I’m sitting at the desk. When Muriel approaches, I empty the coins onto the desk. She sucks in a breath.
“Yours?” I say.
“What? No. I—”
“The key was concealed in your dresser. The box it openedwas buried in one of the planters. Before you say you were framed, I’ve lifted fingerprints and I have yours on file.”
She crosses her arms. “Those are my private property.”
“They wouldn’t have been allowed into town. No valuables, for your own safety. You received the box and the coins while you were here. Nontraceable payment for a job. That job being the crime you’ve already admitted to. Espionage.”
“Espionage?” She huffs the word. “I checked Phil’s desk for operational records.”
“And you did the same in his home. You entered illegally and attempted to steal information from an institution. That is espionage.” I lean back in the chair. “Though it was a nice touch, crying about how you’d been tricked by another man. Poor Muriel just never learns. You weren’t tricked either time, were you? You were in on the first crime. Before your partner double-crossed you and fled with the money.”
“What? Absolutely not.” She stands. “I won’t stand here and take this victim-blaming—”
“We don’t care about that incident. We care about this one. You sold out Haven’s Rock—and the people who helped you get here.”
Her eyes blaze. “Helping me would have been finding that bastard and getting my money back. Or giving me money to start over. Not dumping me in the middle of nowhere.”
“You weren’tdumpedanywhere, Muriel. You were offered this option, and you accepted it. No one forced your hand. No one conned you. Now you’re complaining because it wasn’t what you wanted? That’s like eating a free burger and then blaming the diner because you actually wanted sushi.”
“My bastard of an ex-boyfriend stole everything from me. Do you get that? I spent my life working and saving to be financiallyindependent and stable. He stole that. All of it. Then I meet someone who offers me a lot of money to get a few papers? Of course I’m going to do it. You would, too.”
If shewasn’tin on the original theft, then I feel for her situation. I really do. I also worked and skimped and saved to be comfortable on my own. If someone stole that security, would I have stolen from others to get it back? Of course not, but I won’t sneer at her choice.
As for her anger at us, I’m disappointed, as anyone is when they think they’ve given someone a gift, only to have them spit on it. But that happens here, just as it happened in Rockton. Desperate people make desperate choices, and sometimes, when the stress disappears, they look around and decide this wasn’t what they wanted. Of course, we’re thereasontheir stress disappeared. But we can’t and don’t expect everyone to appreciate it.
I won’t harp on the theft or the betrayal. I only wanted to confront her with them both so she stops lying. Iwon’tconfront her about deliberately misleading us regarding Rutherford. He obviously told her to describe Rogers, and she did as she was instructed.
No, I want something else here.
“Back to what you were asked to get,” I say. “You claim he wasn’t curious about the purpose of Haven’s Rock? I find that hard to believe.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
“He never pushed for answers? Even clues? About what’s happening here?”
“In your top-secret little sanctuary? That’s what you sold me. What you sell all of us. Only you don’t even provide that. He didn’t ask what’s happening here because he already knew. He’d figured out exactly what Haven’s Rock is.”
I frown, as if confused. “He knew what we do here? Don’t tell me he only wanted information on our supply chain and operations. That’s not worth what he was paying you.”
“He wanted dirt,” she says smugly. “He knew there must be problems, and he wanted details. He asked how things were running, whether you and Eric were having trouble juggling it all with the baby—he even knew about the baby. I told him everything seemed to be running smoothly. He asked about discontent, angry residents. I told him I wasn’t happy—this place is hardly the Ritz—and I said people do complain about this and that, but he said that was all petty stuff. He wanted real dirt, and he thought I could find it with Phil’s files. He knew all about Phil—his name, what he did here, everything. He said Phil documents everything, and he wanted his records. Inventory, bookkeeping, journals. Everything.”
“Looking for problems.”
“Seems so.” She smirks. “I get the feeling someone’s planning a hostile takeover, and I’m here for it. Imagine how much better this place could be if you had some real money behind it.”
Oh, we can imagine. Because we’ve been there before.
I find Phil working alongside Isabel in the Roc. It’s open for another hour before curfew kicks in. I ask him to join me, and we head for the clinic to check on Storm. I enter to find April gone and Storm pacing.
“Ready to go home, huh, girl?” I pat her head. “Tonight, I think.”
I settle her in—she’s not supposed to be too mobile. Then I turn to Phil. “You said you had a theory about the would-be thefts, one you weren’t ready to share. Because it made youfeel paranoid, I bet. Who you think was ultimately behind it.” I meet his gaze. “The same people who were behind Rockton.”
His exhale tells me I’m right. I catch him up on everything we learned, from both Muriel and Rogers. When I finish, he slumps into a chair, and he’s quiet for a few moments.
