“All right, then,” she says. “I guess I know where I stand.”
Part of me wants to smooth this over. Soften the blow. But honestly, my own annoyance meter rises here. Of course the town takes precedence over the woman he’s been dating for a month. Even Dalton needs to weigh his responsibility to me versus Rockton.
That’s not what Marissa is feeling, though. It’s her versus Anders’s friends. I can say I expected better, but that’s judgmental. She is understandably unsteady in this new relationship. I’m sure dozens of people have warned her it won’t last, that Anders won’t stay, that he’s just trying something new and he’ll revert to form soon enough. I’ve been keeping out of it. I don’t know her well enough to reassure her without sounding like that annoying happily married person, eager to see all her friends paired off.
Still, I’m going to interfere here, just a little. I walk back and say, “I’ll need to call a town meeting in the morning to discuss this, but we’ll make sure you have the official statement before that, Marissa. You’ll know before everyone else does.” I glance at Anders.
He sighs, just a little, but nods. “I’ll talk to you before that, Mari. I know this is going to be tough on you, too. I’d suggest you let someone walk you home. I can have the militia deliver your breakfast so you don’t need to go out.”
“I’m not hiding in my apartment, Will.”
“And I’m not asking you to. I’m giving you the option.” We catch sight of a figure, and Anders calls, “Sebastian?”
A young man jogs over, wolf-dog at his side. “Hey,” he says with a grin. “I thought I heard voices. I was trying to sneak past with Raoul so we didn’t interrupt. It’s his pre-bedtime elimination run.”
“Could you do me a favor?” Anders says. “Walk Marissa home?”
“Sure.”
“You might get waylaid,” Anders says. “There’s been…” He lifts the sign. “This was posted in the town square.”
Sebastian reads it.
“Huh,” he says. A moment’s pause. “People are upset, I take it?” A wry smile. “Dumb question. Normal people get upset when they think there’s a killer in their midst.” He looks at Anders. “If you did it, I’m sure you had a reason. If not, then posting that is a really shitty thing. Well, it’s shitty either way but…” He shrugs. “You know.”
Marissa stares at Sebastian as if she’s not quite hearing him right. Or he’s failing to process what Anders has been accused of. He isn’t. We get all kinds in Rockton and, honestly, I trust Sebastian a hell of a lot more than I trust the white-collar criminals who bilked people of their life savings. He knows what he is, and he’s committed to fixing it, which is more than I can say for most of them.
Dalton’s voice rings out just as Storm bursts through and tackles Raoul. “So the party moved into the forest, huh. You guys find anything dead for me to raise?”
“Just my career as a Rockton law-enforcement officer,” Anders calls back. He holds up the sign.
“Fuck,” Dalton says.
“That about sums it up,” Anders says. “Sebastian, if you could walk Marissa home, please. Eric, Casey, and I have a few things to discuss.”
* * *
We’re in the police station. We considered taking this conversation home, but that could look as if we headed off to bed, ignoring the situation. Better for people to see a light shining in the station window.
When we enter, Dalton goes straight for the desk. He pulls out a sheet of paper, writes a sign of his own, and sticks it on the door.
Meeting in progress. Knock & we’ll let you listen in from the cell.
“Not even the ‘fucking’ cell,” Anders says. “You mean business.”
Dalton grunts and puts the full kettle over the fire before lighting it.
“Marissa caught me hugging Casey,” Anders says. “Possibly also kissing her forehead.”
Dalton stops short. “She posted that sign because of it?”
“No, no. The hug came after the sign, but Marissa kinda made a big deal out of it, so I figured you should know, in case she spreads stories.”
Dalton snorts. “Any chance that story would drown out this other one? If so, you two better start hugging all over town.” He straightens. “Is that seriously Marissa’s concern right now?”
“In her defense, she was upset before she learned why I was hugging Will,” I say. “I don’t think you need to worry she’ll say anything.”
“Wouldn’t be worried if she did. Anyone who’d believe you two are screwing around isn’t someone whose opinion means shit to me. I’m a little more worried about this.” He picks up the sign. “Fuck.”
“Let’s focus on who wrote that,” I say. “Will’s going to need time to figure out how to handle it. We all are. So we’ll start with the crime.”
“It isn’t slander if it’s true,” Anders murmurs.
I lower myself to the floor beside Storm. There’s only one chair inside, and I don’t feel like dragging in two from the back porch. “Revealing the details of a person’s previous life violates the rules of Rockton. It’s on the form I signed before I got in. I am dissuaded from sharing my own details and forbidden from seeking out or sharing the details of others. That makes it a crime.” I look at Dalton. “Yes?”
“Yeah. It’s not on the books as a law, but fuck, nothing is. We make it up as we go.”
“I’d rather not make this up. Any precedent I can use?”
His eyes roll up, accessing the law-enforcement archives. “Had a case maybe ten years ago where a woman told her boyfriend that she came here after her husband killed their kid. When she broke up with the boyfriend, he tried to blackmail her with it. Gene didn’t want to pursue it. He figured since she’d been the victim, it didn’t matter.”
“It mattered because she didn’t want to be labeled a victim,” I say. “She came here to get away from being the woman whose husband murdered their child. Also, it’s no one’s damned business.”
“Yep,” Dalton says. “Gene let me run with it, and I prosecuted the guy. So that’s a precedent. Then there was the asshole who left just before you arrived—”
“Oh!” Anders cuts in. “Larry, right?” He looks at me. “Total asshole. He made a point of getting personal details from people and then sharing them. Eric thought it was a game for him. I argued it was social currency. We shut him down. Charged him with something like violating the expectation of privacy.”
“Have there been times when people shared residents’ backgrounds and you didn’t prosecute them?” I ask. “We don’t want to seem like we’re picking and choosing when to enforce the law.”
Dalton shakes his head. “Definitely none in the past five years, which is as long as anyone except me has been here. More often, people share their own stories. There have been a few cases of drunken oversharing, but that happens in the Roc, with witnesses.”
“Okay,” I say. “So the crime was posting the sign. If the person who had that information felt it was a security threat, they should have come to us.”