Page 41 of The Oscar Escape
“The courthouse is inside the inn?” she asked, feeling as dull as a butter knife.
“We do things a little differently on Havenmatch Island. Usually, the judge sets up in the post office. You know, a government building.”
“Okay,” she replied, not actually following at all. “Shouldn’t a judge be in a courthouse or a police station?”
“We don’t have those here. We had to move your appearance to the inn on account of the publicity,” Del continued.
“Publicity,” she repeated, and her heart rate kicked up.
Had the paparazzi found them?
They snaked through a large kitchen, then Del pointed through a window that opened into a room with tables and chairs. What looked like the inn’s dining area.
“You’ve got quite a crowd,” the man remarked and gestured with his chin toward a dozen people scattered across a few tables. “It takes a lot to get the over seventy-five crowd moving these days.”
She gazed at the senior citizens. “How many people live here?”
“Not as many as there used to be back in the good ole days,” the man said with a touch of wistfulness to his reply. He cleared his throat and hardened his features. “Ready to face the music, Mrs. Elliott?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You do not,” the man replied in his dry New England lilt. Without waiting another second, he opened a swinging door that separated the kitchen from the restaurant. “Here are the Elliotts, Your Honor,” Del announced, holding the door.
She surveyed the dining area, now set up with rows of chairs as a makeshift courtroom. Filled with antique-looking dark wood cupboards and carved credenzas decorated with ceramic lighthouses and driftwood accents, the place had a distinct quaintness about it. A long cherrywood table sat in front of a bank of windows looking out over the harbor. A man in a faded cap that saidLove & Lobsters Festivalsat in a chair in the center.
Was that the judge?
It had to be.
She scanned the room. Some folks sat in the chairs while others stuck to the back tables with coffee mugs and plates with half-eaten bagels scattered before them. She returned her attention to the judge. He was flanked by two women. It was the red kerchief ladies from the chocolate store. And they were still glaring at her.
Del walked up to the long table, nodded to the man in the cap, then gestured for her and Oscar to sit at a small table directly across from the judge’s perch.
“Here you go,” Etta said and handed them each a mug of coffee. “I thought you could use this before your hearing.”
Aria inhaled the pleasing caffeinated aroma. Thank goodness this woman seemed to hold a higher opinion of her than her husband. “Is this a real hearing, Mrs. Alden?”
The woman flicked her silver braid over her shoulder. “It’s Havenmatch real. We follow the old ways here.”
Sweet Christ!That had a terrifying back woods justice—or in her case—deserted island justice ring to it.
“Come on, Aria, let’s sit,” Oscar said and pulled out a chair for her.
She sank into the seat, then glanced at the judge. She’d expected the man to be looking at her. She was the delinquent here. But he appeared more intrigued by Oscar.
“Do you know the judge? He’s looking at you,” she whispered.
“I have no idea who he is.”
She set her mug and notebook on the table and studied her not-husband. With his brow creased, something weighed heavily on him. “Oscar,” she whispered, but Del cleared his throat, and the background chatter went silent.
“All rise,” Del called and removed his cap, revealing a tuft of gray hair.
“You’re the innkeeper and the bailiff?” she blurted, taking off her ball cap as she came to her feet. And dammit, she was already unable to control that mouth of hers.
“We wear many hats on the island, Mrs. Elliott. This is our home, and we’ll do what it takes to keep it that way,” Del shot back, again employing an icy edge.
The situation was getting more foreboding by the second.
