by Kait Nolan
“Retaliatory behavior? What the hell are you talking about? All of this stuff has, as you’ve consistently pointed out, been directed at me.”
He just looked at her, apparently waiting for her brain to connect the dots. When she did, she simply couldn’t contain her incredulity. “Are you kidding me? You’re seriously basing her motive for these crimes on the idea that she has a crush on you? Jesus Christ, Ethan, how big is your ego?”
“This is not about my ego. It’s about evidence.”
She couldn’t stay still and began to pace the room. “Evidence? Everything you’ve just tossed out is purely circumstantial supposition. You say she had opportunity. I can list off at least eight people who also had the same opportunity at all of those locations. It’s a small town. We all hang out together. You haven’t proved anything but that she’s part of our crew.”
His lips thinned. “It’s an ongoing investigation.”
“An investigation that’s going to destroy what she’s managed to rebuild of her life. Do you have any idea what she’s had to go through to get to where she is now?”
“Frankly, right now, I don’t give a damn. My job is to protect people and prevent crime. I’m here talking to you about this because I’m trying to protect you from being the victim of further escalation because you aren’t willing to see the truth.”
Miranda sucked in a breath.
“Delaney Newell is a woman with a history of unstable mental health and rash, violent behavior. This entire string of events fits her pattern.”
No. He was wrong.
“So that’s it? You’re just going to write her off based on past behavior and circumstantial evidence because you can’t fathom that someone can actually change.”
“Most people don’t.”
Ethan certainly hadn’t. He’d shown his cynicism that first day outside the diner, and she’d foolishly believed that Wishful would work its magic on him. That he’d learn the world wasn’t what he imagined it to be. Apparently the fountain couldn’t grant all wishes.
“Delaney didn’t do this. I know she didn’t. You looking at her is going to be noticed. It’s going to wreck any progress she’s made in town, and not only is it spurious, but all the grief she’s about to get will be partly your fault. Not only are you wrong, not only is this...focus of yours going to hurt her, but you’re making me a part of that.”
Miranda shook her head. She didn’t want to be party to any of this. “I thought you were a better cop than to go around making accusations on evidence this flimsy.”
He’d been a man of unflappable calm the whole time she’d known him, and she’d wondered if anything could rattle him. But as her barb struck, his gray eyes turned hard as flint and a muscle began to jump in his jaw.
“Damn it, Miranda, stop being a Pollyanna about this. If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and walks like a duck, it’s a damned duck. Believing anything else out of some misguided set of optimism about people is dangerous and stupid.”
Oh, hell no.
“Get out.” The words were barely audible, though she wanted to scream.
Ethan blew out a breath, obviously searching for some calm. “Miranda, I know you’re upset—”
“Upset? Upset. Oh, of course, because I’m the naive optimist whose judgment can’t be trusted.” The temper that had been simmering for weeks kicked up to a full on boil, until all the frustration and upset and anger she’d been shoving down simply erupted.
“That’s not—”
“No. Just stop. I’ve been in a relationship where my beliefs were belittled. I won’t do it again. I won’t share my life, my home with someone who makes me feel like less.”
Some of the hardness in his eyes faded, replaced with shock. “Miranda—”
She held up a hand. “I’m not doing this anymore. I shouldn’t have done it in the first place, but I let myself believe that you’d be different. That we could balance each other. But the truth is, your narrow-minded insistence on seeing the worst in people makes you stupid. You’re wrong.” Because her hands wanted to shake, she curled them to fists. “Get whatever gear you have to have and go. You can get the rest later. I want you out.”
He rose slowly, his hands clenching and unclenching, as he stared her down. “I don’t want to leave things like this.”
“I don’t care. Out.”
Without another word, he went up the stairs. Miranda stayed where she was. Waiting. She was going to lose it, utterly and completely. But she’d be damned if she’d do it while he was still here.
When he came down a few minutes later, he held a duffel bag in one hand. In the foyer he stopped and turned to her. “I don’t like you being here alone.”
“That’s not your concern anymore.”
He sucked in a slow breath through his nose. “Lock up after I go.”
In answer, she marched to the door and yanked it open, gesturing for him to take his ass through it.
With one last look at her, he went. As soon as his boots hit the front porch, she slammed the door and shot the deadbolt.
She stood there, hands braced against the wood, listening as he got into his truck and cranked the engine. It idled in the driveway for a long minute before he backed out and drove away. No spinning tires for him. For some reason that made her even angrier. She felt like hurling things. Preferably at his head.
Needing to move, to act, she scooped up her keys and purse. He’d said she could get into the clinic. She’d work off some of this mad cleaning up. But she had a feeling it would take a lot more than a broom and dustpan to set her life back to rights.
Ethan was generally a man of calm and control. He’d had too much training, spent too much time in dangerous situations where anything else risked deadly outcomes. But he didn’t feel in control right now.
