Chapter 10 - The Name I Should Have Kept
I told Celia's attorney about the text before I told Elliot.
Price listened to everything, including the detail I wanted to leave out.
"You gave a reporter information that might identify my client?"
"Just her first name and the month. The reporter promised nothing would be printed."
"You didn't have permission to share it."
"I know."
He asked me to preserve the message, make a record of its time, and stop contacting Celia directly. He could not say who sent it. Neither could I.
By noon, Miriam's article was online. She had kept Celia entirely out of it, but someone had apparently known she'd spoken anyway.
The article focused on the jacket, the tow receipt, the missing truck timeline, and the disputed property classification. Every claim had an attribution and every allegation had a response from the sheriff's office.
For the first time, Bellwether saw a coherent account instead of scattered rumors.
It should have felt like progress.
Then Price called.
"Celia's car was followed after her shift. She went to the police where she lives and filed a report. She doesn't want further contact."
I sat down on the storeroom floor, pressing my forehead against my knees.
June found me beside a stack of empty garment boxes.
"Did somebody get hurt?"
"Not that we know of. I might've put someone in danger by talking too much."
I told her exactly what I'd done.
She listened without excusing it.
"You tell me I'm allowed to be afraid," she said. "Then you act like everybody else is supposed to be brave on your schedule."
I tried to answer. Nothing came.
That evening, Elliot arrived furious. Price had warned him that Celia might withdraw from the review because of the risk.
"She was the only person who heard a call for help," he said. "And you couldn't leave her out of a conversation?"
"I thought the reporter needed something specific."
"You wanted somebody to believe you."
He was right about that too.
He took his folder and left.
The silence afterward lasted until the building inspector arrived the following morning.
An electrician accompanied him. He opened the old outlet bank, shook his head, and showed me heat-darkened wiring behind the presses.
"I'm shutting these machines down until they're fixed," the inspector said. "This is a genuine fire hazard."
For once, I couldn't blame the sheriff for the problem in front of me.
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The repair estimate was $3,180.
The shop account held $1,204.
