Chapter Seven
Marlowe
I force myself to pull it together, but I'm thrown off course again at the sight before me. I remove my sunglasses to ensure my eyes aren't deceiving me and hand them back to the sheriff, who groans loudly beside me. He didn't expect this either.
"Fuck," he mutters as he guides me forward. Is he shielding me with his whole body? I don't know, but my pulse, pounding in my ears, tells me he's too near, his body too close to mine.
What have I stepped into?
My only silver lining? It might not have been coffee in Horace's thermos, but maybe it will give me some liquid courage. I'm going to need it.
The courtroom, a designated room in the Candy Creek Town Hall building, is so homey that I feel as if I'm sitting in someone's living room instead of a courtroom.
I'm not unfamiliar with courtrooms, but this one is extraordinary on another level.
The walls are painted a soft pink to match the floral rugs on the floor.
Vases filled with fresh flowers adorn numerous surfaces, along with cute little knick-knacks.
Embroidered cloths cover everything that resembles a table.
There are curtains instead of blinds, and the chairs have plush floral cushions.
I'm made to sit at the defense table while the sheriff stands with the bailiff.
But I can't shake the feeling that behind me, the gallery is packed to the rafters with people.
Is the entire population of Candy Creek here in the courtroom with me?
Oh dear heaven. They're all looking at me with strange expressions, as if I'm some interloper.
Well, I did try to smite their beloved Benjamin Lawrence.
That otter is seriously ruining my life.
Then the judge arrives. Judge Jennifer Jenkins.
"Ms. Evans," she says in a stern voice, though she looked like a supermodel in her younger years, with her glossy, flawless dark skin and her hair cropped short into tight curls.
She is beyond beautiful and currently scrutinizing me over the tops of her spectacles.
The silence stretches on. Was I supposed to say something? Was she waiting for me to speak? If their courtroom looks like this, I can safely say the rules I know don't apply here in Candy Creek.
I also can't seem to take my eyes off the mug on her bench; the ceramic is embossed with candy, and so is the handle.
"Judge Candy Creek" is loosely printed on the front.
Steam rises from the surface, and the aroma of coffee floats toward me.
All I want is a sip. Dear god, what has this town turned me into?
"What can you say for yourself, Ms. Evans?"
I was just about to start rambling anyway. I'm so off my game, though. Without caffeine, my brain feels like a pair of drunks bumping into each other in a bouncy house.
"Your Honor," I say, intending to give it my best shot. "I recently purchased the cottage in Marrow Lane. I—"
"I'm aware of your backstory, Ms. Evans. Bernie, as your only witness, informed me of all the gory details regarding Benjamin Lawrence. I believe you attempted to perfume him to death. We can skip that. Do you admit to the intent to do bodily harm?"
"Your Honor, I thought it was a rat—"
I think I saw the judge stifle a giggle at my words. I can't take my eyes off her coffee. I'm practically salivating now, and I think the judge caught me eyeing her mug.
"Ms. Evans, please approach the bench."
Oh boy.
"Hi," I say when she merely looks at me.
"Hello," she replies. "Are you all right?"
"No, not in the least. I—"
"Ms. Evans? Is that alcohol on your breath I smell?" she whispers so no one else can hear us.
I take a deep breath and, in my own whispered voice, explain that she is correct about the liquor on my breath and why. All the while, I'm still psychotically flirting with her mug of coffee. I want to take it.
"Would you like some of this?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh god, yes please."
She nudges her cup toward me. I take a sip. Immediate restoration. Oh my goodness, there's milk in it and sugar... to mask the fact that it's essentially tar, but I'll take it.
"You can take that with you," she says and sends me off.
I turn around triumphant, feeling my brain open up and my defense building. The first person I seek out is the sheriff. I give him a victorious smile and a smirk, then raise my cup at him. I'm about to destroy him.
"Please continue with your closing statement, Ms. Evans."
I take another sip of coffee, then clear my throat.
"Your Honor, I'm not disputing my actions, and I take full responsibility for them.
I did, however, think it was a rat, and yes, that's on me for not knowing the difference between a murid and a mustelid.
But I cannot be prosecuted for my lack of knowledge.
Moreover, there was no mens rea. The core of my response was purely self-defense and not malicious intent.
Punishing me for ignorance is incredulous, to say the least. Had I known that Mr. Lawrence.
.." Yes, I just called an otter Mr. Lawrence.
"...is a prized member of the Candy Creek family, I would have reacted differently.
“I sincerely apologize for my actions, but Mr. Lawrence was trying to bite my bottom, Your Honor, and at the time, I still believed he was a rodent.
Sheriff Smith, on the other hand, could have informed me of Mr. Lawrence's status, which I would not have disputed, Your Honor; to each their own.
Sheriff Smith could have issued me a warning, stern as is his nature, and if that were not enough, he could have fined me anywhere between a thousand and five thousand dollars, and I would have gladly paid the penalty on the spot, and we could have parted ways wiser.
Instead, Sheriff Smith chose to throw me into a holding cell, Your Honor, when that was completely unwarranted.
I find he acted overzealously, and his conduct is suspicious. "
"Well," Judge Jenkins says, "I hear your argument, Ms. Evans. You make valid points, which makes me wonder why Sheriff Smith didn't issue you a warning at the least and a fine at the worst. Instead, he thought it was best to arrest you and keep you overnight."
"Your Honor, I've been asking myself that question incessantly, and the only conclusion I can draw is that Sheriff Smith, with all due respect, is a curmudgeon of avant-garde proportions."
At this, the judge laughs.
"Sheriff Smith, her words may have called you cranky, but her tone says cranky asshole. Am I right, Ms. Evans?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
"What do you have to say to that, Sheriff Smith?"
"Your Honor, Ms. Evans is the architect of her chaos and a danger to the people and animals around her."
"I see. And you thought Ms. Evans would be safer in a holding cell, with you nearby?" She doesn't wait for the sheriff to answer. "All right, Ms. Evans, I'm sentencing you to a period of ten days... umm... let's call it community service."
Community service? Community service?
Am I going to have to pick litter from the streets and put my bare hands into smelly stormwater pipes to clean them? How is this possible? I should be pardoned and free to go. My defense is solid. What is this?
"So by community service, what I mean, Ms. Evans, is you are sentenced to learn everything there is to know about Candy Creek in ten days.
After that, you will sit for a written exam about the history of our town and all its quirks and drama at ten o'clock.
Pass the test, and you will receive a special honorary badge that makes you an honorary citizen of Candy Creek.
Failure to arrive for the test will unfortunately result in a very steep fine.
I'm also assigning Sheriff Smith as your tutor.
If Ms. Evans fails the test, so do you, Zephyr. "
"What?" I ask weakly, plopping myself down onto the chair.
"You heard me, Ms. Evans. We'll reconvene in ten days. Sheriff Smith, she's your problem now. Court dismissed."