by Beth Andrews
“And here, after what happened with that necklace, I was worried I’d have to fight you every step of the way.”
Even in the fading light, he had no problem detecting the blush that rose up her neck, colored her cheeks. “I told you, that was mistake. A misunderstanding. I can guarantee you’ll have my—and my family’s—full cooperation during your investigation.”
“Going to be like open books, is that it?”
“Why wouldn’t we be? We have nothing to hide.”
He thought of how incompetent he felt trying to raise his niece. Of his attraction to Layne and how he hated that he couldn’t control it. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said huskily. “Everyone has something to hide.”
* * *
LAYNE’S HEART TRIPPED as his musky scent reached her, his voice rubbing against her nerve endings, all gravelly and intense and erotic as hell.
She sucked in an unsteady breath and walked toward the patio before Taylor could read something in her face, some truth she’d rather not give away. Would rather not even acknowledge herself.
Her thoughts were jumbled. Her emotions tumbling one into another into another. Surely she couldn’t be blamed for a momentary loss of control.
“Brandon,” Tori said when Layne passed the bumper of Anthony’s new Jeep, “there’s Aunt Layne.”
He lifted his head from his food. “Yeah. There she is.”
Tori’s eyes narrowed to slits at his disrespectful tone. “Don’t you have something to say to her?”
He shrugged. Scooped in a huge bite of cookies-and-cream-flavored ice cream.
Colleen touched his arm. “Brandon,” she said, her light admonishment clear. Brandon got to his feet and walked toward Layne.
Leaving Tori glowering, as if she wouldn’t mind shoving both Brandon and Colleen off a very high cliff.
Her nephew stood before Layne. Tall like his mother, he was still very much a little boy with his round face and the speck of chocolate frosting on his upper lip. “Mom wants me to thank you for the video game.”
Yep. Little kid and acting like a grade-A brat.
“Does she?” Layne asked. “In that case, maybe I should return the game and get a present for her instead.” His eyes widened as that sunk in. “Seeing as how she’s the one who appreciates it.”
“Sorry.” He gave her a one-armed hug around her waist. “Thanks for the game, Aunt Layne. I love it.”
“Better.” She squeezed him against her side for a moment. “Seems to me,” she said close to his ear, “you have a lot to be grateful for.”
He tipped his head up and looked at her curiously.
“Like this party,” she said, pretending not to notice how his thin shoulders stiffened. “Your mom not only put up all the decorations, she also made your favorite dinner and chocolate cake.”
He glanced over at Tori. “I guess.”
She patted his back, sent him on his way. Dragging his feet, he went around the table to his mother where he spoke so softly, she had to lean toward him to hear. But then she hugged him, an embrace he returned if not enthusiastically, at least sincerely. Tori sent Layne a small, grateful smile over Brandon’s head.
That’s what she did, Layne thought as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She fixed things. Took care of her family. It was a responsibility she’d never questioned, never regretted taking on. She couldn’t regret it now.
“Hey, Aunt Layne,” Brandon called, wriggling out of his mother’s arms and picking up the game Layne had bought him. “Wanna play?”
“Actually I need to talk to your mom and Aunt Nora first.” She felt her sisters’ gazes on her. Questioning. “How about you spend the night sometime next week? I’ll gladly kick your—”
“Careful,” Tori warned.
“—butt then.”
Brandon snorted. “Yeah, right. You are so going down.”
“In your dreams. But hey, if it makes you feel better to think that, go ahead.” She put her hands into her front pockets then took them out again. “Nora? Tori? Let’s go inside.”
“What’s up?” Nora asked the same time Tori said, “Kind of busy here hosting my son’s birthday.” Tori handed a plate of cake to Anthony who added a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream. “Can’t it wait?”
“If it could’ve waited,” Layne said in what she considered a highly reasonable tone, well aware of Chief Taylor watching her, “I wouldn’t have asked you to come inside now, would I?”
“I’ll take over,” Celeste said, taking the cake knife from Tori—probably a good idea since Tori’s expression said she’d rather use it to stab Layne in the heart. Celeste gave Tori a light hip bump. “Go on. It’s fine.”
Tori gave an ill-natured shrug then went into the house followed by Nora. At the top of the back steps, Layne wavered, the door open, the handle in her hand.
“You want me to tell them?” Taylor asked lowly from behind her, his solid chest brushing against her back. It cost her, more than it should, not to lean into him, not to let him take over.
But this was her family. Her responsibility. She shook her head and walked inside.
“Is this about Dad?” Nora asked as soon as the door shut behind Taylor. “Is he all right?”
“No. No, Dad’s fine.” Crap. She should’ve realized that would’ve been their first thought. Everyone in town knew the risks commercial fishermen took every time they went out to sea, that it was one of the most dangerous professions out there.
“Whatever it is, it better be important,” Tori said, putting the lasagna Anthony must have left on the table back in the refrigerator, “because now Little Miss Sunshine is out there making points with my in-laws—”
“Ex-in-laws,” Nora and Layne both said.
