by Beth Andrews
“There’s no legal reason Celeste needs to hear about the other night,” Layne finally said. “So why would I tell her?”
Because that’s what cops did. They ruined things. She couldn’t count how many times the police had been called to whatever crappy apartment she and her mom had been living in at the time. Though they all said they wanted to help, it always ended the same way.
Her mom in handcuffs in the back of the police car or, on two very scary instances, loaded on a gurney into the back of an ambulance. And after they took Heather away a social worker with bad hair and even worse shoes would haul Jess to some foster home. A couple of times her grandparents had come to get her, had taken her in until her mom got out. Got clean long enough for the courts to order Jess back in her custody.
And every time, her grandparents let her go. Just like that. As if letting her go was easy. As if they couldn’t wait to get rid of her. Which was how she got stuck with Uncle Ross.
“There,” Layne said, stepping back. “You’re all set.”
Watching her reflection, Jess reached up, touched her hair. Instead of parting it down the middle and braiding both sides back like a little kid would wear, Layne had kept Jess’s side part. She’d plaited the thinner section of hair on the left straight back on the side of her head while the braid on the right went across the top of her forehead before angling down toward her right ear.
With her hair away from her face, Jess’s eyes seemed bigger. Darker. Older. Her cheeks thinner. She looked sophisticated, like a movie star on the red carpet.
“You only used one hair band,” Jess said. “It’ll fall out.”
“I combined the braids in the back. It’ll be fine.” Layne stepped out into the hall. “You coming?”
Nodding, she touched her hair one more time then reluctantly followed Layne, her thank-you stuck in her throat. She thought of asking her to show her how she’d done it but then, as quickly as the idea formed, she brushed it aside. She didn’t ask for help. Not with anything. If you asked for something, it gave people the opportunity to say no.
“Customer bathrooms,” Layne said, gesturing to the doors to their right. “And through here is the dining room.”
Jess followed Layne into the large, noisy room. Her pulse quickened. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Tasting lip gloss, she realized she was gnawing on her lower lip and forced herself to stop but nerves jumped in her stomach. Had her rethinking the brilliant plan to earn enough money to run away.
It was packed. Each table, every booth along the wall—all filled. The noise level off the charts. Babies cried, kids yelled, people talked and laughed. Waitresses took orders or cleared tables, silverware clanging and crashing as they tossed it into big plastic bins, the sharp crack of dishes being stacked.
Maybe this wasn’t exactly the best place for someone who couldn’t stand most people on her best day. And Jess didn’t have many good days. Just standing there, realizing she’d have to talk to people, take their orders, schlep their food and then—she grimaced—clean up after them made her break out in a cold sweat.
“Drink station,” Layne said, gesturing to her left. There were water pitchers, a coffeemaker with three pots and a soda fountain machine. “Bottled water, juice and milk—chocolate or regular—are under here,” she continued, giving the cupboard below the counter a tap. “Milkshakes are made in the back as are the fresh lemonades. You’ll learn how to make those later.
“You’ll be assigned a section of the room,” Layne continued as they wound their way around tables. She waved at a family in a booth but didn’t even slow, forcing Jess to practically jog to keep up with her long-legged self. “For the first few days, one of the other waitresses will work with you, show you the ropes, but I’ll give you quick rundown now to give you a heads-up.”
They stepped into a short hallway between the dining room and kitchen. There were wooden high chairs and plastic booster seats stacked off to the side and a station with paper placemats, clean silverware wrapped in paper napkins as well as salt and pepper shakers.
“Weekends are pretty busy so customers have to wait to be seated,” Layne said, flipping her long, dark braid over her shoulder. “Celeste will put the waitresses on a rotating schedule throughout the day as to who is to man the front of the restaurant. When it’s your turn, all you have to do is take people’s names, how many are in their party and write it down. When one of the waitresses clears their table, they’ll let you know so you can send in the next group.”
The door from the dining room swung open. A waitress, a year or two older than Jess with curly red hair and a gorgeous, milky complexion, walked into the small space.
“Hey, Layne,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“Good. Keira, this is Jess Taylor. She’s starting here today. Jess, Keira Thacker.”
“Hi.” Keira’s smile had her adorably freckled nose crinkling. Adorably. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
Keira stepped up to the window. She had on black pants, sneakers and a short-sleeved, white T-shirt. Jess tugged at the hem of her shorts. “Two specials,” Keira called into the kitchen, “one with home fries, one with two eggs, over easy. Both with eight-grain toast.” She picked up plates from under the warming lights, stacking two on her arm and then sashayed her way out the door again. “See ya.”
She left as an older waitress with an ample chest and loud laugh who Layne introduced as Sharon came in.
“Come on,” Layne said, pushing open the kitchen door while Sharon talked to someone in the kitchen through the window. “I’ll introduce you around.”
Twenty minutes later, Jess’s head was spinning.
She’d met the kitchen staff—Joe, who helped Celeste cook. With his shaved head and tattoos, he could’ve belonged in the gang on Sons of Anarchy instead of flipping pancakes at a busy café. George, who did prep work like chopping vegetables, was tall and thin with a scruffy moustache and an ill-advised soul patch. And Robbie and Luke, two high schoolers who washed dishes.
