nothing to do but wait, I decided to kill
time by reading the warrant. After all, they had to have probable cause to issue a
warrant, right? What was their cause?
The legalese made my brain go numb. Well, crap. I was a baker and a businesswoman.
I didn’t know very much about law. Why did they think I could read this? I should
probably call a lawyer or Grandma Ruth. She’d know what the heck the document said.
I peered through the window and tried to catch her eye. No dice. She was busy chatting
up the cops.
I frowned. The only attorney I knew was a corporate lawyer who had helped me set up
my business and ensured I had all the proper licenses and inspections. My only other
option was my wild brother, Tim. He had had a few run-ins with the law as a teen.
If anyone knew the county law system it was him. I pulled my cell out of my pocket
and punched his number. He picked up on the first ring . . . not a good sign.
“Hey.” Tim sounded put out. “What the hell did you do to have the cops issue a search
warrant?”
“I didn’t do anything.” I rolled my eyes. Brothers—they always assumed the worse.
“What did
you
do?” There, that would get him.
“My name isn’t on the search warrant.”
Right. I jiggled from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm. My nose was red and
starting to run. “They have one of those warrants for the house, too?” I knew Candy
said they did, but I didn’t believe her. After all, she would say anything to get
a story. I sniffled.
“They most certainly do,” Tim said. “You need a lawyer, little sis.” He sounded sincere.
Tim was rarely sincere. He had always been the laid-back party guy who ran just this
side of the law.
“I don’t know any lawyers besides the one in Chicago who helped me set up the business.”
It was an explanation, not a whine. At least, that was what I was telling myself.
“For something like a search warrant, you need someone local,” Tim advised. “Someone
who knows the county judges and the district attorney.”
“You sound like you have some experience in this kind of thing.” I had to get my digs
in where I could. No matter how lame they sounded at the moment. He was my brother,
after all.
“Look, do you want advice from me or not?” I’d hit a sore spot. Huh, I’d have to ask
him about that someday when my life wasn’t on the line.
“Yes, please.” I decided it was best to ask nicely or he might send me to someone
who would torture me. Which could be just about everyone in town.
“Call Brad Ridgeway. He’s the best in the county.”
“Brad Ridgeway?” My brain perked up. Memories flashed through it. “As in Brad Ridgeway
star basketball player two years ahead of me in high school? Mr. all-star-jock-voted-most-popular-male-student-of-the-decade?”
“One and the same.” Tim sounded pretty sure he knew what he was talking about.
“I thought he was in like Houston or New York or somewhere.” I sniffed again. Darn
it. Did I even have a tissue in my pocket? I did. I pulled out a wadded-up but clean
one and wiped my nose.
“Brad went to KU, got his BA, his MBA, and went on to law school. He came back five
years ago when his dad wasn’t doing well. Bought a house out by the country club and
settled in.”
“Huh.” Brad Ridgeway had been every teenage girl’s dream—tall, blond, gorgeous with
sculpted jock muscles that went on forever. I sighed, remembering the huge crush I,
and every girl within a five-year range and fifty-mile radius, had had on him.
I did a mental shake. That was what, twenty years ago? He was probably bald, married
with four kids, and fat. Right? “Text me his number.”
“When you call him, ask him if there is any way he can get the cops to hurry up on
their search of the house. I need to sleep before my shift tonight.”
“Oh, yeah, Grandma told me you got a job at FedEx. Congrats.”
“Thanks.” Tim sounded tired. “I
time by reading the warrant. After all, they had to have probable cause to issue a
warrant, right? What was their cause?
The legalese made my brain go numb. Well, crap. I was a baker and a businesswoman.
I didn’t know very much about law. Why did they think I could read this? I should
probably call a lawyer or Grandma Ruth. She’d know what the heck the document said.
I peered through the window and tried to catch her eye. No dice. She was busy chatting
up the cops.
I frowned. The only attorney I knew was a corporate lawyer who had helped me set up
my business and ensured I had all the proper licenses and inspections. My only other
option was my wild brother, Tim. He had had a few run-ins with the law as a teen.
If anyone knew the county law system it was him. I pulled my cell out of my pocket
and punched his number. He picked up on the first ring . . . not a good sign.
“Hey.” Tim sounded put out. “What the hell did you do to have the cops issue a search
warrant?”
“I didn’t do anything.” I rolled my eyes. Brothers—they always assumed the worse.
“What did
you
do?” There, that would get him.
“My name isn’t on the search warrant.”
Right. I jiggled from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm. My nose was red and
starting to run. “They have one of those warrants for the house, too?” I knew Candy
said they did, but I didn’t believe her. After all, she would say anything to get
a story. I sniffled.
“They most certainly do,” Tim said. “You need a lawyer, little sis.” He sounded sincere.
Tim was rarely sincere. He had always been the laid-back party guy who ran just this
side of the law.
“I don’t know any lawyers besides the one in Chicago who helped me set up the business.”
It was an explanation, not a whine. At least, that was what I was telling myself.
“For something like a search warrant, you need someone local,” Tim advised. “Someone
who knows the county judges and the district attorney.”
“You sound like you have some experience in this kind of thing.” I had to get my digs
in where I could. No matter how lame they sounded at the moment. He was my brother,
after all.
“Look, do you want advice from me or not?” I’d hit a sore spot. Huh, I’d have to ask
him about that someday when my life wasn’t on the line.
“Yes, please.” I decided it was best to ask nicely or he might send me to someone
who would torture me. Which could be just about everyone in town.
“Call Brad Ridgeway. He’s the best in the county.”
“Brad Ridgeway?” My brain perked up. Memories flashed through it. “As in Brad Ridgeway
star basketball player two years ahead of me in high school? Mr. all-star-jock-voted-most-popular-male-student-of-the-decade?”
“One and the same.” Tim sounded pretty sure he knew what he was talking about.
“I thought he was in like Houston or New York or somewhere.” I sniffed again. Darn
it. Did I even have a tissue in my pocket? I did. I pulled out a wadded-up but clean
one and wiped my nose.
“Brad went to KU, got his BA, his MBA, and went on to law school. He came back five
years ago when his dad wasn’t doing well. Bought a house out by the country club and
settled in.”
“Huh.” Brad Ridgeway had been every teenage girl’s dream—tall, blond, gorgeous with
sculpted jock muscles that went on forever. I sighed, remembering the huge crush I,
and every girl within a five-year range and fifty-mile radius, had had on him.
I did a mental shake. That was what, twenty years ago? He was probably bald, married
with four kids, and fat. Right? “Text me his number.”
“When you call him, ask him if there is any way he can get the cops to hurry up on
their search of the house. I need to sleep before my shift tonight.”
“Oh, yeah, Grandma told me you got a job at FedEx. Congrats.”
“Thanks.” Tim sounded tired. “I
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