“Detective Rader.”
“Miranda? It’s your old schoolmate, Paula. You gave me your card the other night at the vigil.”
Miranda kept her surprise from her voice. “Hey, Paula. What can I do for you today?”
“I wondered if … maybe we could get together for coffee? Catch up?”
The two of them, catch up? They had nothing to catch up on—other than reminiscing over how different they were from each other in high school and how neither would have been caught dead hanging out together. If that was the real reason she was calling, which Miranda doubted. Her old classmate had something else she wanted to talk about and her gut was telling her it had to do with Richard Stark.
“That’s really nice, Paula, but I’m buried in this investigation right now. Maybe another time?”
A moment of pregnant silence followed. Miranda waited, mentally crossing her fingers.
“Actually, I thought we could talk about that as well. For old times’ sake.”
Bingo. “I’d like that. I know a quiet place we can meet. Coffee’s not great, but no one will bother us there. Ever heard of the Toasted Cat?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
10:00 A.M.
When Miranda arrived at the Toasted Cat, Paula was already there, standing beside her car. She looked anxious. “This is a bar, Miranda.”
“Exactly. You’re not going to run into anyone you know here this time of day.”
Paula indicated the CLOSED sign in the window. “We’re not going to run into anyone, because it’s not open for another thirty minutes.”
“I know the owner,” Miranda said, starting for the door. “She’s here and knows we’re coming.”
Miranda texted her friend that they had arrived. A moment later, Summer opened the door. She didn’t look well and Miranda made a mental note to check on her when she and Paula finished.
Miranda introduced the two women. “Summer’s a good friend and owner of this magnificent establishment.”
Summer laughed and held out a hand. “I don’t know about magnificent, but I’m glad to have you here. The daytime bartender will be arriving soon, but other than her, you’ll have the place to yourselves for a while.” She indicated the bar. “Brewed a fresh pot. Cream, sugar, and cups are all there. I’ll be in my office.”
They both thanked her and fixed themselves a cup of coffee. Miranda gestured toward the back of the bar. “How about the booth in the far corner?”
Paula nodded and followed her to the booth. They sat. Paula had called the meeting so Miranda waited for her to initiate.
After several moments of awkward silence, she did. “How’s your family?”
“The same as they were back then.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Miranda’s lips twitched. “Not your fault. How’s your family?”
“They’re good. Mom and Dad moved to Atlanta to be close to my sister and her kids.”
“Nice.”
“You’re not married?”
“Nope, never even close. How about you?”
“Me either.”
Miranda looked down at her cup, then back up at the other woman. “I may be wrong, but I don’t think you called me to chitchat about our families or our matrimonial states?”
“No.” Paula let out a long, soft breath. “I wanted to talk to you about … Richard.”
Excited, Miranda leaned slightly forward. “You knew him better than you first said, didn’t you?”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. “Not really, but I’ve … heard things about him.”
“What kind of things?”
“That he—” She stopped. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have called you. It’s all just … gossip. And there’s nothing you can do with hearsay—”
Miranda reached across the table and caught her hand. It was balled into a tight fist. “Not everyone’s an eyewitness. We depend on hearsay and personal opinions. They provide trails for us to follow.”
The bartender—a young woman named Tara—arrived, but didn’t even glance their way. Her presence seemed to increase Paula’s anxiety.
Miranda squeezed her hand, hoping to reassure her. “You called me for a reason, Paula. Talk to me. Tell me what you’ve heard.”
She swallowed, glanced toward the bartender, then back at Miranda. “I could be fired.”
“For talking to me? That would actually be against the law.”
“They’d find something … some reason.”
“They?”
“Stark. His cronies. You know how the system works.”
“What system?”
“Every system where there are people at the top and people at the bottom who depend on them for their livelihood. It’s the human sickness. One of them, anyway.”
“You, the preppy cheerleader, a cynic now?”
“Not a cynic, a realist. And you, of all people should be one too.”
“And why me?”
“You know.” She leaned closer. “That’s been your whole life.”
The words took her breath. The cold, hard truth of them. It had been the story of her life. And as much as she had tried to escape, it still was.
“Tell me about Richard Stark. Tell me what you heard.”
Paula hesitated a moment, then began, voice just above a whisper. “He wasn’t a nice guy. That was an act.”
“Then what was he, Paula?”
“A … predator. He took advantage of stupid women. Women—girls—who fell for his charm. His position and pretty face. Women who trusted him because of all that.”
Miranda noted Paula’s hands, clasped so tightly her knuckles were white; she noted the look of trauma in her eyes. Maybe her old classmate had intimate knowledge of Richard Stark’s true character. “And what did he do to those trusting women?”
She shook her head. “I have to go.”
Miranda reached across the table and caught her hand once more. “He raped them, didn’t he?” Paula didn’t respond and Miranda went on. “How’d he do it? Did he drug them?”
She tugged her hand free. “I just wanted you to know, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“From who? Students? Other faculty? Help me, Paula. Give me names.”
“I can’t do that.” She stood. “I’ve got to go.”
“Wait.” Miranda followed her up. “Was it you, Paula? Did he rape you?”
She paled. “Thanks for the coffee, Randi. I’m really glad you’re doing so well and I…” She took a step toward the door, then stopped. “I know you were telling the truth back then.”
Miranda opened her mouth to speak, her throat so tight she didn’t know if she could. “How,” she managed to ask, the word coming out a croak.
“I didn’t back then. But now … I wanted you to know that. And I wanted to tell you … I’m sorry.”
Miranda blinked against the tears that stung her eyes. “For what?”
“For being such a jerk back then. And for not believing you.”
“Paula, wait … you’ve got to tell me. Were you raped? Did Stark rape you?”
She shook her head ever so slightly, but Miranda couldn’t tell whether she was saying she hadn’t been or she just couldn’t talk about it.
“Thanks for doing this, Paula.” She paused. “All of it.”
“I didn’t do … anything. And, Randi? We didn’t talk. Promise me, okay?”