6. There is No Evidence
THERE IS NO EVIDENCE
CAIN
T wo days. They release her after two nights.
I was expecting a trial. A… something ! Anything to make sense out of what she did, not her walking away with her freedom.
“You’re an idiot,” Georgia mutters as she wipes the counter.
“You’ve got to stop this,” I groan. She has been like this since Faith was arrested. Georgia doesn’t believe she stole a damn thing and doesn’t care about what happened in Seattle.
“I know that girl, and that’s not who she is. What you need to think about is who poisoned you against her.” Georgia gives my sister and Melody a slanted look.
She doesn’t like Paula or Melody—I can’t blame her, they treat her like the help.
Sure, Georgia works for me, but she’s the heartbeat of Ripley’s.
I’ve made it clear to my sister and her friend that I’ll ban them from Ripley’s if they’re rude to anyone here, but they know it’s an empty threat. I won’t do it. I won’t hurt my sister.
Georgia glares at me. “I’ve known you since you were a boy, Cain Ripley, and I’ve always been proud of you. But with how you treated Faith, I’ve lost all respect for you.”
That hurts.
I adore Georgia. She’s been with me from the start when I bought the place and refurbished it. She used to work for me at a diner I managed. When the opportunity came to have my own place, she showed up with a paint roller, a six-pack, and zero patience for cutting corners.
Thanks to our efforts, Ripley’s Eat It Or Not is a time capsule with its neon sign flickering just enough to feel intentional.
The chrome trim catches the afternoon sun, and the wide picture windows spill golden light onto the sidewalk.
Inside, it’s all leather barstools, glossy cherrywood booths, and checkered floors you could eat off of.
The place smells like butter and espresso, like memories and reinvention.
You can order a root beer float served in a frosted glass with a stainless-steel straw—or you can sip a chilled glass of skin-contact natural orange wine while waiting for your avocado toast with a five-minute egg.
Our menu bridges the gap between classic and cutting-edge: buffalo sliders with chipotle aioli, mac ‘n’ cheese spiked with jalapeno and smoked gouda, peach pie with a chèvre crust…
It’s a diner for everyone: the trucker, the TikTok traveler, the retiree with his folded paper, the local teen whose only goal is to eat and get to the next round of Diablo or whatever the hell else they’re playing these days.
“Did you hear?” Paula charges in, and I see Georgia roll her eyes.
“Yes, Paula, I have.”
Kyle gave me a heads-up but no explanation.
“It’s so wrong,” Melody, who is a step behind Paula, whines.
Georgia scoffs. “Paula, Melody, don’t you have anythin’ else to do but hang here at eleven in the morning?”
“I work here,” Paula replies haughtily.
“I’m helping Paula,” Melody chirps. “Since I’m between jobs.”
Melody is always between jobs.
According to my parents, Paula and Melody are a bad influence on one another—neither of them has a job, not really.
Melody still lives with her parents, who have been trying to get her to live her own life.
When they get strict, she gets a job in retail for a minute.
Then she’s let go, usually because she doesn’t show up to work.
No one will hire Melody in Silverton, so now, when she needs a job, she has to leave our small town.
I thought how different Faith was from them. How she works so hard while these two swan around, thinking they’re all that. They are moochers.
At least they aren’t thieves!
During the post-lunch lull, I head to the station, looking for answers.
“What the fuck, Kyle?” I demand when I get to his desk.
He avoids my eyes and just mumbles something.
“Why the hell would you let her go? She stole…I mean…where the fuck is my money?”
Kyle had been cocky as hell after the arrest.
“Don’t worry about it, bro, gonna get your money. She’s this close to spillin’ it.”
“Two nights in jail and you know she’s gonna tell us everythin’.”
Sheriff Lorraine Zada steps out of her office. She’s in her late forties, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark brown skin and a gaze that could shatter glass. Especially now because she looks pissed off.
“Cain Ripley, you harassing my deputies?”
She doesn’t smile much but knows how to arch a perfectly curved eyebrow to silently say, you’re fucked .
I’ve known Lorraine for a long time—and she’s known me for just as long. That’s the nature of small towns.
“Lo, just need to know what’s going on here,” I growl.
