter didn’t kill her husband. This is a violation of her constitutional rights.”
“It’s not,” I muttered under my breath.
“How do you know?” Edna demanded.
“Because—” Aunt Frances began.
“No,” I hissed.
“Marius is a lawyer, remember? Is the dementia setting in, Edna? My God.”
“A lawyer?” Emmie croaked, looking up at me.
Maybe without all the snot and tears on her face, she might be attractive. But now…
“I don’t take charity cases.”
“Yes, you do.” Aunt Frances poked me. “I’ve seen you in court—you’re like a movie star! Like Richard Gere inChicago.”
“Please,” the young woman whimpered. “I need to run my shop. I can’t go to prison. I just can’t. Who will take care of my cats?”
