Page 42 of The Oscar Escape
“Okay, got it. You like your island,” she sputtered, feeling Oscar watching her. She caught his eye. “Yes, yes, I’ll shut up.”
“Havenmatch Island Court is now in session. The Honorable Retired Judge M. Gibson Harpswell is presiding,” Del broadcast.
Retired?
“Sit, sit, sit,” the judge droned, sounding like this was the last place he wanted to be.
Good—that made two of them.
The judge looked at her, then allowed his gaze to linger on Oscar. “Let’s call this case number one, zero, two, three,” the man murmured.
She nudged Oscar. “Ten twenty-three. That’s your birthday. Weird, huh?”
“Focus, Aria. Remember to nod and smile,” he whispered, but there was a catch to his voice.
Del pulled a sticky note like Etta had given her from his pocket. “Your Honor, Mrs. Elliott is before you today for the following offenses. Number one, breaking and entering.”
Nope, nope, nope!From what Oscar had shared, that charge didn’t sound correct.
“Del, Bailiff Del,” she called and raised her hand like she and Oscar were back in second grade.
“Yes, Mrs. Elliott?”
She lifted her chin. “I object.”
Del shared a confused look with the judge.
She folded her hands on top of her notebook. “As I understand it, I broke a window and reached inside tosamplesome chocolate.”
The judge leaned forward. He was a rotund, jowly man with a basset hound look. “What do you think breaking and entering is, young lady?”
“Physically going inside,” she replied, now really wishing she thought through her objection.
“Your hand went inside after you broke the window. You broke. You entered,” the judge snapped.
“Aria,” Oscar warned in a low growl.
She ignored the fuming man seated next to her. “I see your point, Judge,” she answered and flashed what she hoped wasn’t the smile of a felon.
“Number two,” Del continued. “Mrs. Elliott is accused of defacing an island landmark and cherished artifact.”
“And we have the artifact?” the judge asked in the same bored out of his mind tone.
“We do, Your Honor,” a man from the back of the room called. He, along with another elderly gentleman, carried a rather large wooden item into the courtroom—no, the dining room. Gah, the whatever room.
She watched as the men set the artifact between her spot in the center of the room and the judge’s table.
She raised her hand. “It’s a bench—a bench that looks totally fine. Nothing is defaced.”
“You knocked it over,” one of the men carrying the bench lobbed back.
She frowned and scanned the item for damage. “But you’ve got it up right now.”
“Aria,” Oscar rumbled.
She couldn’t worry about him. She had to prepare her defense on the fly. “Is that bench made of driftwood?” she asked, intrigued by the item.
The judge’s weary expression made way for a curious glint in his eyes. “It is.”
