Dusty, forgotten. Nobody's thought about it in years. Rosie looks torn apart, caught between what she wants to believe and what's in her hand. I have to call this in, she says finally, voice breaking. I'm sorry.
I understand, Josie says. And somehow, impossibly, she seems to mean it. From the corner booth, Dorothy sets down her tea, hands trembling slightly. "This is wrong, " she says, loud enough for the room to hear. "Plain wrong.
That girl has done nothing but kindness since she walked in this door. " The elderly man with the cane nods firmly beside his wife. "Rosie, you know this girl better than $200 would suggest. " "I know, Rosie" says, voice thick. "I know, but I have rules to follow.
" "Rules written by people who never worry about rent, " the old man mutters. A few other regulars murmur agreement, quiet but present. A ripple through the room. It isn't much. It won't stop what's coming next.
But Josie hears it, every word. And something in her chest eases slightly. Not everyone in this room is looking away today. That matters more than any of them will ever know. Sheriff Boyd Larkin arrives 15 minutes later, hat in hand, apologetic before he even speaks.
He's known Rosie for 20 years. Known most of this town even longer. He's also known the Whitmore family for just as long. Knows exactly how much weight that name carries in this county. On the drive over, he told himself this was probably nothing, a mixup, a misunderstanding that would sort itself out quietly.
But sitting outside the diner a moment before walking in, doubt crept in anyway. He'd taken this job to help people back when he was younger. Some years that felt easier to remember than others. Lately, it felt like every hard call somehow bent back toward the Whitmores. He didn't like what that pattern said about him.
He tried not to look at it too closely. His own father had been a mill worker, laid off once when he was young. Whitmore money had kept half this county fed through leaner years than this one. Larkin knew that debt personally the way most people in Marlo Creek did. It made saying no to that family harder than it should have been.
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.