by Beth Andrews
“I guess we’ll never know if that’s the truth or not.”
“No, we won’t. But instead of whiling away our time trying to see which one of us can piss farther, I thought it might be in both of our best interests to get these investigations over as soon as possible.”
“You mean it’s in your best interest. And I don’t need help with investigations.” He worked alone. Part of the reason he enjoyed his job was that he wasn’t stuck with a partner, didn’t need every idea he had, every move he wanted to make, vetted by someone else.
And he sure didn’t need Taylor getting involved. Walker already had a case with so many twists, turns and knots, he didn’t think he’d ever get it all straightened out.
“I screwed up,” Taylor said simply and, if Walker was reading him right, honestly. “I had no reason to suspect Mr. York died of anything other than natural causes. I had the coroner’s report telling me it was a heart attack and there were no signs of foul play, nothing to indicate a struggle had taken place or that another person had even been in that motel room.”
“Could’ve been suicide,” Walker said.
“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“No, I don’t. But I have to cover all the bases.” Had to cover his ass. Taylor might want to consider doing the same.
“There was no goodbye note, no confession of guilt and remorse. Hell, there wasn’t so much as an aspirin found on scene.” Taylor’s jaw tightened. “All the evidence pointed to a heart attack. But…”
“But?”
“My instincts told me otherwise.”
Walker shoved the cards back into the envelope. “Those the same instincts that told you to keep pertinent evidence hidden?”
“I had no proof it was pertinent until Tuesday.”
“And yet you still kept digging until you found out who Dale had become, where he’d been all these years.”
“I had my reasons.”
Walker widened his stance. “Reasons like wanting to bring some sort of closure, give some answers to Captain Sullivan and her family?”
Taylor took off his sunglasses and hooked them to the neck of his shirt. “You think I don’t know how this looks, how tangled it is? Believe me, all I want is the truth.”
“That might be hard to come by. Dale York was the main suspect in Valerie Sullivan’s murder but everyone knew there wasn’t enough evidence to even charge him with the crime. He was a free man and, unless a witness came forward or he confessed, he’d remain a free man. That couldn’t have sat well with the family and loved ones of Valerie Sullivan. That’s plenty of people with motive.”
A car pulled into the lot. Taylor waited until the person had entered the building before asking, “What if Dale didn’t kill Valerie?”
“Do you think York was innocent?”
“I think it’s a possibility.”
“That’s about as big of a nonanswer as you could give while still speaking.”
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
TORI 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. Th
at 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.