Authors: Beth Andrews
Respect entered Taylor’s eyes but was quickly banked. “I don’t
like to speculate. I look at the facts and the facts pointed to Dale York being
the most viable suspect.”
“Most viable, but not the only suspect.” Walker watched Taylor
carefully. “Captain Sullivan admitted to having argued with her mother the night
she disappeared.”
“Captain Sullivan was only fourteen—”
“We both know that doesn’t mean anything.”
“She’s innocent,” Taylor said mildly.
Walker couldn’t help but admire the chief’s control. His
conviction. “Are you saying that because your instincts and the facts are
telling you she’s innocent? Or because you’re sleeping with her?”
“I’m saying it as a cop with fifteen years’ experience.”
“But you’re still not sure Dale York was guilty of the
murder.”
“I had some questions,” Taylor admitted slowly. “Such as where
Mr. York spent the past eighteen years, why he disappeared off the face of the
earth. Why he came back if he was guilty.”
Walker had those questions, too, especially the one about York
returning to town. He’d told the police he’d been out of the country and when he
heard that he was wanted for questioning regarding his lover’s death, he’d
sauntered into Mystic Point as if he’d done nothing wrong.
Walker suspected York returned to Mystic Point because he knew
the police didn’t have any evidence against him pertaining to Valerie Sullivan’s
murder. With no evidence, there was no reason for him not to cooperate with the
police.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty.
“I don’t think Dale returned to Mystic Point just to cooperate
with the investigation,” Taylor continued. “He knew he was safe coming back
here, and we couldn’t get him to break on his story that he’d gone to the quarry
to meet with Valerie as planned but she never showed. He ditched his car there
and took a bus out of town. So why did he leave if he didn’t kill her? And what
was the real reason he came back?” He nodded at the envelope. “I’m guessing
something in there will lead to the answers to those questions.”
“Or more questions.” Nothing new there. Oftentimes when one
layer of truth was peeled away, another truth was revealed. Or another lie.
“Valerie Sullivan disappeared September 20, 1994,” Taylor
said.
“I’m well aware of—”
“Check the date when that bank account was opened. And the
amount deposited.”
Walker flipped through the pages then used his finger to trace
the lines until he found the date. September 19, 1994. He whistled under his
breath. “Where the hell did a small-time convict like York get a half a million
dollars?”
“That’s what you need to figure out. Once you do, I have a
feeling, you’ll find out who killed him.” Taylor put his sunglasses back on.
“And who really killed Valerie Sullivan.”
CHAPTER FIVE
T
ORI
WIGGLED
HER
hips to the synthesized
song playing through her headphones, did a little shoulder shake that
undoubtedly looked better in her imagination than reality, but what the hell? It
was hard to worry about smooth moves when Beyonce sang about girls running the
world.
Amen, sister. They didn’t need no stinkin’
men.
If she felt the slightest twinge of guilt for the thought when
her son was in his bedroom, no one had to know but her.
Doing a two-step shuffle, Tori added a package of ground beef
to the hot pan on the stove. She loved her son and in general liked men just
fine. They came in very handy for certain tasks including, but not limited to,
rodent disposal, unclogging drains and lawn maintenance.
Yeah, yeah. She was more than capable of taking care of all of
that on her own. Being raised by Layne, the original self-sufficient,
hear-me-roar-while-I-burn-my-bra woman, Tori had no choice but to learn how to
take care of herself.
And she did. But some tasks were better suited to the male of
their species.
Hey, she may be empowered and independent and blah, blah, blah,
but that didn’t mean she had any desire to get within ten feet of a mouse. She
didn’t care how dead it was.
She stirred the meat. Tapped the spoon against the side of the
pan then went back to dancing. God knew she was better off on her own. She’d
gotten so tired of always wondering, worrying if she was good enough for Greg.
If she was making him happy.
The answers to the above were resounding
hell nos
. Followed by the realization that if she didn’t get free
from Greg, from his adoration and expectations, she’d do worse, much worse, than
make him unhappy. She’d break his heart. Damage him beyond repair.
Like her mother had done to her father.
Still, she’d hurt him. She’d known she would, but it had been
the only way either of them could have a chance at happiness. One he grabbed
mighty quick with the super sweet, super malleable Colleen.
She’d wanted Greg to be happy, Tori reminded herself adding
salt to the beef, giving it a stir. For him to find a woman who could return the
love he’d showered upon Tori. The love that had suffocated her. That she hadn’t
been able to return, no matter how badly she’d wanted to.
The song ended and a slow one started, one about love and loss
and heartbreak. Not tonight, she thought, clicking Forward until she found Kelly
Clarkson’s “What Doesn’t Kill You.” Tori smiled. That’s bet—
Someone tapped her shoulder and she whirled around with a
shriek, held the spoon over her shoulder like a small baseball bat. She blinked
but the image of Layne glowering at her remained.
