click-click sound behind him.
He didn’t have to be a detective to know he was not alone. And he didn’t have to be a weapons expert to know he had just heard someone cock a shotgun.
“All right, mister.” A cranky, nasal voice emerged from the darkness. “Turn around slow and easy. And keep your hands up in the air where I can see them.”
Ben raised his hands. As he did so, Margery jumped down. She skittered across the floor, returned to her comfortable cushioned bed on the floor, snuggled her head into her paws, and closed her eyes. It would seem Margery knew when to abandon ship. “Ingrate,” Ben murmured.
“All right,” barked the voice in the darkness. “Keep your hands in the air and move!”
Chapter 2
W HEN AT LAST THE HONORABLE Judge Tyrone J. Pickens entered his courtroom, he looked as if he was suffering the ill effects of a singularly hard night. Perhaps several hard nights. On closer examination, Ben thought, perhaps years of hard nights.
Pickens’s craggy face was speckled and ruddy, his nose shiny. His black-rimmed glasses seemed to be in constant motion, on, then off, on, then off. His posture was slumped and his expression was grim. He looked as if he would rather be anywhere else on earth.
Of course, Ben could sympathize with that. He would also rather be anywhere else. But here he was standing in the Magic Valley county courthouse. Handcuffed to the sheriff.
Judge Pickens rifled through the papers on his desk. “Looks like we got us a breaking and entering, is that it?”
The woman up at the bench, who Ben gathered was the district attorney, nodded.
“Great,” the judge murmured. “Just great. First good fishing day in months, and I’ve got me a goddamn breaking and entering. How many days to try this sucker?”
The bailiff standing dutifully to the judge’s side cleared his throat. “This is just an arraignment, your honor.”
Pickens’s face brightened. “An arraignment? Hot damn. We can whip through this sucker in two minutes.” He pointed his gavel in Ben’s direction. “You the perp?”
Ben cleared his throat. “I’m the accused, yes, your honor.”
“You got a lawyer?” He gave Ben the once-over. “No, I suppose you’ll be wanting us to appoint one.”
“Actually, I am a lawyer.”
The judge did a double take. “You sure about that? You ain’t exactly dressed for court.”
“The sheriff didn’t give me a chance to change before hauling me to the county jail.”
“Oh, I get it. You’re the perp and the lawyer.”
Ben nodded. “That’s it.”
“You gonna represent yourself? That would probably be a big mistake, you know.”
Thank you very much, Ben thought. “I will for now, at any rate.”
“Suit yourself.” He recalibrated his gavel toward the other table. “Granny, whatcha got on this man?”
Ben’s eyes crinkled. Granny? As far as he could tell, the woman standing before the judge was in her late twenties, tops. She had a perfect hourglass figure and rich, full chestnut-brown hair that swished engagingly across her clavicle with every step she took. She was not tall, but everything she had was jam-packed into a package that Ben was having a hard time keeping his eyes off.
Granny?
“Your honor,” she explained, “the accused was apprehended down at Fred Franklin’s bookstore this morning about three A.M. ”
Judge Pickens began scribbling notes. “What was he after? Cash?”
“According to him, all he wanted was Fred’s cat.”
Pickens raised his glasses. “His cat ?”
“That’s his story. Had his own lockpick he used to get in. He was a pro.”
The judge smiled. “I guess that makes him a professional cat burglar. Literally.” Pickens slapped his knee and let loose with a ripsnorter of a laugh, then leaned back and wiped his eyes. “But seriously, is attempted cat theft a crime?”
“Breaking and entering is.”
Ben stepped forward, as best he could while still handcuffed to the sheriff. “Your honor, could I
He didn’t have to be a detective to know he was not alone. And he didn’t have to be a weapons expert to know he had just heard someone cock a shotgun.
“All right, mister.” A cranky, nasal voice emerged from the darkness. “Turn around slow and easy. And keep your hands up in the air where I can see them.”
Ben raised his hands. As he did so, Margery jumped down. She skittered across the floor, returned to her comfortable cushioned bed on the floor, snuggled her head into her paws, and closed her eyes. It would seem Margery knew when to abandon ship. “Ingrate,” Ben murmured.
“All right,” barked the voice in the darkness. “Keep your hands in the air and move!”
Chapter 2
W HEN AT LAST THE HONORABLE Judge Tyrone J. Pickens entered his courtroom, he looked as if he was suffering the ill effects of a singularly hard night. Perhaps several hard nights. On closer examination, Ben thought, perhaps years of hard nights.
Pickens’s craggy face was speckled and ruddy, his nose shiny. His black-rimmed glasses seemed to be in constant motion, on, then off, on, then off. His posture was slumped and his expression was grim. He looked as if he would rather be anywhere else on earth.
Of course, Ben could sympathize with that. He would also rather be anywhere else. But here he was standing in the Magic Valley county courthouse. Handcuffed to the sheriff.
Judge Pickens rifled through the papers on his desk. “Looks like we got us a breaking and entering, is that it?”
The woman up at the bench, who Ben gathered was the district attorney, nodded.
“Great,” the judge murmured. “Just great. First good fishing day in months, and I’ve got me a goddamn breaking and entering. How many days to try this sucker?”
The bailiff standing dutifully to the judge’s side cleared his throat. “This is just an arraignment, your honor.”
Pickens’s face brightened. “An arraignment? Hot damn. We can whip through this sucker in two minutes.” He pointed his gavel in Ben’s direction. “You the perp?”
Ben cleared his throat. “I’m the accused, yes, your honor.”
“You got a lawyer?” He gave Ben the once-over. “No, I suppose you’ll be wanting us to appoint one.”
“Actually, I am a lawyer.”
The judge did a double take. “You sure about that? You ain’t exactly dressed for court.”
“The sheriff didn’t give me a chance to change before hauling me to the county jail.”
“Oh, I get it. You’re the perp and the lawyer.”
Ben nodded. “That’s it.”
“You gonna represent yourself? That would probably be a big mistake, you know.”
Thank you very much, Ben thought. “I will for now, at any rate.”
“Suit yourself.” He recalibrated his gavel toward the other table. “Granny, whatcha got on this man?”
Ben’s eyes crinkled. Granny? As far as he could tell, the woman standing before the judge was in her late twenties, tops. She had a perfect hourglass figure and rich, full chestnut-brown hair that swished engagingly across her clavicle with every step she took. She was not tall, but everything she had was jam-packed into a package that Ben was having a hard time keeping his eyes off.
Granny?
“Your honor,” she explained, “the accused was apprehended down at Fred Franklin’s bookstore this morning about three A.M. ”
Judge Pickens began scribbling notes. “What was he after? Cash?”
“According to him, all he wanted was Fred’s cat.”
Pickens raised his glasses. “His cat ?”
“That’s his story. Had his own lockpick he used to get in. He was a pro.”
The judge smiled. “I guess that makes him a professional cat burglar. Literally.” Pickens slapped his knee and let loose with a ripsnorter of a laugh, then leaned back and wiped his eyes. “But seriously, is attempted cat theft a crime?”
“Breaking and entering is.”
Ben stepped forward, as best he could while still handcuffed to the sheriff. “Your honor, could I
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