“She said that?”
“No. But she brought me the box because she felt guilty and wanted to help. Look.” She slid over the folded paper, with its two-word apology.
“Miranda, you lifted that key from a crime scene.”
“I know, but I didn’t mean—” She bit off what she was about to say. She’d stuck the key in her pocket. How could she say she didn’t mean to? “I didn’t plan on doing it,” she said instead. “It just … happened.”
He removed his gloves and dragged a hand through his already-rumpled hair. “This is really messed up, Miranda.”
It was. And so was what she was about to ask him. “Don’t tell anyone about this, Jake. Not yet.”
“Too late. I already called Cadwell.”
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “When?”
“When I went out for the gloves. This is big; he needs to know. You would have done the same thing.”
She would have, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Everything was different now. She was different.
She couldn’t look at him, not yet, she felt so betrayed. “Did you tell him everything?”
“What I knew so far.”
“You told him about the button?”
“No, I didn’t get that specific. I told him about the box, the general contents.”
“This wasn’t yours to share.” She fisted her fingers. “Especially the button.”
“Babe, you’re talking crazy. We’re in the middle of an investigation—”
“No. You’re in the middle of an investigation. I’ve been sidelined.”
“And I wonder why?”
Her cheeks heated. “Whose side are you on?”
“The side of what’s lawful.”
“Don’t talk to me about the law! This is more important—it’s about the truth. People need to know. The women he hurt need them to know.”
“Including you.”
“Yes, dammit! What’s wrong with that?”
He reached for her; she jerked away. “Don’t.”
He looked hurt. “Miranda, what you’re imagining isn’t going to happen. Richard Stark being labeled a sexual predator? Women coming forward in droves? Why haven’t they already? I’m sorry, it’s just not.”
“Yes, it will. I’m going to take this to the Sheriff’s Department—”
“Babe, listen to me—”
“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t get it because it didn’t happen to you!”
The words landed between them like a sharp slap. His expression softened. “You’re right, it didn’t. But if you do this they’re going to drag you through the mud. Call you a liar. Crazy. Sick or jealous or bitter … whatever. You’ll lose your job, your reputation, and your place in this community.”
“I’ve got the box. I’ve got proof.”
“Proof they’ll say you manufactured. They’ll claim this was a setup, that you slept with me so I would be here when the box was ‘left’ on your porch. They’ll argue you were manipulating me, so I would back you up, vouch for everything you said.”
She wanted to deny he was right, fling the words back at him, but she couldn’t. He was right. And it hurt. “What about the button? I have it. Surely someone will remember me losing it.”
“You really think someone will recall you lost a button that night, fourteen years ago?”
“Ms. Roxy,” she said, hearing the note of desperation in her voice. “She noticed it. She brought me a safety pin…”
But she’d died two years ago. Miranda remembered the funeral; the woman had been beloved and nearly the entire town attended the service.
Jake remembered, too; she saw it in his eyes. “Let’s look at it this way,” he said. “You believe the button’s a trophy, correct?” When she nodded, he went on. “Think it through, Miranda. Why’s your button the only trophy in the box?”
She stared at him, nonplussed. Her reaction to the button had been so visceral, she hadn’t paused to ask that question herself—or truthfully, any other.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I lost the button and he—”
“Found it and kept it all these years?”
Jake was right. Her button was the only object like it in the box. Why? It didn’t make sense.
And it didn’t make this—tonight, her having the box, any of it—look good.
“Maybe I was the only one who got away?”
“Is that why he had that news clipping about you? The only news clipping we found in his desk?”
“I don’t know, Jake. It doesn’t make sense, but there’s a reason. I know I’m right about it, all of it.”
“When I called Cadwell, I told him somebody left the box on your porch, you opened it, saw what was inside, and contacted me and that I was on my way here to check it out. Here’s what I propose: I collect the box, the note, and the bag and take them in as evidence.”
She shook her head, although she knew she had no other choice. But she wasn’t going to be anyone’s victim, never again. “Cadwell’s going to bury this.”
“I won’t let him.”
“You can’t stop him. And no way am I going to allow this to become his word against mine. Because I’ll lose.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Document everything here. At least I’ll have photos to back up my claims.”
“You’ll have me, too, Miranda.”
She hoped so but realized she couldn’t be certain of that. Not anymore, not after his call to Buddy.
She didn’t respond, and instead stood up and went for her phone.
Jake watched as she photographed all the items, as she’d originally found them and individually as well. Then she reloaded the box with everything but the button and relocked it.
“You’re keeping your button?”
“I am.” She looked at him in challenge. “Stark stole it from me and now I have it back. You have a problem with that?”
He did, she saw it in his eyes. But he didn’t argue, just shook his head.
“It’s all yours,” she said, tone defiant.
“Buddy’s going to want to talk to you.”
She nodded, already thinking ahead to that meeting. “Tell him to call me. I’ll be waiting.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
9:00 A.M.
Miranda sat across the scarred wooden table from Buddy, the lockbox in the middle between them. Jake stood near the door, leaning nonchalantly against the frame, gazing with pretended disinterest out the door’s small window, the way she had seen him do hundreds of times before. Only this time was different. She was on the other side now—of the table and the law.
Buddy had wanted her to come in and officially give her version of how she had come into possession of the box.
“Something woke me up,” Miranda said. “I realized it was a car’s engine, coming from out front. So, I went to investigate.”
She paused a moment, then went on. “I heard someone on my front porch, but by the time I got there, they’d driven off. When I turned to go back in, I saw the garbage bag. I approached cautiously, only opening the bag when I was certain it was safe to do so. The lockbox was inside. When I picked it up, the note fell out.”
“And what did it say?”
“I’m sorry.”
Buddy’s gaze never left hers. “Then you called Jake.”
“No, I opened the box first. When I saw its contents I involved Jake.”
“Why?”
“Why wait?” she asked. “Or why involve Jake?”