“You all understand that’s assault, right? Potentially reckless endangerment. There were three children in that vehicle. A toddler and infant twins.”
A few of them shift uncomfortably. Good. Let that sink in.
“If something had happened—if that driver had lost control, if those kids had been hurt—every single person in this room could be charged as an accessory.”
That gets their attention. Eyes widen. A few mouths drop open. They hadn’t thought about that. Of course, they hadn’t. They’d thought about the video going viral, about the likes and comments, about looking cool in front of their friends.
They hadn’t thought about the consequences.
“Last chance,” I say. “Who threw it?”
Nothing.
Fine. I’ve got all their names now. Their phone numbers. Their addresses from the school IDs. I’ll follow up with each one individually, see who cracks under pressure when their parents are standing next to them.
“All right.” I pocket my notebook. “I’ll be in touch.”
I head for the door where Daryl is standing with his pizza and beer, and as I pass him, his face shifts as he tries to arrange it into something pleasant or quasi-neighborly.
“Hey, Detective,” he says with an oily tone. “No hard feelings, right? Just boys being boys.”
I’m already through the door, and it slam comes before I hit the bottom step.
“Don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya!” Daryl’s voice carries through the wood, followed immediately by an explosion of laughter from inside.
The boys are losing it. Absolutely losing it. I can hear them through the walls and through the windows, that manic teenage laughter that says they think they won something tonight.
I walk to my car with my jaw clenched so tight I might crack a molar.
They think they won.
They think this is over.
They have no idea that I just got everything I need to make their lives very uncomfortable for the next few weeks. Twenty names. Twenty phone numbers. Twenty sets of parents who are about to get a very interesting phone call from the Honey Hollow Sheriff’s Department about their children’s extracurricular activities.
And one of them threw that rock. One of them nearly killed Lottie.
I’ll find out which one.
And when I do, I’ll make sure he understands exactly what kind of mistakehe made tonight.
I drive away from that house with my hands tight on the wheel, the sound of their laughter still echoing in my ears, and all I can think about is Lottie’s face when she saw that cracked windshield.
My Lottie.
They could’ve killed her.
They might be laughing now.
But they won’t be laughing for long.
LOTTIE
“We’ve sold four dozen banana pudding cups before nine a.m.,” Lily Swanson announces from behind the counter, shaking her head. “That’s got to be some kind of record.”
“It’s a conspiracy,” I mutter, watching another customer walk out with three cups balanced precariously in their arms. “Everyone in this town is suddenly obsessed with banana pudding, and I’m fairly certain it’s because they want to see if I can actually compete with Midge Thornbury.”
Suze barks out a laugh. “Tell yourself all the lies you want, Lottie. We all know why they’re here. It was your pudding that was at the murder scene. I guess in that respect, you did beat out Midge in something.” She gives a devious wink as she says it, and I can’t help but frown.
