WNDR9490

Sugar, You're In Trouble

The armored truck jackknifed across Route 9 at 11:58 a.m., and by noon the Beaumont Diner was a locked box with four people inside who all had reasons to be somewhere else. You were just refilling coffee when the deputy outside pressed his radio to his lips and looked directly through the window glass at you — not at the wreck, at you. Someone in this diner whispered a name ten minutes ago, a name that could burn three counties to the ground, and now every eye in the room is measuring how much you actually heard.