I consider ignoring her, but Cheryl’s not the type to bluff. And the last thing I need is her showing up here with her hand on her baton, giving Nora something new to be worried about.
Off The Road is the kind of place that doesn’t ask questions. Dark enough to hide in, loud enough to cover conversations. It sits on the edge of town, where Big Love has a long road bleeding directly into Little Hope, serving both towns’ need for anonymity.
Cheryl’s already there when I arrive, tucked into a corner booth, nursing something amber in a rocks glass. Her uniform is gone, replaced by jeans and a faded Bruins sweatshirt, but the way she scans the room as I enter is pure cop.
“Sit,” she says when I reach her table, not bothering with pleasantries. Her expression is unreadable, which is never a good sign.
I slide into the booth across from her, signaling the bartender for a beer. “This about Nora?”
“What else would it be about? Your charming personality?” She takes a sip of her drink, watching me over the rim. “You’ve upset my sister.”
“I’m aware.”
“She cried all day.” Cheryl’s voice is matter-of-fact, not accusatory, which somehow makes it worse. “Grandma said she could hear her through the walls.”
The guilt twists deeper. I stare at the scarred tabletop, at the rings left by countless drinks. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“But you did.” She sets her glass down with precision. “By lying.”
“I didn’t lie.” The defense feels hollow even to my own ears. “I just… didn’t tell her everything.”
“A lie of omission is still a lie, Jericho.”
The bartender brings my beer, and I take a long pull, grateful for the moment to collect myself. “Why am I here,Cheryl? You want to threaten me? Tell me to stay away from her?”
She leans back, studying me. “Actually, I want to know your side of the story.”
I blink, surprised. “What?”
“Your side. Why you did it.” She gestures vaguely. “The whole prison thing.”
“Did Nora ask you to find out?”
“No. She specifically asked me not to get involved.” A small smile tugs at her lips as she gives me a pointed look. “But the last time I stayed out of my sister’s business, some asshole lied to her about his past.”
I take another drink, considering. “Why should I tell you?”
“Because I pulled your record, dipshit.”
“Then you know everything.” I feel the muscles on my jaw starting to move.
“This is where it gets interesting.” She pushes her glass around. “There’re gaps in that story.”
I wait for her to continue.
“And despite what you might think, I’m not automatically against you.” She leans forward, elbows on the table. “Look, I ran your record after Nora told me. No priors. No history of violence. Just that one incident. That’s not the pattern we usually see with assaults of that level.”
I study her face, looking for the trap. But all I see is a cop’s practiced neutrality and something else—a sister’s concern.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I finally say, the words coming out rougher than I intended.
“Whose was it?”
I hesitate, the old instinct to protect still strong. “Someone else’s.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “You took the fall forsomeone else?”
I nod once, sharply.
