Chapter 21 #2
Nonna smiled sweetly at Pierce. “I don’t know if you knew this, Fiona, but Detective Grant Pierce here has both Italian and Irish in his lineage.”
Pierce froze mid-step, color creeping up his neck.
“Really?” Nana asked, her accent deepening. “How did you know that?”
“I did a genealogy study on him,” Nonna said proudly. “Back when he kept arresting Anna. I thought there might be a romance there, but I got that one wrong.”
Nana’s smile turned full Irish. “Aiden is the right one for her, and he’s so Irish. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a bit of Italian in his background too.”
Nonna nodded solemnly. “I can see that.”
The sound of Pierce’s sigh filled the cell block. He looked like a man who wished he had called in sick.
“You did get Nick Basanelli for Tessa,” Nana offered magnanimously.
“Yes,” Nonna said. “But he has some Irish in him. Mainly Italian, but there’s a little Irish.”
“That’s good to hear,” Nana said cheerfully.
Cormac stared at both of them, then looked at Donna and finally at Pierce. He blinked slowly, as if trying to process the unique chaos.
Nonna smiled, pure mischief glinting in her eyes. “Detective Pierce, I would love it if you came over for one of our family barbecues. You could escort Donna.”
I swear, Pierce paled two full shades. He was a great guy, steady as a stone wall, but he’d once told me he’d rather be shot, stabbed, and set on fire before dating an Albertini. I tilted my head, peering around my grandmothers at him. “Donna very rarely gets into trouble like I do,” I said.
Pierce snorted. “She gets into the same kind of mess about seventy percent of the time.”
“Seventy percent?” Cormac asked, glancing at Donna and then at Pierce. “That seems like a lot.”
Pierce threw his head back and laughed, the sound filling the station. “You have no idea. Who are you again?” he asked after a beat, still chuckling.
“Oh, sorry,” Cormac said smoothly. “My name is Cormac Coretti. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
That happens a lot with this crew.” Pierce’s gaze flicked toward me. “Did you say Coretti?”
“I did,” Cormac said, his tone cautious. “If you’re about to tell me that name sounds both Italian and Irish, you’re right. Seems to be a theme around here.”
Pierce laughed again, shaking his head. “Good luck, buddy. I’d get out of town as fast as you can.
” He reached down to the panel by the wall and pressed a keypad.
Both cell doors buzzed and swung open. “Everybody out. Try not to track too much of a mess across my floor, and settle the bill with the Clumsy Penguin within a week.”
He stepped back, giving us plenty of room.
We filed out of the cells, a disheveled parade of flour-covered chaos. The scent of stale coffee, wet clothes, and leftover fried food followed us up the narrow staircase to the main reception area. My hair itched where a clump of flour refused to let go.
Gloria sat in one of the waiting chairs near the front desk. She stood the moment she saw us, her pink coat crisp and her curls glossy, as if she hadn’t just walked into a disaster zone.
“Gloria?” Nana asked. “What are you doing here?”
Gloria placed her hands on her hips. “Zippy. Why did you call me? I’m not someone who bails you out of jail.”
“Oh, come on, Gloria,” Zippy said, trying for charm but sounding tired. “I know you’re married and all, but you can’t be happy with him.”
“I am happy with him,” she said firmly. She looked us all over, nose wrinkling. “You appear to be a complete mess. What happened?”
So word hadn’t spread. Good. “It’s a long story,” I said wearily.
Gloria turned on Zippy with a glare. “I really don’t think my lawyer should be getting in scuffles with my nemesis.”
Nana reared back. “Nemesis? I’m not your nemesis.”
“Of course you are,” Gloria said.
“No,” Nana said calmly. “I’ve never thought of you that way.”
Gloria frowned. “But we compete for pies every year.”
“Well, yes,” Nana said. “That doesn’t make us nemeses. I like your pies. Usually.”
Gloria blinked several times. “You do?”
“Sure,” Nana said. “You make a great pie, Gloria. Mine are just a little better.”
Gloria reared back, jaw dropping.
Nana raised her hands quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Seriously. I did not mess with your pie.”
“It was your lotion that ruined it, Fiona,” Gloria said, her voice rising.
Zippy winced. “No yelling, please. It’s been a rough night.” He sighed heavily. “Gloria, would you give me a ride to my car at the Clumsy Penguin? We can talk about your case on the way.”
Gloria crossed her arms. “So long as you understand that I like my husband, not you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I understand,” Zippy muttered.
Gloria turned back to us, eyes narrowing. “I swear, the day the Albertini and O’Shea families combined was a disaster for the entire state.” With that, she pivoted on her heel and strode toward the door. Zippy followed, his shoes squelching faintly on the floor.
I looked at the remaining group. “I guess we’re headed over the pass.”
“I’ve got them,” Cormac said, lifting a hand. “I’m staying at the B-and-B in Silverville. I can take the ladies home.”
Nana sneezed, her tiny body jolting forward.
“Bless you,” Donna said.
Nana waved a hand. “We probably shouldn’t drive yet, Elda. We did a lot of shots.”
“Yes,” Nonna said wisely. “You are correct. Cormac, we would be delighted to accept your offer. We can talk about your family on the way over.”
Cormac’s grin looked pained, and for once there wasn’t even the ghost of a dimple. “Actually, I was hoping we’d just listen to the radio.” He escorted the grandmothers outside, each of them kissing us on the cheeks before departing in a cloud of perfume, exhaustion, and faint whiskey fumes.
Donna and I stood in the reception area, watching the door swing closed behind them. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed faintly.
“What now?” she asked.
“I have no idea.”
Pierce emerged from his office, looking even more tired than when he’d come in. “I’ll give you a ride to the Clumsy Penguin. Your cars are still there, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “They loaded us into a van to bring us here.”
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go, and before anyone else tells you, let me be the one.”
I gulped. “What?”
“Jolene O’Sullivan already went to print.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled. “It’s online tonight and will be in the paper tomorrow. She wasn’t there, but she got witness statements and pictures fast.”
He held out the screen, a little too much satisfaction in his eyes.
I looked down and groaned. The photo showed me scrambling on the floor, covered in flour, a chicken wing stuck to my shoulder. Nonna was mid-swing with her wooden spoon, Nana perched triumphantly on top of Zippy.
Donna, mercifully, was out of the frame, as was Cormac.
I sighed. “What’s the headline?”
Pierce smirked. “Albertini Family Stuffed and Floured.”
Donna groaned. “It’s not even that good.”
Good enough to embarrass me, which was always Jolene’s goal. Darn it.