Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“Must’ve been tough on you personally, too, after you dealt with almost the same thing back in LA.”
I gave him another sharp look. “More information from your brother?”
“Nah.” He shrugged sheepishly and wiggled his fingers in the air like he was typing on an imaginary keyboard. “Google. I wanted to find out more about my new boss.”
I chuckled. I’d have done the exact same.
In fact, I had, back when I’d first accepted the job. Too bad Google didn’t tell you when your boss was a biased asshole. Good riddance to that one, but now I had to fill the shoes.
“Didn’t expect to find court transcripts, though,” he continued, sipping his coffee calmly. “Is it true your partner—?”
“If you read the transcripts,” I interrupted, “you know all there is to know. I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.” The movie crew in town had dredged up enough LA memories.
Shawn nodded. “Sure thing.”
Chaya bustled over to our table with a mug of coffee for me and took out her notepad with a flourish and a smile. “What’ll it be?”
“Croissant sandwich,” I said without hesitation. To Shawn, I added, “Aster Valley insider secret: you have got to try these things. They make the croissants from scratch, the bacon is perfectly crispy, and they’re the best breakfast food in town. I have one at least a couple times a week. I always know it’s gonna be a good day when I do.” I was practically drooling.
Chaya’s smile faltered. “Well, hell, Sheriff. We’re out of croissants this morning.”
“Out,” I repeated. I looked around the nearly empty cafe. “Out?”
“Out.” She rubbed her lips together. “Gold Rats got them all.”
I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose.
Of course they fucking did.
“Gold Rats went and cleaned out all the fairy lights at the hardware store,” Curtis Twomey piped up from the line at the counter. “Not sure what they’re doing with ’em, but I sold out all my stock from last Christmas.” He sounded positively gleeful.
“And Gold Rats took every single one of Connie Mac’s begonias!” Florence Wimple interjected happily from the table behind us. “Even the half-dead ones.”
Wilber Wimple scowled at his wife. “Well, I’ve had just about enough of Gold Rats. They’re a menace. Clogging our streets like they own the damn place. Do you know, I was fifteen minutes late for Judge Judy the other day, because the Gold Rats had blocked off half the road out by Rockley Lodge?”
“I could offer you gentlemen a sandwich on a brioche bun.” Chaya’s flirty grin tried to make up for the terrible croissant news. “Or… toast?”
“A brioche bun would be terrific,” I lied with a smile. “Nearly the same thing, right?”
It was not even remotely the same thing. One more thing to hate about Gold freakin’ Rats invading Aster Valley.
“Uh.” Shawn frowned as Chaya hurried away. “I’m gonna guess they’re not talking about actual rodents?”
“Huh?” I was still busy backing up my salt truck over this latest outrage. “What rodents?”
“The Gold Rats. Help me out here. Are they a motorcycle club? A gang that… traffics fairy lights and begonias?”
I snorted, unwillingly amused. “Worse,” I informed him. “They’re a movie crew. A big blockbuster action-adventure film with the worst, weirdest name ever, and some big-name director and a bunch of party-hungry actors.”
“I don’t know about that,” Mrs. Winple said. “Crystobell Edmund signed an autograph for me the other day, and she was lovely. Beautiful, poised, and gracious.”
I drank my coffee and acknowledged this with a grunt. Too bad Crystobell’s male counterpart had been an absolute pain in my ass the night before.
“Sheriff.” The sound of Penny’s voice in my earpiece almost made me jump. “10-91. Report of a wild animal attack over on Thistledown. System says you’re up.”
“Yeah, alright. Send us the address,” I told her. “Shawn, you mind taking breakfast to go?”
When we got out to my vehicle a minute later with our sandwiches, I asked Penny, “Any idea what kind of animal?”
“Man was freaking out. Sounds like maybe a bear? If so, we can call Charlene Candycorn. There’s no better trapper in Rockley County.”
There was quaint small town, and then there was Candycorn.
“Did you say Charlene Candycorn?”
“No, sir. Well, yes, but not like you think. Charlene Candy married Clara Corn.”
I sighed. This was the price I paid for leaving LA. There’d been pros and cons, and sometimes the cons were doozies. “And they became Charlene and Clara Candy-Corn.”
“Not really. They kept their own last names, but after the divorce, Charlene fell in love with Clara’s brother.”
Welp, that’s what I got for asking. “Listen, Penny. I’m going to stop you right there. Shawn and I have about three minutes to choke our breakfast sandwiches down before dealing with a potentially rabid bear, okay? You can tell us about Charlene later.” Or not.