they never been asked that type of question before?
Finally the sergeant must have realized he was the one in charge, and after straightening his shoulders, he said, “He’s with the chief.”
“He’s probably water-boarding a confession from Boone,” Poppy said as she joined me at the counter. Before I could comment, she commanded, “Tell my dad to release him this instant.”
I stared at her. Did she really think she could issue an order like that and expect instant compliance? No. Probably not. Knowing her, I suspected she just felt the need to make her position clear.
To my surprise, one of the cops—I was guessing a rookie—disappeared down the hall, presumably to deliver Poppy’s demand. As we waited for Chief Kincaid’s response, I tried to overhear the conversations going on among the officers, but I couldn’t make out individual words. They seemed excited and maybe a little scared. I speculated that this might be the first real murder case the Shadow Bend police had ever had to handle.
My bet was that they were mostly used to dealing with drunk driving, domestic violence, and the occasional cow tipping. Outright homicide was almost unheard of in our small community. Would that be a positive or a negative for Boone in his situation?
I leaned close to Poppy and whispered, “I understand that Boone’s a lawyer himself, but why do you think he called us instead of an attorney?”
“No clue.” She shrugged. “I doubt knowing how to draw up an airtight will or get the best divorce settlement will help him defend himself from a murder charge.” She scowled and added, “Even a trumped-up one.”
“Do you know any criminal-defense lawyers?” I asked, thinking if we weren’t allowed to see Boone, that might be our only option.
“There’s this guy that comes to the bar once in a while.” Poppy bit her lip. “I think he said he was a defense attorney.” She twitched her shoulder. “But they all lie about stuff like that, so he could very well work in a local factory or spend his days asking, ‘Do you want fries with that?’”
“Great.”
Poppy didn’t seem to want to talk, and I certainly didn’t have anything to say, so I stared at the second hand on the big round wall clock as it ticked from line to line and number to number. While I watched, I tried unsuccessfully to think of something to do for Boone.
Twelve hundred ticks later, Chief Kincaid marched into the reception area and said, “What do you two girls think you’re doing here?”
The chief’s highly starched khaki uniform looked as if it had been ironed five seconds ago, and his gray buzz cut stood at attention. He scrutinized my party clothes—I’d had to take off my coat, since it was so hot in the station—then inspected his daughter’s outfit.
Poppy was dressed to entice—her usual style when she tended bar. His gaze flicked from her stiletto-heeled boots to her body-hugging leather pants, then stopped at her spaghetti-strapped black lace camisole that exposed tantalizing glimpses of porcelain skin. His mouth tightened and a glimmer of unbearable sadness crossed his steel-blue eyes. A nanosecond later, he had himself back under control and his face was once again expressionless.
Poppy crossed her arms, a slight smile playing around her lips. Clearly she had seen her father’s momentary weakness and intended to take full advantage of it. I braced myself for the explosion.
Leaning close to her dad, Poppy hissed, “We are here to free Boone.”
The chief didn’t respond.
Poppy narrowed her eyes. “You probably think you’ve been embarrassed by my behavior before,” she said in a conversational tone, “but if you don’t release Boone to us this instant, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Unfazed, Chief Kincaid raised a brow. “Is that so?” He stepped aside so we could see one of the part-time officers lead a handcuffed Boone past us and toward the jail cells on the other side of the building. “I
Finally the sergeant must have realized he was the one in charge, and after straightening his shoulders, he said, “He’s with the chief.”
“He’s probably water-boarding a confession from Boone,” Poppy said as she joined me at the counter. Before I could comment, she commanded, “Tell my dad to release him this instant.”
I stared at her. Did she really think she could issue an order like that and expect instant compliance? No. Probably not. Knowing her, I suspected she just felt the need to make her position clear.
To my surprise, one of the cops—I was guessing a rookie—disappeared down the hall, presumably to deliver Poppy’s demand. As we waited for Chief Kincaid’s response, I tried to overhear the conversations going on among the officers, but I couldn’t make out individual words. They seemed excited and maybe a little scared. I speculated that this might be the first real murder case the Shadow Bend police had ever had to handle.
My bet was that they were mostly used to dealing with drunk driving, domestic violence, and the occasional cow tipping. Outright homicide was almost unheard of in our small community. Would that be a positive or a negative for Boone in his situation?
I leaned close to Poppy and whispered, “I understand that Boone’s a lawyer himself, but why do you think he called us instead of an attorney?”
“No clue.” She shrugged. “I doubt knowing how to draw up an airtight will or get the best divorce settlement will help him defend himself from a murder charge.” She scowled and added, “Even a trumped-up one.”
“Do you know any criminal-defense lawyers?” I asked, thinking if we weren’t allowed to see Boone, that might be our only option.
“There’s this guy that comes to the bar once in a while.” Poppy bit her lip. “I think he said he was a defense attorney.” She twitched her shoulder. “But they all lie about stuff like that, so he could very well work in a local factory or spend his days asking, ‘Do you want fries with that?’”
“Great.”
Poppy didn’t seem to want to talk, and I certainly didn’t have anything to say, so I stared at the second hand on the big round wall clock as it ticked from line to line and number to number. While I watched, I tried unsuccessfully to think of something to do for Boone.
Twelve hundred ticks later, Chief Kincaid marched into the reception area and said, “What do you two girls think you’re doing here?”
The chief’s highly starched khaki uniform looked as if it had been ironed five seconds ago, and his gray buzz cut stood at attention. He scrutinized my party clothes—I’d had to take off my coat, since it was so hot in the station—then inspected his daughter’s outfit.
Poppy was dressed to entice—her usual style when she tended bar. His gaze flicked from her stiletto-heeled boots to her body-hugging leather pants, then stopped at her spaghetti-strapped black lace camisole that exposed tantalizing glimpses of porcelain skin. His mouth tightened and a glimmer of unbearable sadness crossed his steel-blue eyes. A nanosecond later, he had himself back under control and his face was once again expressionless.
Poppy crossed her arms, a slight smile playing around her lips. Clearly she had seen her father’s momentary weakness and intended to take full advantage of it. I braced myself for the explosion.
Leaning close to her dad, Poppy hissed, “We are here to free Boone.”
The chief didn’t respond.
Poppy narrowed her eyes. “You probably think you’ve been embarrassed by my behavior before,” she said in a conversational tone, “but if you don’t release Boone to us this instant, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Unfazed, Chief Kincaid raised a brow. “Is that so?” He stepped aside so we could see one of the part-time officers lead a handcuffed Boone past us and toward the jail cells on the other side of the building. “I
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