Tori lowered her arm and yanked the headphones out, her heart
racing, her breathing ragged. “God! You scared the crap out of me. There’s this
new thing, it’s called knocking. You should try it. I hear it’s all the rage in
Europe.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Layne asked, pacing the
kitchen, her strides aggressive and pissed off. She spun around, jabbed a finger
in Tori’s direction and Tori considered hitting her sister upside the head with
the spoon on principle. “Are you really that stubborn? Or just stupid?”
Tori’s face warmed even as her fingers twitched on the spoon.
She tossed it aside, lowered the heat under the pan, taking a moment to gather
her control, to shore up the act she always, always maintained.
The one where she pretended she didn’t care what her sister,
what anyone, thought of her.
She faced Layne. “I’m not, nor have I ever been, stupid.”
“I told you not to speak with Bertrand without your lawyer
being there,” Layne said. In a pair of faded jeans and a sky-blue T-shirt, her
hair down, she looked…well…
pretty
was the word that
came to mind. Softer. More approachable. Almost…human.
Instead of the robotic cop and judgmental older sister Tori
knew her to be.
“First of all,” Tori said as she opened a bag of tortilla chips
and helped herself to one, “I don’t have a lawyer.”
Layne rolled her eyes. Tori wondered if maybe Brandon, who saw
the back of his head more often than not lately, picked up that annoying trait
from his aunt. “Uncle Ken wouldn’t have recommended having Russell Wixsom
represent you if he didn’t think he was the best choice.”
Tori nibbled on her chip. “I’m sure Russell is a fine lawyer,
but I didn’t hire him. You all made that decision for me. So when Detective
Bertrand stopped by the café the other day and asked if we could have a little
chat, I decided to agree.”
“Wait. He found you at the café?”
Tori brushed off her fingers. “Is that a cop thing? Repeating
everything you’re told? Because it’s really annoying.” But Layne just looked at
her. “
Found
me is a bit misleading seeing as how I
wasn’t hiding, but yes, he came into the café.”
“When?” Layne asked so quickly, Tori raised her eyebrows.
“The day we had our little meeting in Ross’s office—”
“Tell me, exactly what happened. What was said.”
Tori bit back the flip retort on the tip of her tongue. Layne
seemed so serious, her expression hard, her eyes searching, Tori didn’t have it
in her to be a bitch. Not at the moment anyway. So, while Layne grabbed a
handful of chips and ate them with the salsa Tori had poured into a bowl and set
on the table, Tori recounted the conversation between her and Bertrand. It
hadn’t been that long of a discussion, but even so, by the time Tori finished,
Layne had plowed through half the salsa.
“That’s it?” Layne asked. “That’s all he said? You said?”
“Yep.” Other than her defending her sister and Ross. But Layne
didn’t need to know everything.
“That son of a bitch.” Layne shoved another chip into her mouth
and chewed viciously. “He sought you out.”
There was a loud thud, then a burst of laughter from Brandon
and his best friend playing video games upstairs. Tori smiled. She never got
tired of hearing her son’s laugh. It was an all-too-rare occurrence lately.
“I hate to break it to you,” Tori said, sprinkling taco
seasoning into the meat, “but I’ve had men seeking me out for a number of years
now.”
She’d learned early that she could use her looks and people’s
reactions to them to her advantage.
It was the one lesson her mother had taught so very well.
“Which was why I’ve always told you not to give them what they
want,” Layne said, sticking her head in Tori’s refrigerator.
Her sister always thought that was what Tori did. Gave men what
they wanted. As if she was so needy, so lacking in self-respect, she rolled over
for any man just because he paid attention to her.
Why bother trying to change her mind?
“I have a hard time imagining Detective Bertrand wanting
anything from me other than answers,” Tori said.
He’d looked down on her. Was condescending. Arrogant.
“Don’t you have any beer?” Layne asked, her head still in the
fridge.
“No.” Beer wasn’t in the budget. Tori hip-checked her sister
with enough force to push Layne into the door. The condiments rattled. “Get out
of there,” Tori said. “If you’re thirsty, have some lemonade.”
Layne straightened, the lemonade in her hand. “You never
should’ve talked to him alone.”
“So you’ve mentioned. But why shouldn’t I answer his questions?
I have nothing to hide and it was convenient. He was there. I’d just got done
with my shift—”
“He was using you,” Layne said flatly, pouring two glasses of
lemonade and handing one to Tori before drinking deeply. “He chose you, waited
until he knew you were finishing up work and then he pounced, hoping you’d be
tired, that you’d be in a hurry to go and your guard was down.”
No kidding. God, her sister must think she was a complete
idiot. Tori pulled lettuce, tomato, cheese and avocados from the refrigerator.
Slammed the door shut.
“He chose you,” Layne continued, as always oblivious to how
sanctimonious she sounded, how offensive, “because he sees you as an easy
mark.”
Tori carefully laid the tomatoes on the counter before she
squeezed them into pulp. “As usual, I’m flattered and, I have to admit, a bit
humbled by your high opinion of me.” She handed the avocados to Layne. “Make
yourself useful and cut these, please.”
Layne took a large knife from the wooden block on the counter.
