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"Of course," James agreed, though his eyes still flitted around, searching for an escape that wasn't there.
"Good," Rachel said, her lips curving into a semblance of a smile. "We'll start with something easy then."
Sunlight spilled through the dust-smeared windows of the diner, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards.
"James," she began, her voice steady as the slow turning of ceiling fan blades above, "about those footprints we found near the dam..."
His eyes darted up, then away, fixating on a crack in the tabletop. "Footprints?" His attempt at innocence was as brittle as the peeling paint on the walls.
"Female," Rachel stated succinctly. "Small size."
"Can't say I know anything about that." James' words stumbled out, tripping over his anxiety.
Rachel's eyes shifted, catching the light on Lila's boots, clods of earth caked into the soles. She leaned back, arms folded.
"Interesting," she murmured, the word hanging heavy in the air between them. Sometimes, all one had to do was to let the more fidgety sorts fill the discomfort of silent space.
Lila's fingers nervously picked at the edge of the tablecloth, but she didn't speak. Rachel noted every detail—the way Lila's breath hitched, the quick glance she shot her husband, the fear pooling in her eyes.
The scent of old fryer oil lingered, mingling with the tension. Rachel let the silence stretch, watching the truth flicker behind their facades. James reached for Lila's hand under the table—a move meant to comfort, perhaps, or to silence.
"Denial is a tricky thing," Rachel thought, her gaze never wavering from Lila's mud-stained testimony. "But evidence speaks louder than words."
The silence shattered like a dropped glass.
"Found her." Lila's voice, barely a whisper, clawed its way out. "Down by the dam... I saw her body."
Rachel watched the woman crumple inward, as though her confession was a physical weight she could no longer bear. Lila's eyes flooded, spilling over with the gravity of her truths.
"Was trespassing," Lila mumbled, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I lied 'bout where I’d been. I… I have a record. If I was caught trespassing… It wouldn’t have just been a slap on the wrist."
Ethan shifted uneasily beside Rachel. The diner's timeworn counter bore silent witness to this unraveling.
"Gold?" Rachel's question sliced through the muggy air, calm and sharp.
"E-excuse me?"
"Did you see any gold on the body?"
"Didn’t... didn't look that close," Lila stammered, avoiding Rachel’s steady gaze.
Lila’s admission hung between them, raw and revealing. Rachel's heart thrummed in her ears, but her exterior remained as undisturbed as the desert landscape outside.
"Did you touch anything?" Rachel’s voice was even, controlled.
"God, no," Lila gasped, shaking her head vehemently. "Just ran and called James."
"Understandable," Rachel acknowledged, her mind already sifting through the implications like silt through a prospector’s pan.
Her fingers tapped a rhythm against her thigh, a Morse code of contemplation.
"Anything else, Lila?" she pressed, her tone suggesting conversation rather than interrogation. "Why tell the cops that James was the one who found the body?"
The morning sun spilled through the cracks of the worn blinds, casting striped shadows over Lila Veely's face. It made her look caged, wild-eyed. Rachel studied her, noticing the twitch at the corner of her mouth, the way her hands knotted together on the tabletop like twisted roots.
It was as if she hadn't heard Rachel's question. "Gold?" Lila's voice trembled slightly, a leaf in the wind. "Did you find any... on her?"
Rachel's gaze didn’t waver. "Why have James inform the police?" she repeated, doubling down on her own question.