Neither one of them would meet her eyes, although Luke did gawk at her boobs until Layne loudly cleared her throat.
After introductions, Layne had listed all of Jess’s duties: taking drink orders first, then food orders, checking on customers to make sure their meals are satisfactory, that their drinks are filled, clearing her tables and resetting her tables. She’d then explained how the kitchen ran, how orders were to be delivered and picked up.
And all the while Jess watched as the waitresses called in orders to the kitchen, delivered food, hauled dirty dishes to the dish room, dealt with kids running around underfoot, pacified grumpy customers and generally worked their asses off.
So much for thinking this job would be easy.
God, she hoped she didn’t mess it up.
“And that’s about it,” Layne said, as they finished up back in the kitchen.
“You still here?” Celeste asked, frowning at Layne. “You’re going to be late.”
Layne’s expression darkened. “The station is a three-minute drive from here. I’m fine.”
“You’re going to work?” Jess asked, taking in Layne’s dark jeans and short-sleeved top the color of cranberries. “You change into your cop suit at the station?”
Uncle Ross didn’t. He got dressed at the house. Some days she thought he slept in that thing—badge and gun included.
“I usually do change into my uniform at the station. But I’m not working today.” Her mouth turned down for a moment but then she grinned. Jess didn’t buy it for a minute. “I’m meeting your uncle at nine.”
Oh. Well, that explained the strained smile. “Yeah, I figured he was working when I couldn’t find him at the house.”
Not that she’d searched particularly hard.
“Jess?” Celeste said, scooping bacon onto a plate with a metal spatula. “Since Layne gave you the nickel tour, we’ll go ahead and start your training. I’ve paired you up with Keira.”
; The nerves in her stomach spiked. “What do I do?”
“You’ve met Keira, right?” At Jess’s nod, Celeste continued, “Just stick with her. Go where she goes and watch how she does everything. She’ll take the orders today. Tomorrow, you’ll still be working with her but she’ll be there as backup in case you need help.”
“Okay.” She walked to the door and stopped, keeping enough distance so if someone came in, she wouldn’t get a broken nose.
“Your feet frozen to the floor?”
Jess glanced up to see Layne watching her. “I thought you were leaving.”
“I am. Thought I’d say goodbye first. Since we’ve bonded and all.”
“Right. Bye.”
“It’s all right if you’re nervous.”
“I’m not.” But her palms were damp. Her throat dry. And Layne studied her as if she could see right past all her lies, past the walls she’d tried so hard to build these past few years, into her soul.
That sucked.
See? You really couldn’t trust cops. They were all the same. Either they were trying to bust you or they thought they could save you. But she didn’t need saving. She needed to be left alone.
“I’m fine,” she said firmly. More determined. She was fine. Would be no matter what. “Thanks for the braid,” she said then went out to start making money so she could get the hell out of Mystic Point.
* * *
“I’M SORRY,” NORA TOLD LAYNE, sounding more annoyed than apologetic, “but I’d still feel better if Uncle Kenny was here. Anytime a citizen is questioned by the police, they should have an attorney present.”
And here we go, Ross thought, helping himself to one of the cups of take-out coffee Layne had brought when she’d arrived a few minutes ago. Taking his seat behind his desk, he took off the lid, sipped and settled in for what promised to be a long day.
Layne, leaning against the bookcase, her long, jean-encased legs crossed at the ankles, sent a beseeching glance to the heavens. But when she spoke to her sister, she was all calm and patience. “Uncle Ken himself told you that wasn’t necessary. The MPPD isn’t the Gestapo, Nora. Chief Taylor just wants to get some background information. Or don’t you want him to investigate what happened to Mom?”
“What I want,” she said through barely moving lips, her hands clutching the chair arms, “is for Dale York to pay for what he did.”
Ross sipped his coffee to hide a flare of surprise. Who would’ve thought sunny Nora would have a vengeful streak? Good reminder not to make judgments before all the facts were gathered.
“Exactly,” Layne said, straightening. “We all want the same thing here. To find out what happened to Mom and bring the person who hurt her to justice. So let’s stop arguing—”
“I must’ve walked into an alternate dimension,” Tori said as she sauntered in, her high heels clicking against the scuffed linoleum. “I thought I heard Layne say she didn’t want to argue.”
“You’re late,” Layne said.
Tori shrugged then sat in the chair next to Nora. “So arrest me.”
“Now that we’re all here,” Ross said when Layne opened her mouth, no doubt to spew some toxic comment at her sister, “we can begin. But before we start, I’d like to lay out the ground rules.”
“What kind of ground rules?” Layne asked.
He couldn’t do much more than glance at her without being reminded of what it had felt like to sit in the dark with her the night before. How her hand had felt on his leg. How badly he’d wanted to sink his hands into that glorious mass of hair, press his mouth against hers and take what he needed from her.
How perilously close he’d come to doing just that.
So when he answered her, he did so while gazing somewhere above her head. “The kind that will allow me to get through this meeting with as few interruptions as possible. First rule. As the officer in charge of this investigation, I will be asking the questions. And I won’t need any help or input with those questions.”