How dare she strike out at the core of him in a fit of temper, just because she didn’t like what he was telling her? He was a good cop. His record proved it. He had means, motive, opportunity, and probable cause. But Miranda was so damned certain that Delaney would never betray her, she couldn’t look at the truth sitting right in front of her face. He wasn’t even sure she’d believe a direct photograph of the woman with a smoking gun in her hand. She’d probably argue the thing was Photoshopped. But because he sure as shit didn’t want to risk making a false arrest, he spent the rest of the afternoon going over every shred of evidence, every list, every crime scene, every interview, looking for anything that pointed to someone else.
Miranda wasn’t entirely wrong. There were, in fact, nine other people who’d been at all three locations at the time in question. Two of them were Cam and Norah, who obviously had nothing to gain from harassing her. As to the rest, she’d been over those lists before and said she didn’t have any kind of history or bad blood with any of them. But people didn’t always know when someone else had a beef with them. Needing some perspective, he called Clay and asked him to meet for a late dinner at the diner.
For once, Dinner Belles wasn’t packed to the gills. Good. Maybe the entire contents of their conversation wouldn’t be all over town by tomorrow morning. He’d just as soon his business be private for a little while longer. And maybe Miranda would calm down and realize she’d overreacted and this whole thing would count as their first fight instead of their last. But Ethan couldn’t help but see that quick flash of hurt that had flickered over her face before her temper went supernova. In retrospect, losing his own temper with her hadn’t been the best way to handle things. But Christ, he hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours, and she wasn’t being rational about her own safety. If anything happened to her…
“You look like shit,” Clay announced as he slid into the corner booth.
“Feel like it, too.” Ethan’s gaze tracked over the diner, noting the two other tables of customers. Deciding to ensure they had a little more privacy, he slid out and headed to the vintage jukebox. He popped in some quarters and made his selections, figuring the lineup ought to giv
e them enough time to get through the particulars.
Clay just arched a brow as he sat back down.
“I’d just as soon not everybody in town be privy to what we’re talking about.”
“Fair enough. What are we talking about? Your case? Miranda?”
“Both.”
“You any closer to figuring out who’s behind the vandalism?”
“Thought I was. Still think I am, but Miranda’s convinced I’m dead wrong, so I want some outside opinions to see if there’s something I’m missing.”
“Alright then.” Clay broke off with a cheerful smile at Mama Pearl as she ambled over to take their order. “And how are you, my dearest, darling girl?”
“Still not fallin’ for yo flirtin’, Clay Turner. What’ll you have?”
Clay just winked. They both gave their orders without glancing at the menu.
“Mama Pearl, can you come back by when you get our order back to the kitchen? I’d like to pick your brain a bit,” Ethan told her.
“Sure thing, Chief.”
When she came back, he’d pulled a sheet of paper and pushed it toward the edge of the table. “Everybody on that list was known to be in the vicinity the night of each vandalism. My question to both of you is whether you’re aware of any ill will or bad blood between Miranda and any of those people—old or new.”
Clay scooted over and Mama Pearl sat down, both of them bending over the list. After a few moments, Clay shook his head. “I can’t think of anything.”
“Most of these people would be at the head of a lineup to string up whoever’s behind this. Especially this one.” Mama Pearl tapped her finger against Delaney’s name.
“Why’s that?”
“She got herself into some trouble some time back. Miranda helped her out of it. And Miranda’s first in line to defend her when anybody tries to start up the rumor mill again. That’s what she was doing that day you bumped into her when she was tellin’ off those busybodies.”
“You don’t think, given the girl’s history, that something might could shift her loyalties?”
“That girl’s had a helluva time getting past what happened. I have a hard time imagining her doing anything that might bring it back up again—to Miranda or anybody else. She’s worked hard, kept her head down, and her toes on the straight and narrow.”
Which was more or less what Miranda had said. Ethan scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face. Was she right? Was he looking so hard at Delaney because she was the perpetrator or because she was the most obvious and he wanted this case closed?
Clay looked at the list again. “You said this was everybody who was at all three locations. But the fact is, these were all public events, and in this town, it wouldn’t be hard to find out Miranda was going to be at any of them. Seems like limiting your suspect pool to who was visible is possibly cutting out some options.”
The same thought had occurred to Ethan. “Have either of you heard any rumblings in the past few months about anybody who might have a thing against her? A disgruntled patient? Anything. Because I’m running out of viable leads to follow.”
Clay looked thoughtful. “What if it’s not about her?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…if you toss out the keying of her car, which you can’t absolutely tie to everything else, this all started the night of the bonfire when you basically took out a billboard announcing your interest in her. What if it’s actually about you?”
“I had thought of that. Which was why I had so strongly considered her.” He tapped Delaney’s name.
“Oh no, honey, she’s got a thing for that new firefighter. What’s his name...Sean Murphy.”
