“All right then.” Nessa wasn’t going to argue. “I’ll make sure you get the bill.”
Nessa closed the door and turned around to find her family had been eavesdropping. They stared at Nessa, waiting for her to make the first move.
“You heard what she said. I gotta get some clothes on.”
“I’ll go keep an eye on the officers in Harriett’s garden.” Franklin was already pulling on the sneakers he’d left in the entryway. “Make sure they don’t find anything that wasn’t already there.”
“I’m going with you!” Jordan followed Franklin out the door.
“I’ll toast you a bagel for the road,” Breanna told Nessa. “You can’t kick ass unless you’ve had breakfast.”
After they’d all rushed off, Nessa stood in the foyer for a moment and listened. Just a few months earlier, her life had been quiet. Suddenly, it was full once again. But the sound of the waves was louder than ever. A storm was on its way.
Nessa marched across the Mattauk Police Department parking lot like a woman on a mission. Though she’d never thought of herself as a pushover, she’d always preferred playing nice when she could. But not today. Today she’d be taking no prisoners.
She barged through the door of the police department and was met by a stench that brought her to a stop. The building reeked like an ancient grave, with a sharp top note of mildew and a base of black mold. A young officer named Jones was manning the desk with his undershirt pulled up over his nose, which Nessa was one hundred percent certain violated uniform regulations.
She went up to the desk, slammed her purse down on top, and made a show of searching the room with her eyes. “My friend Harriett Osborne was arrested this afternoon. Where is she? I’d like to know what she’s been charged with.”
“I’ll have to check,” came the muffled response.
“My ass, you’ll have to check. I’d bet you anything she’s the only woman here. What’s she in for? Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Possession of a Schedule I substance,” Jones responded.
“I can’t understand you,” Nessa said, though she could. He reluctantly pulled the shirt down from over his nose.
“Possession of a Schedule I substance.”
“You mean shrooms?” She scoffed. “How much?”
“Twenty milligrams.”
“Twenty milligrams? That’s a class A misdemeanor,” Nessa announced with conviction. She’d perused New York’s penalties for drug possession before she got out of the car. “And it’s only a matter of time before psilocybin possession is decriminalized in this state. You can’t hold her for something like that.”
“We can and we will,” said a voice behind her. She spun around—Chief Rocca had just entered the building. “A search of Ms. Osborne’s home is currently under way. If we find over six hundred twenty-five milligrams, your friend could be looking at life in prison.”
If he expected Nessa to be intimidated, he had another thing coming. It was hard to look at the man without punching him in the face. She might have tried if she’d thought she had a chance of doing some damage. “You think I don’t know the law? I was married to a cop for fifteen years. Until you find something, you have no right to keep her locked up. And if you think you’re going to plant something there, I’ll have you know there will be witnesses. Where is she?”
“In a holding cell, Ms. James.” He stopped and sniffed at the air. “What is that smell?” he asked the desk officer.
“I believe it’s mold, sir,” Jones wheezed. “It’s been like that for an hour or so.”