“Swooping in, inserting herself into my family—” She waved her hands in the air. “Acting like she’s nothing but sweetness and light—”
“Colleen is sweetness and light,” Nora said. “She’s nice. And Brandon really seems to like her.”
“Thank you,” Tori said icily. “That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
“Enough,” Layne snapped, drawing her sisters’ attention. And their silence. “Listen, I…I think we should all sit down first.”
Without giving them a chance to agree—or, more probable, argue—she went into the living room. Waited in front of the TV while her sisters sat on the couch and Taylor took up sentinel in the doorway, his hands linked behind his back, his feet wide.
“You’re really scaring me,” Nora said. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Yeah, quit with the dramatic buildup and tell us,” Tori said, sitting on the edge of the couch. But the way she laid a hand on Nora’s knee, in support and comfort, belied the edge to her voice.
A lump formed in Layne’s throat, making it difficult to swallow. Impossible to speak.
Her sisters were a unit. Always had been. While she preferred to stay on the fringe. It was safer. Easier to maintain control and her objectivity that way.
Don’t get too close, not to anyone, and it won’t hurt when they leave you.
And everyone left eventually.
She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Swallowing, she glanced at Taylor, equally relieved and irritated when he stepped forward.
“Mrs. Mott,” he said, bumping up that irritation, “Miss Sullivan, there’s been—”
“No.” Layne pressed her lips together then cleared her throat. “I can do it.”
She was a cop. A professional. And this, while not just another death notification, was still her job. She didn’t need him to do it for her.
“As you might already know, human remains were found at the quarry early this morning,” she said, proud of how detached she sounded. Like she didn’t care.
She didn’t want to care.
“Those remains have been identified,” she continued. Her eyes going from one sister’s face to the other, she let her guard down enough to feel a sense of loss. Of sadness and r
egret. “It’s Mom.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“OH, GOD,” NORA BREATHED, clutching the hand Tori still had on her knee. She slowly shook her head. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.”
“Are you sure it’s not a mistake?” Tori asked, her eyes stark. “Mom left Mystic Point.”
“We thought she’d left,” Layne agreed. “But obviously we were wrong.”
Taylor crossed to stand beside her, as if letting her know he had her back. She wanted to snarl at him, tell him she didn’t need his support. Didn’t want to admit that having him there actually helped.
It helped a lot.
“I’m afraid there’s no mistake,” he said. “We were able to identify the remains using dental records.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Nora said, holding up her free hand. “This doesn’t make any sense. We all thought Mom left town with Dale York,” she told Layne. “So why would you check her dental records? Why would the police even consider that those remains could be hers?”
She felt Taylor’s gaze on her but he kept silent. Giving her the chance to explain. Better yet, not telling her sisters how she’d tried to keep that necklace a secret.
“A necklace was found at the scene,” she admitted. “It’s Mom’s.”
Nora, always too perceptive for her own good—or anyone else’s—narrowed her eyes. “When did you see it?”
“At the scene. When Chief Taylor gave it to me to take to Processing.”
Nora’s head snapped back as if she’d been slapped.
Tori on the other hand, leaped to her feet, looked ready to rip out Layne’s throat. “You saw the necklace this morning? You knew there was a possibility it could be Mom and you didn’t say anything?” She pressed both hands against her head as if stopping her brain from simply exploding. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Guilt nudged her, hard and insistent. “I didn’t want to say anything until we had a positive ID.”
“Do you even hear yourself? It’s always about what you want.” Tori’s mouth twisted in disgust. “You have to control everything.”
“What good would it have done if I’d told you? I had no proof.”
“Could you stop being a cop for one minute? She’s our mother.” Tori’s arms were rigid, her face flushed. “She was our mother. You should have told us.”
“I did what I thought was best.” That was all she’d ever done. And she’d be damned if she’d apologize for it.
“There’s no sense arguing about it now,” Nora said, her eyes wet, the tip of her nose pink. She took a hold of one of Tori’s fisted hands. “Please. Not now.”
After a moment, Tori linked her fingers through Nora’s and sat back down. “How did it happen?” she asked Taylor. “Was she murdered?”
He stepped forward. “We don’t have an official cause of death—”
“But you have a theory.” This from Nora.
“We have reason to suspect your mother was the victim of a homicide,” he said. “There was a noticeable skull fracture consistent with being hit with a large, heavy object.”
Nora used her fingers to wipe away the tears that slid down her cheeks.
Slumping back against the couch, Tori met Layne’s eyes. “Do you think Dale did it?”
“Yes,” Layne said emphatically.
“We don’t have all the facts yet,” Ross cautioned, giving Layne a warning look. “The Mystic Point Police Department is going to be investigating all the possibilities.”
But Tori, never one to be satisfied, brushed that aside. “Dale York was an abusive son of a bitch. Everyone in town knew he was bad news and to stay away from him—”
“Everyone but Mom,” Layne pointed out.
Tori’s mouth pinched. She turned her body toward the chief, shutting Layne out. “What other possibilities could there be?” she asked Taylor.
