Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
His sigh was heavy. “It’s freezing, Anna. Forget the lake. I ordered dinner in from Tratto’s and asked Tess to come to my condo.”
Tratto’s had the best Italian food in Timber City, by far. At least Nick’s place overlooked Tamarack Lake, so there’d be some water involved. “Sounds good. What can I do?”
Movement sounded across the line. “I have court all day to cover for another prosecutor who’s out with that virus. Is there any way you can grab me some white taper candles, flowers, and fancy wine? I’ll pay you back for everything.”
“Of course.” It was nice to be included. “I’m over the pass but will hit the store when I return. Trust me.” I’d also pick up some crystal champagne glasses. Nick could afford them.
“Thanks. Say hi to my mom for me.” He clicked off.
I maneuvered through town past the sheriff’s office, my sister’s new restaurant, and the hardware store to reach an office building created with white brick and decorated with pretty purple shutters. Parking at the curb, I jumped out, tucking my phone into my handbag and reaching for a file folder. The wind slashed against me with freezing fingers, and I ducked my head, hustling across the sidewalk and into a quaint vestibule with its old-fashioned directory showing mismatched letters.
I paused at seeing that Basanelli Accounting was on the second floor. Turning, I walked up the wide staircase and took a right, soon finding office number four. I opened the door, and warmth instantly assailed me. Stepping inside, I looked around the small waiting area with its plush pink chairs.
“Can I help you?” a young woman asked from behind the desk.
I didn’t recognize her. “Hi, I’m Anna Albertini. I’m here to see Sandrine.”
“Of course. Hi, I’m Betty McFarland. I think you went to school with one of my sisters.”
“Oh, yeah, Junie. How is she?” I asked.
Betty neatly stacked a series of paper by the side of her computer. “She’s great. She’s living over in Missoula and works as a pediatrician’s assistant. She’s married and expecting her first baby.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “Tell her hi for me.”
The girl looked like her sister, with light-blond hair and pretty green eyes. “You bet.” She cranked her neck. “Hey, Sandrine! Someone’s here for you.”
“Send her back,” Sandrine called.
“Thanks.” I walked beyond the reception area and down a small hallway, passing a conference room until I found the one office in the place. There was a small vestibule just beyond me that showed a half-kitchen.
Sandrine met me at her doorway. “Hi, Anna. Come on in.” She grasped my arm and led me into her office. She had a wide window that overlooked the street, and pictures upon pictures of her boys on a bookshelf to the side. The other side held books having to do with accounting, and the one area of the wall that was free, proudly displayed her accounting diplomas. “Have a seat.” She gestured to one of the two pinkish cloth desk chairs and shut the door.
“Thank you, Mrs. Basanelli,” I said.
“Please call me Sandrine.” She crossed around her desk and moved several file folders out of the way. “Can I get you anything? I should have asked.”
I wouldn’t mind a cheeseburger. “No, thanks. I had a latte on the way over.” I studied Nick’s mom. He had her eyes and hair color, but where he was rugged, she was soft. With twin dimples, she was a very pretty woman in her late fifties. Her dark hair was piled high atop her head, and glasses hung from a golden chain around her neck.
“So...” She clasped her hands together, and I noted that her nails were painted a light pink.
That reminded me, I really needed a manicure. “I’m representing all three of your boys,” I said without preamble.
“I think me, too,” she said. “Do you mind?”
“Of course, not. I’m happy to represent you. Although, if any of you ends up with, you know, different stories, you’ll have to get separate representation.”
She lifted her hand and waved it in the air. “Why would we need different representation? The story is the story.”
I liked that a lot. Even so, I shifted uncomfortably on the chair. “Is there anything I need to know that the police will find out?”
“Nope.”
“All right, good enough.” I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Um, could you run me through what happened the last night you saw your husband?” This was so uncomfortable. I felt weird talking to somebody my mom’s age about facts I was sure she wanted left in the past, but she calmly gave me almost the exact story Nick had.
Her voice shook at the end. “I’m quite ashamed I didn’t stand up to him before that and didn’t protect my boys better. A lot of this was my fault...”
“None of this was your fault,” I said gently. “Your boys don’t blame you, and they understand that you were in a terrible situation. It’s easy to look back and think we could have done things differently, but I’m sure you did your best in the moment.”