"Press charges for what, exactly?" Wade's tone is patient with her, but I can see he's just as humored by her act as I am. "From what I can see, Mr. Strouse here found you in distress and offered assistance. You then stole his vehicle. If anyone should be pressing charges, it's him."
She stares at Wade, then at me, realization dawning that this isn't going the way she expected. "You don't understand. I was drugged. Someone put something in my drink in the city and I woke up here. That's not normal. That's not?—"
"That's a serious allegation," Wade interrupts. "Did you file a police report in the city?"
"I didn't have time. I woke up here."
"And you're certain someone drugged you? You weren't just drinking too much, maybe made some bad decisions?"
She looks like she was just slapped. I can see it in the way her shoulders tense, the way her hands curl into fists. "I know thedifference between drunk and drugged. I'm a nurse. I know what Rohypnol feels like."
Wade writes something in his notebook. "A nurse. Where do you work?"
"New York. Mount Sinai."
"That's a long way from here. What brought you to Sutter's Gap?"
"I don't know!" The frustration breaks through again and her arms gesture wildly. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I was at a club with friends Friday night, and the next thing I remember is waking up here. Someone did this to me. Someone brought me here and dumped me, and he" —she jabs a finger at me— "was right there. Convenient, don't you think?"
Wade looks at me. "You got an explanation for that?"
"I was at the bar all night. Mira can confirm that. So can Miles, Travis, probably half a dozen other people." I speak as calmly as I can and act innocent. As far as he's concerned, Ms. Grady is off her rocker, and as soon as I get my word in, they'll know she's a bit cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. "I paid my tab around ten thirty, drove through town and home."
Wade taps his pen against the notebook. "Varen, you confirm with Mira about his timeline?"
Varen nods. "Already called her. She backs up his story. Says he was there from about seven to ten thirty, then paid and left. No indication he was involved in anything suspicious."
The foundation I'm building is solid. Witnesses, timeline, reasonable behavior. Everything points to my being a good Samaritan who got caught up in someone else's mess.
Sloane sees it too. I can tell by the way her face goes pale, by the way she sways slightly on her feet. "This is insane. I'm telling you the truth and you're believing him?"
"I'm not believing anyone yet," Wade says. "I'm gathering facts. And the facts are that Mr. Strouse offered assistance, and you stole his vehicle right out of his driveway. Now, if you want to file a report about being drugged, we can do that. We can contact the NYPD, get them involved, and start an investigation. But that's going to take time, and right now, you're the one who committed a crime tonight."
She looks like she might cry, or scream, or both. I almost feel bad for her. Almost.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a hundred-dollar bill, palming it as I step closer to Varen. "Deputy, could I have a word?"
He glances at Wade, who nods, and we move to the side of the room. I keep my voice low, meant only for him, because something tells me that Wade will never buy this shit. But it's too good to not at least try it.
"Look, this is embarrassing, but that's my sister." I try to really give him a good act, being embarrassed, avoiding eye contact. "She'd hate me for saying anything to you because she's got some mental health issues, goes off her medication sometimes. When she does, she gets paranoid, starts making accusations, and doesn't know what's real." I press another bill into his hand, feeling him stiffen. "I just need to get her home, back on her meds, before this turns into a bigger situation than it needs to be."
Varen looks down at the money, then at me. "That's a serious claim. If she's having a mental health crisis, we should get her medical attention."
"She won't accept help from strangers. She won't even admit to knowing me right now, and if I try that shit…" I whistle through my teeth and nod at him in a knowing fashion. Varen chuckles and nods like he understands. "Let me take her home, get her stabilized, and I promise this won't happen again." I meet his eyes, putting every ounce of sincerity I can fake into my expression. "You know where I live. If there's trouble, you can come right back and get me. I'm not going anywhere."
He's weighing it. I can see the calculation happening—the hassle of paperwork, the possibility of a lawsuit if they hold her against her will, the convenience of making this problem disappear. And the two hundred dollars, which is a decent night's pay for looking the other way.
"This is irregular," he finally says.
"I know. And I appreciate your making an exception."
He pockets the money and turns back to Wade. "Sheriff, a word?"
They have a brief, hushed conversation. Sloane watches them, then me, her expression shifting from anger to fear. She knows what's happening, that she's losing.
Wade approaches me, arms still crossed. "Alright, here's how this is going to work. You're vouching for her. You take responsibility for getting her whatever help she needs. And if I hear one more complaint, one more incident involving either of you, I'm bringing you both in and we're sorting this out the hard way. Understood?"
"Understood."
