Miranda did promise and walked Paula to her vehicle. “You’ve got my number. Call me. Anytime.”
Paula nodded, climbed into her sedan, and drove away. Miranda watched her go, wondering what she would have done if Paula had said yes, Stark had raped her. Brought her in for questioning? Grilled her? Made her recount every moment of the “alleged” rape and her whereabouts the night of the murder? Wasn’t that standard operating procedure?
What did she do now? Miranda wondered, tipping her face to the cloud-studded sky. What was usually so clear to her, was now anything but.
Her hands were shaking and she stuck them into her pockets, turning to head back into the bar and say good-bye to Summer.
As the door shut behind her, the bartender came running out of the back, expression panicked.
“Miranda, come quick! Something’s happened to Summer!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
11:25 A.M.
Summer lay sprawled on the floor, halfway between her desk and the door, her body twitching uncontrollably. Miranda knew exactly what was happening and rushed to help her.
“She’s having a seizure,” Miranda said to the bartender. “We need to roll her onto her side.”
Tara joined her and they carefully eased her onto her side. Miranda checked her airway, saw it was clear, and let out a relieved breath.
“Is Summer an epileptic?” she asked the bartender.
The younger woman looked completely freaked out. “I don’t know. I don’t even really know what that is.”
“This will pass in a minute; she’ll probably be thirsty. You get a glass of water. I’ve got her.”
Tara nodded and ran to retrieve the drink. By the time she returned with it, the seizure had passed and Miranda was helping Summer into a sitting position.
“Is she okay?”
“I’m right here and can speak for myself,” Summer said. “I’m fine.”
“I brought you some water.”
“I see that.” She held out her hand for it.
Miranda saw that Tara’s hand was shaking as she gave it to her.
“You going to be okay, boss?”
“I said, I’m fine. But I’d be better if you stopped making a fuss over me and went and worked the bar. Anyone could wander in and rob us blind.”
Miranda smiled Tara. “Yup, I think she’s good.”
“Grumpy.” Tara wagged a finger at Summer. “You really scared me! Don’t do that again.”
“Wish I could make that promise,” Summer muttered and waved her toward the door. “Now … go.”
“How do you really feel?” Miranda asked when she and Summer were alone.
“Ridiculous. Help me up.”
Miranda squatted beside her. “Hold on, let’s make sure you didn’t bump your head and give yourself a concussion.”
“Another happy thought.”
“How’s your head?”
“Hurts.”
“Let me check.”
Summer pushed her hand away. “I’ll check my own head, thank you.”
Miranda watched as she gingerly explored her scalp. “Got a little bump. Not too bad.”
“May I?” Miranda asked.
Summer agreed, albeit grudgingly. Miranda felt the lump and nodded. “We should probably go to the emergency room just in case.”
“That’s not happening. Now, will you please help me up?”
Miranda bit back a smile and held out a hand. “I see you’re one of those kind of patients.”
Summer scowled and clasped Miranda’s hand. A moment later she was on her feet. She stood a moment as if making sure she was steady, then crossed to the desk and sat.
“So, what’s the deal?” Miranda asked. “You’re an epileptic?”
“Yeah.” Summer took a swallow of the water. “The frequency of my seizures has increased since the car accident. Lucky me.”
“I’m surprised you never told me.”
“Should I have?” Summer retrieved a vial of pills from her desk drawer, then looked up apologetically. “Sorry to snap at you like that. I hate feeling so helpless.”
“I get it, believe me,” Miranda said as her friend opened the vial. “What’s that?”
“Anti-seizure medication.” She popped a capsule into her mouth and washed it down with the water. “How did the meeting with your old friend go?”
“You know we weren’t friends.”
She arched an eyebrow. Miranda was glad to see the color had come back into her cheeks. “Do I?”
“Yeah, old friends don’t need to meet somewhere no one will see them.”
She smiled ruefully. “True.” She dropped the vial back into the drawer. “It was about the case, wasn’t it? Stark’s murder?”
“I can’t comment on that.”
“Right.” She jerked her head toward the door. “So maybe you should get out of here and get back to work?”
“Not until I know you’re fine.”
“You’re worse than my mother. I’m fine. Now get the hell out of here and go solve a murder.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
12:10 P.M.
Miranda sat in her car, engine running, working to slow her thoughts. Struggling to push aside the image of Summer sprawled on the floor, body uncontrollably convulsing.
She took a deep calming, breath. Summer was fine; she was under a doctor’s care and there was nothing Miranda could do for her right now.
She had a job to do.
Focus, Miranda. What next?
Paula’s words popped into her head. “He was not a nice guy. He only acted like one.”
So how could she prove it? She frowned. Nobody wanted to talk, so she needed to find the proof someplace else. Where?
Stark’s house. The first time through she had been looking for evidence that would lead to arrest of Stark’s killer. Now, she needed to search with another mindset, one set on proving that Richard Stark was not the paragon this community made him out to be. He was a sexual predator, one who had hurt an untold number of women and gotten away with his crimes for a long time.
Her cell went off. Jake, she saw. “Hey,” she answered. “Where are you?”
“We’re on our way back, about ten minutes out. Lund’s mother didn’t budge, insisted her daughter spent the night of Stark’s murder in her childhood bedroom. Refused to say any more.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. She seem as angry as yesterday?”
“Oh, yeah, big time.”
“There’s something she wants to say but is holding back,” Miranda said. “And she’s not happy about it.”
“Agreed. Chief wants us to bring Lund in, question her at the station. See if we can rattle something loose.”
Miranda wanted to rattle something loose, too, but she figured it’d be something way different than what the chief was looking for. “You picking her up?”
“Sent a patrol unit.”
Miranda checked the time. “I’ll meet you there.”
*
Huddled in the interview-room chair, Lund looked younger than her twenty-three years. Miranda wasn’t sure if tears had scrubbed every trace of cosmetics from her face or if she had been dragged straight out of bed. Her brown hair fell across her face as she gazed down at her clasped hands, concealing her expression.
Miranda didn’t need to see her face to know what she was feeling. Fear. And confusion.
She understood because she had been in this same place before—afraid, uncertain, and surrounded by people who didn’t believe her.
Miranda closed the interview room door behind her and Jake. “Hey, Jessie,” she said softly. “How are you today?”