Sean Murphy. He’d also been one of the students in that bowhunter safety course. Had he been standing nearby during that demonstration with Delaney? Ethan couldn’t remember. But he had been at the bonfire.
“Are you sure?”
Mama Pearl gave him a pitying look. “Child, I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure.”
“Yeah, I saw her watching Sean and Charlotte at the dance and looking like she’d swallowed a box of razor blades. There were definite shades of I-wish-that-were-me,” Clay said.
If that were true and Delaney didn’t actually have some kind of crush on him, then that killed her only viable motive for targeting Miranda. Which meant Miranda was probably right.
“Okay, circling back around to the original question: Why would somebody targeting Miranda be about me?”
“If somebody’s pissed off at the attention you’re giving her. Maybe they figure a strike at her is a strike at you.” Clay shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time you had a crazy fan.”
“I hadn’t even performed here before that night.”
“You and I both know sometimes it only takes once.”
Was that really even a possibility? Was he looking at this whole thing from the wrong angle? Had he really already acquired some lunatic fan? Delaney had been the only one he’d suspected of having leanings in that direction and it seemed he’d been wrong about that. Miranda’s scathing remark about his ego echoed through his head again. What if it had nothing to do with attraction or obsession? What if someone was striking out at him through Miranda for reasons that were related to not liking him? That would seem to suggest it was something to do with the job, someone he’d crossed as police chief. He hadn’t been in town long enough to make enemies of a personal nature.
“Order up!”
Mama Pearl shoved up from her seat and went to retrieve their supper. As she slid it onto the table she gave Ethan a long look. “Seems like you got a lot of ponderin’ to do. A fair bit of groveling is probably in order, too.”
“Excuse me?”
“You gon’ tell me you not planning to fix whatever you broke to send her in here for a breakup pie?”
Ethan swore. Apparently bad relationship news traveled even faster than the good.
“You two broke up?” Clay asked.
“I pissed her off about Delaney. She lost her temper and kicked me out. I figured she’d cool off, and we’d talk about it like rational adults.” Ethan wasn’t willing to believe she’d really, truly ended it.
Clay shook his head. “Oh brother, no. That is not how Miranda Campbell is built. She has a temper but she keeps it tightly in check. Normally she has no problem, but if you actually made her unleash that temper, you are screwed in the worst possible way. Groveling is the only solution.”
As something that might’ve been panic lodged itself under his sternum, Ethan swore again. “Mama Pearl, can I get a to go box?”
Chapter 19
Broken glass hit the pile of detritus in the big garbage can with a crunch that had Miranda grinding her teeth as she emptied the dust pan for what felt like the hundredth time. Turning back to the patient room, she shone a flashlight across the floor, looking for stray shards of glass. Finding none, she declared this room done and shoved the garbage can back into the hall. The floors would get mopped later. Striding back to the counter, she made a notation to the ruthlessly organized list about what needed to be done to that particular room, then stuck a fork into the turtle pie she’d picked up from Dinner Belles earlier in the afternoon. It was half breakup pie, half self-pity for the state of her clinic—all self-medication with sugar. She’d been working her way through it as, room-by-room, she set her clinic to rights. Alone.
She could’ve called a dozen people to come help. Her staff. Her family. Her friends. They were all just waiting for her to say the word. But she’d needed to be by herself to stew and lick her wounds. She was far too raw to see anyone else. At the slightest show of sympathy, she’d crack. Better to be alone when she broke.
She’d started in the back, with the lab, looking around at the destruction and the mess, feeling her fury rise all over again at whoever had done this. And as she’d thrown stuff away, put things back on shelves, and begun the inventory needed to determine whether anything had been taken, she wondered if she�
�d had a wolf in her midst. Had she been blind? Had her desire to see the best in people made her a dupe? She started mentally reviewing all her interactions with Delaney, looking for something she’d missed since she’d been all wrapped up with Ethan. And then she was furious with him all over again for making her doubt Delaney. It had taken an entire slice of pie to calm her down from that enough to move on to the scattered patient files.
“Miranda?”
She closed her eyes, unsurprised that Norah had come to track her down. She’d been ignoring her phone all afternoon. “I’m back here.”
Note to self: Should have locked the back door.
But she’d been going in and out with bags of trash as she restored order to chaos.
Norah came around the corner. “Jesus. Have you cleaned all of this up on your own?”
“I have.” There was some small satisfaction in that. In proving she wasn’t beaten.
“Why didn’t you call us?” Norah’s gaze strayed to the pie, and she immediately understood. “Oh no. Tell me that’s not a break-up pie.”
“That would make me a liar.” How could admitting it out loud hurt worse than actually kicking him out of her house and watching him drive away?
“Oh honey.” Norah flew the rest of the distance, wrapping Miranda in a tight hug. “What happened?”
