You’re walking out of here in cuffs. The diner goes utterly silent. Even the coffee pot seems to stop hissing. Grant recovers first, smug despite himself. Family reunion.
How touching. Addie turns to look at him. Really look at him. The kind of look that makes grown men want to sit down quietly. You must be Grant Whitmore, she says.
I’ve heard a lot about you. All good things, I hope, Grant says, grinning at his friends. Not one word of it, Addie says. She steps further into the room, slow, unhurried, every eye on her now. I don’t know exactly what happened here today.
Not yet. But I know my sister, and I know when something’s been staged. Grant’s smile falters just barely. That’s a big accusation. It’s not an accusation, Addie says.
It’s a warning. She looks at each of the five young men in turn one more time. Then she says the words that will echo through this town for years. Drop my sister or get five coffins ready. Nobody laughs this time.
For one full moment, nobody in the diner moves. Sheriff Larkin clears his throat uncomfortable. Deputy, that’s a serious thing to say. It’s meant to be, Addie says, not backing down an inch. Grant stands up from the booth trying to reclaim the room.
Are you threatening us in front of a sheriff? I don’t make threats, Addie says calmly. I make promises I intend to keep. And that promise has five names attached to it right now. Frank Doyle finally speaks, rising slowly from his stool.
Deputy Mallister, he says carefully. Did you say Mallister? Addie turns to him, something flickering behind her composed expression. “That’s right. ” Frank’s face goes pale like he’s seeing a ghost standing in front of him.
“What was your father’s name? ” he asks quietly. If you don’t mind me asking. The whole diner watches this exchange now the earlier drama forgotten for a moment. Walter Mallister.
Why? Frank sits back down, hand pressed to his chest like the air left him. I served under your father, he says. For almost 15 years, Josie, still standing by the door in cuffs, goes very still. You knew our dad?
She asks, voice smaller than anyone’s heard it yet. I did, Frank says. I knew him well. Too well, maybe. Larkin looks between all of them, clearly out of his depth now.
I think, he says slowly. We need to slow this whole thing down. Agreed, Daddy says, starting with taking those cuffs off my sister. Larkin, uncertain but not unreasonable, removes the cuffs a few minutes later. He agrees to hold off on formal charges until he reviews the evidence.
