“What happened?”
Those three little syllables pulled Miranda out of her nanosecond’s fantasy about what those big, warm hands that had steadied her earlier would feel like somewhere more interesting than her elbows. She didn’t have time for tributes or fantasies.
“My car’s been vandalized.”
He didn’t look annoyed, didn’t even look at his food. He just slid from the booth. “Show me.”
The position put him inside her personal bubble again, and Miranda took an instinctive step back, glancing at Clay. “Sorry to borrow him.”
Clay waved that off. “Nature of the job.”
Ethan followed her out of the diner and halfway down the block to where she’d parked. He didn’t make casual small talk. Miranda had no idea what to say, so she said nothing at all, just pointed him to her driver’s side door where Nosy Bitch had been scratched into the paint. He still didn’t speak, just slowly circled the vehicle snapping pictures and, presumably, looking for more damage.
Eventually, he brought that laser focus back to her. “Do you have any idea who might do this?”
Why did his attention make her want to shiver?
“I know exactly who did it. You walked in on the tail end of our argument earlier. Clarice Morris.”
“The blonde in the diner?”
“That’d be her.”
“What was the argument about?”
The temper that had dropped to a simmer cranked back up to boil. “She was maligning one of my employees. I called her out on it.”
“Is this your first run-in with Ms. Morris?”
Miranda snorted. “Hardly.”
Ethan’s eyes sharpened at that. “You have history?”
“Going all the way back to first grade.”
A flicker of surprise cracked the serious cop mask. “First grade?”
“Not an exaggeration, actually. It’s a small town. Most of us go back a long way. In this case, Clarice and her sister, Amber, have a history of tearing people down. I abhor bullies, so I have, over the years, intervened to defend people. And before you ask, no, it’s never led to any kind of physical blows or retaliation in this particular fashion.”
“So why do you think it was her this time?”
Miranda frowned at him. “Because I literally just dressed her down in public. She left first, and I come out to find this. Two and two equals four.”
He glanced back at the door. “She only had a couple minutes’ lead on you. A message like this would take a little while to carve in. I’m not sure she had enough time to do it. Is there anybody else who might have a grudge against you?”
“Contrary to the evidence of the moment, I don’t make it a habit to fight with people. I don’t have enemies.”
That focus came back to her, feeling almost like a physical touch. When Ethan Greer looked at her, he really looked at her. No gla
ncing at her shoulder or the bridge of her nose. He made full, unabashed eye contact. It was both disconcerting and strangely intimate.
“Everybody has enemies, even if they don’t know it.”
“That’s a pretty cynical point of view.”
“What you call cynicism, I consider realism. Realistically, unless somebody happened to be driving by, or walking on the green and glanced over at the right moment, nobody actually saw this happen. There are no businesses with security cameras along this stretch. There’s not really any way to prove who did this. You can believe down deep in your gut that this woman was behind it, but without any corroborating evidence, I can’t charge her with anything.”
“You’re not even going to talk to her?”