Millie led him back to the small office where the security system was kept, pulling up the footage on an old monitor while everyone crowded around waiting. The screen showed the front of the diner. The street beyond, ordinary cars passing in the evening light. Then, right at the moment the truck should have appeared, the footage cut to static, resuming several minutes later on nothing more than an empty street and Roger Hendris already down on the ground, Harper kneeling beside him.
Millie stared at the screen, color draining from her face. "That's not possible," she muttered. "This system's brand new. I just had it installed 2 months ago."
The young officer studied the footage, frowning. "Systems glitch happens," he said, though something in his voice suggested even he wasn't fully convinced.
Harper felt anger flare hot beneath her calm exterior. "You saw the truck," she said, turning to the two customers who'd witnessed the incident.
The older couple exchanged an uneasy glance. "I mean," the husband said slowly, "it happened awful fast. Can't say for certain whose truck it was."
Harper stared at him, understanding with sudden and painful clarity exactly what was happening. The man worked, she remembered now, as a supervisor over at Asheford Construction. He wasn't lying because he hadn't seen anything. He was lying because his paycheck depended on staying quiet.
After the officer left, promising to file a report, though offering little hope of any real consequences, the diner settled into a heavy, uneasy silence. Millie sank into a booth, staring at the cracked window, her earlier fury giving way to exhaustion. "14 years I've run this place," she said quietly. "Never had trouble like this. Not once."
Harper sat across from her, still shaken, still furious. "I'm sorry," Harper said. "This is because of me. Because of what I found."
Millie shook her head firmly. "No. This is because of what that family thinks they can get away with. None of this is your fault, Harper. Don't you dare carry that."
Emmett, standing near the window, examining the crack in the glass, finally spoke. "They're getting desperate," he said. "That's what tonight was. A show of force, a message. A message that nearly cost Roger's wrist," Harper said bitterly.
Emmett's expression darkened. "I know." He turned to face them both. "This changes things," he said. "They're not just trying to intimidate you anymore, Harper. They're willing to put other people at risk to keep you quiet."
Harper felt something harden inside her, replacing the anger and fear with something steadier. "Then we need that proof," she said. "Before tomorrow. Whatever we can find, we need it."
Emmett nodded slowly. "Agreed. But we're running short on time and running short on easy options."
Sunday morning arrived gray and heavy, the sky thick with clouds that threatened rain over Ridgefield's biggest day of the year. Harper woke early, having barely slept, her mind replaying the previous evening on a loop. She dressed for her shift at the diner, though her thoughts were far from coffee refills and breakfast orders. The veteran's memorial dedication was set for 2:00 that afternoon, staged in the town square directly across from the courthouse.
By the time Harper reached Millie's for the early shift, the whole town already seemed to be humming with anticipation. Banners strung along Main Street, folding chairs lined up in neat rows across the square. The diner itself sat quieter than usual, most regulars busy preparing for the afternoon instead of lingering over breakfast.
Around 9:00, the door swung open and two uniformed officers walked in, followed by Sheriff Daniels himself, a broad-shouldered man in his 50s with a stern, unreadable face. Harper's stomach dropped the moment she saw them. Millie stepped out from behind the counter, wary.
"Can I help you, Sheriff?"
Sheriff Daniels' eyes moved past her, landing directly on Harper. "Actually," he said, his voice flat and official, "we're here for Ms. Voss."
Harper felt her pulse quicken, though she kept her expression steady. "What's this about?" she asked.
Sheriff Daniels pulled out a small notepad, glancing at it before looking back up. "We received a complaint this morning," he said, "regarding missing funds from the charity donation box at the front counter. $2,000 reported missing as of last night's closing count."
Millie's face went pale with disbelief. "What? That's impossible. I counted that box myself Friday night. It was full."
"According to the complaint," Sheriff Daniels continued, ignoring her, "Miss Voss was the last employee seen near the register before closing last night during the incident with a broken window."
Harper felt the blood drain from her face as understanding hit all at once. They weren't just trying to scare her anymore. They were trying to destroy her credibility entirely. Right before the one day it would matter most.
"That's not true," Harper said, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. "I never touched that box last night. I was outside helping Roger after the truck hit the window."
"That's exactly right," Millie said firmly, stepping forward. "I can vouch for her. She was outside the whole time helping an injured man."
Sheriff Daniels' expression didn't move. "I understand you're both saying that, but we have a formal complaint on record along with a witness statement suggesting otherwise."
"What witness?" Harper demanded.