Something crossed his face, anger tangled with something that looked almost like fear. "You have no idea what you're messing with," he said. "This isn't a game, Harper. My dad spent his whole life building what he has in this town. You think some old notebook is going to change any of that?"
"I think," Harper said quietly, "the truth usually finds a way out eventually. One way or another."
Colton's jaw tightened. "You've got until tomorrow," he said. "That's it. After the ceremony, whatever you think you've got, whatever you think you know, none of it's going to matter anymore. Nobody's going to care about some old notebook once the whole county's watching my dad up on that stage honoring soldiers. You'll just look like a bitter waitress trying to ruin a good man's biggest day."
He straightened, checking the diner to make sure nobody had overheard, then walked out without ordering a thing. Harper stood behind the counter, heart pounding despite her calm exterior, watching his truck peel away from the curb.
Millie, catching the tail end of the exchange from the kitchen doorway, walked over slowly. "Everything okay?" she asked.
Harper forced a small smile. "Fine, just Colton being Colton."
Millie studied her, clearly not entirely convinced, but she let it drop, heading back into the kitchen without further comment. Across the diner, in his usual corner booth, Emmett had watched the whole exchange without moving, his coffee sitting untouched in front of him. He caught Harper's eye briefly and gave the smallest nod. Neither of them needed to say it out loud. Whatever Colton and his father had planned next, it wasn't going to be subtle.
Trouble arrived just before closing time, around 8 that evening. Harper had already clocked out and was helping Millie wipe down the counters. The diner mostly empty except for a couple stragglers finishing their coffee near the window. Outside, an engine revved loudly, tires briefly screeching against pavement. A moment later, something struck the front window hard, sending a sharp crack racing across the glass.
Millie gasped, dropping her rag. One of the remaining customers jumped from his seat. Harper reached the window in time to catch the tail end of a truck peeling away down Main Street. The same truck Colton had been driving all week.
"What in the world?" Millie breathed, staring at the spiderweb crack now running across her front window.
Anger and something colder twisted in Harper's stomach, though she kept her face steady. Outside on the sidewalk, an elderly man had been walking his small dog past the diner at the exact moment the truck sped by. He'd stumbled backward, startled by the noise and the truck swerving close to the curb, and gone down hard onto the pavement.
Harper was outside within seconds, kneeling beside him. It was Roger Hendris, a retired veteran in his late 70s. Another familiar face from the diner's regular crowd, though he usually came in later than the breakfast rush.
"Roger," Harper said urgently. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"
Roger groaned, clutching his wrist, his face pale with pain. "Think I twisted something," he muttered. "Damn fool kids driving like that."
Millie had already called for an ambulance by the time Emmett arrived, having heard the commotion from down the street where he'd been out walking that evening. He knelt beside Roger, too, checking him over with the practiced calm of a man who'd handled far worse injuries in far more dangerous places.
"Wrist looked sprained, maybe fractured," Emmett said quietly. "Nothing life-threatening, but he needs to get looked at properly."
The ambulance arrived within minutes, and Roger was loaded up carefully, still grumbling about reckless young drivers, though his face stayed tight with pain he was clearly trying to hide. As the ambulance pulled away, a small crowd had gathered outside the diner, drawn by the commotion. Word spread fast in a town this size.
By the time Harper and Emmett walked back inside, Millie was on the phone with the police, her voice sharp with barely controlled anger. "I don't care whose son it is," Millie was saying. "That truck nearly hit an old man on the sidewalk. I want it on record."
She hung up a few minutes later, her expression grim. "Officers coming by to take a report," she said. "Though I'll be honest, I'm not holding my breath on much happening. Everybody in this town knows how close Sheriff Daniels is with Gerald Ashford."
Harper felt a familiar tightness settle into her chest. "You think they'll just let this go?" she asked.
Millie sighed, gesturing toward the cracked window. "I think powerful families in small towns have a way of making inconvenient things disappear. Always have. Doesn't mean we shouldn't still try."
The officer who arrived 20 minutes later was young, barely into his 30s, polite but visibly uneasy with the whole situation. He took statements from Millie, from the two remaining customers who'd witnessed the truck, and from Harper. When Harper mentioned recognizing the truck as Colton Ashford's, the young officer's expression tightened.
"You sure it was his truck?" he asked carefully.
"Positive," Harper said. "Same truck he's been driving all week. Same one he was in this afternoon."
The officer scribbled something in his notepad, though his posture had gone noticeably more cautious. "I'll pass this along," he said. "Can't promise much without clear footage or a plate number, though. Might be tough to pursue formally."
"There's a security camera right there," Millie said, pointing toward a small camera mounted above the door. "Should have caught the whole thing."
The officer glanced up, nodding. "That would help. Mind if I take a look?"