He wasn't proud of that. He also wasn't sure how to change it yet. Rosie, I'm sorry to do this here, he says, glancing around the crowded diner. I know, she says. I don't know what else to do.
Larkin turns to Josie, apologetic but firm. Miss Mallister, I need you to come with me just for questioning. Nothing's decided yet. Josie unties her apron slowly, sets it on the counter without a word. Can I ask you something first?
She says, looking at him steadily. Go ahead. Has anyone actually seen me touch that register today? Besides finding cash in my pocket, Larkin hesitates. Not that anyone's told me.
Then I'd ask you to keep an open mind, Josie says. That's all. Something about her calm unsettles him more than tears would have. Grant watches from the booth, arms still crossed, feeling like he's won. He doesn't notice Ryan staring down at the table, jaw tight, saying nothing.
He doesn't notice Frank Doyle still on his stool, not touching his coffee, watching everything with the sharp eyes of a man who used to do this job. As Larkin leads Josie toward the door, the diner bell chimes behind them. Someone else is walking in. The woman who steps through the door looks exactly like Josie. Same height, same eyes, same quiet, dangerous calm.
For one long second, the whole diner seems to freeze in place. She's wearing a deputy's uniform. County badge catching the light on her chest. Her eyes find Josie first cuffed hands. Sheriff at her side.
Then they move slow and deliberate across the room. Landing on Grant, then Chase, then Dean, then Ryan, then Cole. Five faces. She studies each one like she's memorizing them for later. Sheriff, she says, voice even.
I'm going to need you to hold on a moment. Larkin blinks. "I'm Deputy Addie Mallister, county office, next district over. " She holds up her badge. That's my sister.
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.