“We’re searching for Mr. York,” Taylor said, the perfect example of a cop giving a nonanswer. “But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t look into any and all possible scenarios concerning—”
The kitchen door slammed shut followed by the sound of someone—from the sound of his pounding footsteps, a male, one-hundred-ten-pound someone with too-big feet—running through the kitchen. A moment later Brandon appeared. He didn’t even pause at the sight of them in the room, at the tension in the air.
“Dad said I could spend the night at his house,” he said, skirting around Taylor and heading toward the stairs in the foyer. “I’m gonna pack and—”
“You’re not spending the night at your father’s,” Tori said, her tone brooking no argument. “Not tonight.”
Brandon, always more than happy to argue with his mother lately, spun around. “Why not? He said I could.”
“Well, I’m saying you can’t. You’re supposed to be here tonight. You’ll be with your dad the rest of the weekend starting tomorrow.”
“It’s my birthday. I want to stay at Dad’s.”
And he took off up the stairs, his feet slapping on the treads.
Tori stared at his retreating back for a moment. “I have to go talk to Greg. Straighten this out.”
Before she took a full step, Layne blocked her escape. “We’re not done.”
“I realize this is difficult,” Taylor said in his unruffled way, as if he could infuse the situation with his calm. “And a really bad time, but I’d like to ask you all some questions—”
“Difficult?” Tori repeated with a short laugh. “Yes, I guess you could say that. And it is a bad time. Which is why I’m not doing this now.” She scowled at Layne. “Don’t make me move you,” she said darkly.
Layne almost dared her to do just that but having Taylor there stopped her. Too bad. A battle with her sister would give her something else to focus on, a much needed distraction from her whirling thoughts, the way her lungs felt constricted, as if she’d never take another full breath.
“We need to give Chief Taylor as much information as possible as quickly as possible so he can do his job,” she said using her best impassive, I-know-so-much-better-than-you, cop voice. “This is important, Tori.”
“You think I don’t know that? But right now I have other matters to tend to.”
“Just let him go with Greg,” Layne said. “What is the big deal?”
Tori’s shoulders snapped back hard enough to dislocate a vertebrae. “The big deal is that he should be home on his birthday. Especially tonight. His grandmother was murdered. He needs to be told and he needs to hear it from me, not—” she waved her hand in the air “—read it in the paper or from Greg. He needs to be with me.” Her voice thickened. “I want him with me.”
“Tori’s right,” Nora said, as always taking Tori’s side over Layne’s. “We need time to process what’s happened, time to tell the rest of our family what’s going on. We’ll come down to the station whenever it’s convenient for Chief Taylor and answer any questions he might have. With our attorney present.”
“You don’t need an attorney present,” Taylor said. “None of you are under arrest.”
“You don’t have to tell her that,” Layne said. “She is an attorney. Therefore, if she’s present, we’ll have an attorney present, as well.”
But Nora, God bless her, with her soft beauty and sunny disposition could be as stubborn as her sisters. More so when she felt she had something to prove, and if it had the added benefit of grating on Layne’s last nerve? All the better. “I’d still like Uncle Kenny there in an official capacity.”
Brandon stomped down the stairs, a bulging backpack tossed over his shoulder.
“Brandon!” Tori yelled as he hurried past Taylor. “You’d better not even think about—”
Once again the back door slammed.
Tori pushed past Layne, bumping into her shoulder hard enough to have Layne stepping back to keep her balance. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to tackle Tori and grind her gorgeous face into the carpet. A moment later, the door shut again, the bang this time
even louder.
“Maybe we should schedule a meeting for tomorrow morning at my office?” Taylor asked, drawing a business card from his back pocket and handing it to Nora. “That way we can get through it without any interruptions.”
“No.” Layne pressed her lips together. Okay, that had sounded militant at best. Panicked at worst.
What a mess. She’d wanted Chief Taylor to stay, to be here when she told Tori and Nora so he could get started on his investigation. The sooner they answered his questions, the sooner Taylor could concentrate on finding Dale York, on bringing him to justice for what he did to her mother.
She wanted to be through with it all. To contact her father so they could start making plans to lay her mother’s remains to rest. Then they could all finally move on and put Valerie where she belonged.
In the past and out of their minds. For good.
“Let’s give her a few minutes to deal with Brandon,” Layne said, inwardly cringing at the desperation in her tone, “then we’ll all sit down—”
“I told you, this isn’t happening tonight,” Nora insisted, her arms crossed, her expression clearly stating nothing short of a bulldozer could get her to change her position. “So, unless you plan on arresting me—”
“Who’s being the drama queen now?” Layne asked in exasperation.
Nora’s eyes about popped out of her head. “Drama queen? Our mother is dead. And you’re acting like it doesn’t even matter.” Her voice rose, her hands fisted, reminding Layne that for all of her youngest sister’s charms, she’d always been capable of throwing one hell of a tantrum. “How can you be so…so unfeeling? So heartless?”
Layne went hot, then cold. It didn’t matter that her boss watched this little familial exchange or that part of her wondered—worried—that Nora was right. Anger clouded her thoughts, made it impossible to look inside herself for some deeper inner meaning. A meaning she was afraid to discover.
“How dare you?” she asked but the words came out barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat. “How dare you judge me? I’m not the one who left.”