Two deputies arrived with the practiced calm of people who have heard every kind of panic. “Argument?” one asked, pen ready. Matt shook his head. “A joke,” he said, which sounded uglier out loud than it had inside his skull.
They took statements, frowned at the blind spot between cameras, and walked the truck stop perimeter with flashlights that made puddles look like holes.
“We’ll pull toll and plate reads,” the older deputy said. “You two local?” “She is,” Matt said, and realized how much of his answer depended on what happened next.
