The clock on the wall ticked past midnight. In the soft lamplight, Evelyn's composure remained unshaken as she prepared to revisit every moment of her humiliation—not for revenge, but for accountability.
The fluorescent lights of the Bellhaven Gas & Go cast harsh shadows across the nearly empty parking lot as Clara pulled in just after midnight. Only two other vehicles remained: a battered maintenance truck and what appeared to be the night clerk's sedan. The neon "Open" sign buzzed faintly, creating an eerie glow against the dark windows.
Inside the hotel room across town, Evelyn sat at the small desk, methodically reviewing her handwritten account while Sonya cross-referenced times and locations. The scratching of their pens filled the quiet room.
Clara pushed through the gas station's glass door, triggering a tired electronic chime. Behind the counter, a young man with sandy hair and a name tag reading Mike looked up from his phone.
"We're still open for another hour," he said automatically.
"I'm Clara Vance with the Bellhaven Herald," she replied, showing her press badge. "I need to speak with Lorna Pike about an incident that occurred here earlier today."
Mike shifted uncomfortably. "Lorna left early. Said she wasn't feeling good after what happened. Manager let her go home around 8:00."
"Feeling shaken up, was she?" Clara pressed, pulling out her notebook. "About calling the police on an innocent woman?"
"Look, I just started my shift at 10:00," Mike said, but his eyes darted away. "I wasn't here for any of that."
"But you've heard about it. What exactly did Lorna tell you during shift change?"
Mike hesitated. "Just that there was some trouble with a customer. But she seemed really nervous. Kept saying how fast the police showed up after she called. Like, way faster than normal."
Clara's pen moved quickly. "How fast do police usually respond to calls from this location?"
"Depends. Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes for something routine. But today?" He shook his head. "Lorna said it was like they were waiting around the corner. Couldn't have been more than three or four minutes."
Looking up from her notes, Clara spotted the surveillance cameras mounted in the corners. "I'll need to speak with the owner about preserving all security footage from today."
"That's Mr. Whitaker. He's not here this late."