“In my office. Now .”
Kyle is now looking at his feet so hard I’m worried he’s going to dig a hole and disappear…and probably wants to.
What the fuck is going on?
“You want to explain what the hell you were thinking?” Lo demands as she leans back in her chair.
“Nuh-uh. I need you to tell me what you were thinking, letting her go.”
“By her , I assume, you mean Faith Baker?” The look she gives me makes me sweat a teeny bit, which is odd since the station house is cold and it’s close to Halloween and low temps in Silverton.
“Yeah.”
“Sit your ass down, Cain.”
I do it with ill grace.
She taps some keys on her computer. “You say she stole ten grand from the safe?”
“Yeah.”
“We dusted the safe. No prints were hers.”
I sigh. “Gloves? Maybe you need to watch CSI or some shit, Lo.”
She arches an eyebrow and continues. “Besides Paula and Melody, no one can verify that she was seen going into your office. Georgia, in fact, is adamant that she saw Paula and Melody in there.”
I shot her a look of exasperation. “You know how Georgia is with Paula.”
Lo continues. “We searched Faith’s place…actually Kyle did without a fucking warrant. He just went ahead and tossed her apartment.”
Something uneasy slithers up my spine. Of course, he did. I’d watched enough television to know that would be the procedure, but I hate the idea of Kyle touching Faith’s things in that pathetic little studio she called home. She never let me in, said she was embarrassed.
“Found nothing. She doesn’t have a car. She doesn’t have anything or anywhere to hide anything …so…what we have here is hearsay and assumptions. Not a single piece of evidence.”
I frown. “Kyle said?—”
“Kyle went ahead and made an arrest based on gossip and the word of his girlfriend that won’t stand up in court, and definitely not in my station.” Lo was fucking furious now.
I swallow. “What are you saying, Lo?”
“I’m saying Kyle’s on desk duty for a week, and he’s lucky that’s all. His partner's getting a write-up, too. If I’d been in town, this never would've happened. This station is not a personal clean-up crew.”
“That’s not what this was. She stole and?—”
“How do you know, ace?”
“She did this before.”
Lo regards me thoughtfully. “I just have this problem about taking the word of an ex-boyfriend, you know? They teach us to be skeptical of evidence given by people who may have an agenda. I talked to Seattle PD this morning and”—she pauses to scan her computer screen—“Jamie Da Silva is a douchebag. Been in and out for domestic violence. Likes to beat up his girlfriends. But when it comes to charges, they all say they walked into a door.”
My lungs forget how to work for a moment.
“How did you get this?” I trace the scar above Faith’s eyebrow.
“I walked into a door.”
“Kyle fucked up but I can’t do much, because we’re already under-staffed and people find out we’re just recklessly arresting people for no reason, I’ll have a riot on my hands.
” Lo hunched forward, knuckles tapping lightly on her desk.
“That poor girl was in jail without counsel, without anything, and for no reason for two nights.”
My jaw tightens. “She did it. I know she did.”
Because if she didn’t then…. NO! It was unthinkable. She was a thief, and that was that.
Lo shakes her head. “That’s not what I see. What I see is a woman with no priors, no charges, no evidence against her.”
“Paula and?—”
“Do you know that we found your sister’s and Melody’s fingerprints all over your safe?”
I stop and look at her in disbelief. “What?”
“Yeah. Any reason why their fingerprints would be on your safe?”
I think about it, but…I shrug. “I don’t know, but they come in and out of my office all the time.”
She nods thoughtfully.
My mouth goes dry at her insinuation. I let out a harsh laugh. “Lo, my sister doesn’t need to steal from me, okay?”
“In my station, we need a little more than someone’s bruised pride and imagined grief to prosecute people.” Lo straightens. “This matter is now under internal investigation. And if I were you, I’d tell Kyle to buckle up. It’s going to get bumpy.”
She walks to the door and opens it.
Our conversation is over.
Kyle isn’t outside when I leave.
My steps are slow, sluggish as I get to my truck.
I start the engine and just idle, feeling doubt churn in my gut.
Hell no , I decide after a short contemplation.
Faith stole.
Full stop.
The end.