Tori sneered at Layne. “He’s telling you to stay out of it.”
Layne’s scowl darkened, whether due to his edict or Tori, he couldn’t tell. “Thanks,” she said. “I got that all on my own.”
“Second rule,” he said, moving his attention to Tori. “No provoking each other.”
Tori flipped her hair back, the move more defensive than seductive. “I’m not sure I’m following you,” she said in a throaty purr.
“Then let me make it crystal clear for you.” He kept his voice low, his tone mild. Professional. “No antagonizing remarks to each other. If what you have to say isn’t directly related to the questions I ask or otherwise pertinent to this investigation, keep it to yourself.”
“In other words, you want me to do a Thumper,” Tori said. When he looked at her inquiringly, she continued. “If I don’t have something nice to say…”
“Exactly. Third rule. In order to find the truth, I’m going to have to dig into Valerie Sullivan’s past. Ask some questions that are personal in nature. I’m not here to judge your mother,” he told them. “And while some of the questions may be difficult to hear and even harder to answer, it’s important that you answer truthfully.”
Nora blew out a breath, nodded slowly.
“Good.” He leaned back far enough to open the top drawer. “Do any of you have any objections to my recording this conversation?”
“No,” Nora said while both Layne and Tori shook their heads.
Setting the tape recorder in the middle of his desk, Ross pressed Record. He stated his name, rank and the date, along with the names of each woman present and the case they were discussing.
“Would you like to sit down?” he asked Layne.
She glanced at the empty chair next to Tori then planted her feet wide. “I’m good.”
Not his business, he thought, pulling out a legal pad so he could keep his own notes about the conversation and the women’s reactions. If she wanted to stay separated from her sisters that wasn’t his problem. He needed to focus on finding the facts about what happened the night Valerie Sullivan disappeared. Hopefully those facts would lead him to a killer.
He couldn’t do his job, couldn’t do it as well as they needed him to, if he let personal feelings interfere.
“Where were you the night your mother disappeared?” he asked.
As if by silent agreement, Layne spoke first. “Home.”
“We were all home,” Tori said while Nora nodded.
“So you saw Valerie?” he asked. “Spoke to her?”
“She tucked me in,” Nora said, her fingers twisted together in her lap. In a steel-gray pantsuit, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, she appeared every inch the attorney. But she still looked like a kid just out of high school. “That probably doesn’t seem important,” she told him, “and it wouldn’t be if it’d been a normal occurrence…” She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard.
He waited but she remained silent. “It wasn’t a normal occurrence?” he asked.
“No. She usually worked nights,” she added quickly, as if worried about painting Valerie in a less-than-flattering light. “But that night she came into my room and read me a story. Then she told me she loved me and hugged me.” Her mouth wobbled. “I can still smell her perfume.”
Ross checked the notes he’d made earlier. “You were how old…eight?” She nodded. “Do you remember what time you went to bed that night?”
She looked at Layne.
“Eight-thirty,” Layne said, turning the cup in her hands round and round. “It was a school night so her bedtime was eight-thirty.”
He wrote that down, made a note to question Layne on how she remembered the time later. “Do you remember your mother seeming upset or anxious that night?”
Nora shook her head at the same time Tori said, “She was…revved up…like she was nervous but that those nerves were from excitement. Anticipation.”
“Did that seem unusual to you?”
“Not at the ti
me. Mom was often keyed up. Always…on. Like life of the party, look at me! on. No matter where we were or what the situation, she had to be the center of attention. She craved the spotlight and she didn’t care who she had to push aside to make sure she was the one shining.”
Nora made a sound of distress. Or maybe, Ross thought, seeing her eyes flash, one of anger.
“I’m sorry,” Tori said, patting Nora’s arm. “I loved her, too. I did. But she wasn’t perfect.”
“She was beautiful,” Layne said quietly, staring at the floor. She lifted her head. “She was so beautiful people used to stare, no matter where we were, what we were doing, they couldn’t help but notice her because of that beauty. But what they didn’t know, what only those of us close to her knew was that she was also clever. Creative. And when you had her attention, her full attention, it was like…God, it was like standing in a block of sunlight. Warm. Glowing.” Layne met his eyes and in hers he saw longing and the grief she’d just last night denied feeling. “It was as if you were the single most important thing in the world to her.”
Inhaling a shaky breath, she stepped over to stand behind the empty chair. “But more often than not,” she continued, “Mom didn’t give attention. She stole it. She was selfish and did whatever it took to get what she wanted. And if she was denied, she pouted like a three-year-old until whoever was holding out on her gave in. Valerie Sullivan was charming and witty and manipulative and so very, very imperfect. But for all her faults, despite everything she did and the people she hurt, she was still our mother.”
Nora, holding Tori’s hand, cried softly while Tori reached out across the chair with her free hand. Without hesitation, Layne clasped it, twined her fingers with her sister’s. They faced him. A unit. One made all the stronger by the bond they shared and perhaps, because of their differences.
“She was our mother,” Layne repeated, her voice strong, her eyes dry. “And she didn’t deserve what happened to her. Find out. Find out the truth so we can give her justice.”
CHAPTER NINE