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.
Grant protests loudly, but even he can sense the room shifting under him. "This is ridiculous, " he mutters, grabbing his jacket. "Let's go, guys. " His friends follow, though Ryan lingers a half second longer than the rest. His eyes meet Josie's for just a moment before he turns away.
Something passes between them. Neither says anything about it. Not yet. Once the five of them clear out, the diner exhales as one. Rosie hurries over, hands shaking.
Josie, I am so sorry. I never wanted. I know, Josie says gently. You didn't have a choice. I always have a choice, Rosie says.
I just made the wrong one today. Addie crosses the room and pulls her sister into a tight hug. Neither of them says a word for a long moment. When they finally step back, Addie studies her sister's face carefully. "You look tired, " she says.
"I am tired, " Josie admits. "But I'm okay. I promise. You didn't have to come, " Josie adds quietly. "I had it handled.
" "You always say that, " Addie says. "And you're always wrong about it. " I'm not wrong this time. I was one signature away from being fired. Or worse.
Addie says that sheriff had cuffs on you, Josie. I know. I felt them. Don't joke about it. I'm not joking, Josie says softly.
I just don't know another way to sit with it. Addie reaches over and takes her sister's hand. The way she used to when they were kids, scared of thunderstorms. We do this together from here, she says. No more solo missions.
I've been doing it alone a long time, Josie admits. Because it felt safer that way for both of us. Maybe, Addie says. Or maybe you just got used to carrying it by yourself. Dad would have wanted us doing this side by side, not you out front, me chasing paperwork behind you.
Josie is quiet for a moment, looking at their joined hands. Okay, she finally says together. Together, Addie repeats, squeezing once before letting go. The two sisters step outside a while later, away from curious eyes. They sit on the curb near Addie's car, same as they did as kids.
"You could have told me the plan wasn't going smoothly, " Addie says. It was going exactly the way these things always go. Slow. Slow. Almost got you arrested today.
I had it handled. Josie repeats. Softer this time. Addie sigh, leaning her head back against the car door. I got assigned to this district 3 weeks ago, she says.
I've been building a file on Whitmore construction the whole time. Fraud complaints, land disputes, a few things that don't add up. I know. Josie says that's part of why I came here first. I wanted to see them up close before you showed up with a badge.
See if the rumors match the people. And Addie asks, "They're worse than the rumors, " Josie says quietly. "And better in small ways, too. Not everyone here is like Grant. Some of them are just scared.
" Addie nods slowly, watching the diner lights glow through the window. "Dad used to say that. " She says, "Fear and cruelty aren't always the same thing. Sometimes fear just looks like cruelty from the outside. " Josie is quiet for a moment.
Do you think Frank really knew him? I think we're about to find out, Addie says. Come on, let's go talk to him properly. They find Frank sitting alone on a bench outside, hands folded in his lap. He looks up as they approach, older somehow than he did an hour ago.
I owe you both an explanation, he says. A long overdue one. We'd like to hear it, Addie says, sitting down beside him. Josie sits on his other side, quiet, waiting. Frank is silent for a moment, gathering himself.
Your father was the best sheriff this county ever had. He starts fair, honest. Never once took a shortcut, even when it cost him. About 9 years ago, he started asking questions about a Whitmore project. Land records that didn't match up.
Permits signed off too fast. He never got to finish that investigation. I remember the night before it happened, Frank adds quietly. He came by my house late. Said he'd found something in the county records.
Wouldn't tell me exactly what. Said he wanted to be sure first. Said he'd show me in the morning over coffee like always. That morning never came. The accident, Josie says quietly.
That's what we were always told. That's what the file says. Frank agrees. I never believed it. Not fully.
The the skid marks were wrong. The timing was wrong. Too many things didn't fit. But the case closed within a month and I was young. I had a family, a badge.
I wasn't ready to lose. I told myself it wasn't my place to push. His voice cracks slightly on the last few words. I've carried that decision for 9 years, he says. It never got lighter.
Addie reaches over and rests a hand on his arm. You were scared, she says. That doesn't make you a bad man. It makes me a man who chose safety over your father, Frank says. That's a hard thing to forgive myself for.
Josie speaks up, gentle but firm. He wouldn't have wanted you carrying this alone. He believed in second chances. He told me that more than once. Maybe this is yours, she says.
Help us finish what he started. Frank looks at both of them for a long moment, eyes wet. I'd like that, he says. More than you know. That evening, the three of them sit together at Frank's kitchen table.
Old case files spread out between coffee cups and a half-eaten pie. Frank walks them through what he remembers piece by piece, careful and thorough. Your father kept his own notes, he says. Separate from the official file. Where?
Addie asks, leaning forward. He never told me. Exactly. Said it was safer that way for all of us. A man like Walter didn't trust paper he didn't control himself.
Josie pulls out her own notebook, flipping to a page near the back. He used to write things in shorthand, she says. Half code, half habit. I found pages like that in a box after he passed. Never understood them.