Page 9

“Out here!”

Her voice carried from the kitchen, so Amanda turned and headed in that direction. Edith was sitting at the table with a newspaper and a cup of coffee. Her walker was off to the side, out of the way but still within reach. As she had every morning for the past several days, she set out a second empty cup, an insulated carafe, a small pitcher of cream, and a matching bowl of sugar substitute.

“Wow, you’re up early.” She kissed her aunt on the cheek.

“And you’re awfully dolled up already.”

She snorted. “I have to go to court this morning for two stupid tickets the sheriff gave me the other day. When I get through with him, he’s not going to know what hit him.”

“Are you talking about Sheriff Grady?” Edith asked, pouring herself another cup of coffee. Apparently, she was only allowed two cups since her last physical, much to her annoyance.

“Yes. Why?”

The older woman smirked as she added creamer and a spoonful of artificial sweetener. “Better take your checkbook, girlie. I love you to the moon and back, but that man is as honest as they come. If he gave you a ticket, you earned it.”

Gaping at her aunt, she was almost at a loss for words. Almost. “What? No way! And it wasn’t one ticket—it was two! I did not run that stop sign, and a ticket for going a few miles over the speed limit isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. Everyone knows that!”

Indignant at her aunt’s lack of support, she checked the microwave clock and swore under her breath. “I have to go, or I’ll be late greeting the high and mighty Sheriff Minor. Wish me luck!”

“Don’t need to, honey. I’ll just make your favorite cookies. You’ll need them when you get back.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Aunt Edith,” she shot over her shoulder as she gathered her purse, keys, and phone.

“Sorry, but you did the crime, and now you have to pay the price. Wrong is wrong, baby girl, and you know it. You’re only arguing because you hate being wrong.”

“I am not wrong, and I’m going to prove it to him and the judge!”

“You do that.” Edith paused. “On second thought, maybe I should go with you. I can sit there and watch the fireworks. If I were twenty years younger, I’d chase that man and charm him into my bed. He’s a widower, ya know, and one of the Rock’s most eligible bachelors. Maybe what you need is a good argument and a hot night with our sheriff. Dust the cobwebs off. You do remember how to do it, right? If not, I’ve got this book⁠—”

“Oh, my God! Enough!” She hurried toward the front door, not wanting to hear sex advice from her elderly aunt. “And you’re not coming with me. I’ll be back in a little bit!”

“Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know! You wouldn’t be here if us old folks didn’t know what we were doing! I remember when⁠—”

The front door slammed behind her, cutting off whatever else Aunt Edith was about to say.

Thank goodness.

“That is not how I want to start the day. Ever.” Shivering slightly at the thought of her aunt having sex, she hustled to her car as fast as her heels would allow on the loose gravel. Haven’t they ever heard of blacktop or asphalt for driveways around here?

In her youth, she’d loved running around Edith’s property barefoot, but no way would she do that now. Lord knew what animals were pooping everywhere.

She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, then slipped her phone into the air-vent-mounted holder. After pulling up the map app and entering the courthouse address, she connected the phone to the car’s Bluetooth, lowered the convertible top, and started her baby. Bon Jovi singing about being halfway there came over the speakers. The route popped up on the screen—twenty-five minutes, with an estimated arrival time of 8:05 a.m.

She groaned. “Dammit all to hell and back!”

Biting her lip, she shifted into drive and pulled onto the road. She would be at least five minutes late unless she made up some time. When she hit the main road, she pressed her right foot harder and felt the powerful engine respond immediately as the speedometer ticked up.

Ten over the speed limit. Fifteen over. Twenty. That should do it.

For the next several miles, she kept one eye on the speedometer and the other on the road, slowing only when she came up behind the occasional vehicle. Fortunately, traffic was light, and the long, straight stretches of highway gave her plenty of room to pass. Before long, the few other cars and pickups disappeared behind her, leaving only an open road bordered by miles of farmland.

According to the GPS, she still had about five miles to go before reaching Butterfield’s business district, and the courthouse was another four blocks beyond that. Mentally, she practiced what she would say to the judge. She’d be respectful yet adamant that the sheriff had no right to give her those tickets. She’d stopped long enough to make sure she wasn’t cutting anyone off, and she hadn’t been going twenty-five miles over the speed limit that day. Maybe fifteen, but certainly not more.

A glance at the phone’s screen showed she’d shaved a few minutes off her arrival time.

See? Perfect.

She’d be there right at eight, give or take a minute.