“I’m just saying it’s what I would’ve done. Figured out who the weak link was
and go after them first, try to create dissent in the ranks, if you will.”
“I’m no one’s weak link,” Tori said, ripping the plastic off
the lettuce with way more force than necessary. No man used her. Not if she
didn’t want him to. “Just because I didn’t study The Law doesn’t mean I’m
brainless. And there’s no reason to create dissent in the ranks—and really,
could you ever just talk like a normal woman instead of a cop?—because as we
both know, we already have dissent.”
“What? No, we don’t.” Layne whacked the knife down on an
avocado’s pit and twisted. “We’re the same as we always were.”
“Even if that was a good thing—and I’m not so sure—it’s not
exactly true. I mean, look at Nora. She’s been avoiding us for months.”
“Maybe she’s just engrossed in the newness of her relationship
with Griffin.”
“She’s keeping something from us. She can barely be around us
more than half an hour. Mark my words, she has a secret.”
“I think she probably just feels weird, being with Griffin.
She’s getting used to it and, knowing Nora, trying to ease us into the idea as
well.”
“Seeing as how she’s obviously not going to get rid of him any
time soon, I’d say she could knock off with the weirdness. Besides, there’s more
to it than that.” Glancing at the doorway to make sure Brandon and his friend
weren’t there, she lowered her voice. “Do you think she knows something about
what really happened to Dale?”
“Of course not. What could she know? And don’t start spouting
off about Griffin being a possible murder suspect,” Layne ordered.
Tori, her mouth open to do just that, shrugged ill-naturedly.
“You act as if it’s beyond the realm of possibility.”
“If Nora says Griffin was with her that night, then that’s
where he was.”
“Maybe he snuck out while she was in an orgasmic induced
coma.”
“No. Nora wouldn’t lie about something like that, not even to
protect Griffin. She’s too honest, you know that.” Layne pointed an avocado at
Tori. “And no more talking to Bertrand on your own.”
“I don’t know what you’re so worried about. I certainly didn’t
kill Dale.” A thought occurred to her. “Oh, my God. You didn’t kill him, did
you?”
Layne glared at her.
Tori held her hands up. “Okay, okay. I was just asking.”
“Mom,” Brandon said, coming into the kitchen, his best friend
Ryan behind him. “Oh, hi, Aunt Layne.”
“Hey, tiger. What’s up?”
He lifted a shoulder, and took a chip as their cat Fang padded
into the room then settled on the rug in front of the back door. “When’s
dinner?” he asked Tori.
“Soon. Why don’t you help speed things up by setting the
table?”
He went to the cupboard without complaint. Her mom-sense
started tingling, telling her he was up to something. Her son didn’t do anything
she asked lately without complaints, groans or out-and-out defiance.
“Are you eating with us, Aunt Layne?” he asked, taking down
four plates.
“I’m sure Aunt Layne and Ross have plans,” Tori said.
Layne cleared her throat. “Actually Ross is at his parents’
house. He wanted to explain everything that’s going on to them in person.”
Then Layne did the strangest thing. She looked at Tori as if
asking permission. Or waiting for an invitation.
What was up with that? She and Layne didn’t hang out, not on
their own anyway. They did the family thing at holidays and birthdays, sometimes
did dinner when Nora set it up, but that was it. They’d never been friends. Were
too different to ever be close.
Brandon glanced between them. “So is that yes or no?”
Layne smiled but it looked forced. “I just stopped by to talk
to your mom. I’ll probably grab something at the café later.”
And it hit Tori, what Layne was going through. Her job was on
the line, her ethics were being questioned. She was stuck between doing what was
right, what her job entailed and protecting her family. She wasn’t in it alone.
She had Ross and her family and they’d all stand by her for as long as she
needed them.
But she was alone tonight.
“Aunt Layne’s staying,” Tori said, keeping her tone
matter-of-fact. If Layne thought for one moment that Tori felt sorry for her,
she’d lay into Tori like the wrath of God.
Brandon set the plates on the table, came back over to her for
the forks. “Can Ryan spend the night?”
“What about the game tomorrow? You both need your rest.”
He shook his floppy hair out of his eyes. “We’ll go to bed
early. Come on, Mom. Please?”
Damn it. She hated to be put in a corner like this, always felt
like she had to claw her way out. Tori glanced toward the table where Layne and
Ryan discussed the chances of the Patriots making it to the Superbowl this year.
Brandon knew he wasn’t supposed to ask if someone could stay when that friend
was in the same room. It made it that much harder to say no.
“I thought we’d hang out tonight,” she said softly, brushing
his hair back then letting her hand linger on his shoulder. It was hard to
believe he was already almost as tall as she was. Her boy, her baby with his
soft cheeks, braces and wiry build. “Just you and me. We could get a couple of
movies and I’ll make root beer floats—”
“I want Ryan to stay,” he said, stepping back.
Her stomach dropped. She didn’t take his rejection, his
attitude, personally. At ten months shy of becoming a teenager, he was just
asserting his independence.