In This Town

by Beth Andrews

  The words hit Tori with enough force to knock the wind from her. She couldn’t remember a time when someone had been proud of her. But she couldn’t trust the warmth in her heart, the hope and joy that Celeste’s words brought. “I got pregnant at seventeen,” she said flatly, “got married at eighteen and divorced before I was thirty. I have a GED and not a diploma, never went to college and have worked my entire life as a waitress. What’s to be proud of?”

  “You took responsibility for your mistakes,” Celeste pointed out, calmly, rationally. “You love Brandon and you tried, for years you tried to make your marriage work. For that, you should be commended. You work hard, harder than any of my other employees. You’re always here, can always be counted on to solve problems or to pitch in when I need an extra pair of hands.”

  “I’m happy to help out,” Tori said. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  Celeste was one of only a few people she could ever say that to and mean it.

  Celeste reached out and squeezed Tori’s hand. “I do know that. And you know that while I adore your sisters, you hold a special place in my heart.”

  Tears clogged the back of Tori’s throat. She cleared it. “Thanks. Right back at you.”

  Celeste slapped both hands onto her thighs. “Right. Well, before things get even mushier in here, I have a proposition for you.”

  “I still don’t want to be manager,” Tori said quickly.

  Two years ago, the manager of the restaurant moved away leaving the position open. Celeste wanted Tori to take over but Tori hadn’t wanted that much responsibility, was worried she’d somehow mess up or disappoint Celeste.

  “That’s good because I don’t want you to be the new manager, either.” She handed Tori a paper. “I want you to be my partner.”

  Tori’s vision blurred but from what she could see, Celeste had had a contract drawn up, one that gave Tori the opportunity to buy into the café.

  “I…I don’t understand,” Tori said, her thoughts scattered, her heart racing.

  “It’s simple. With everything that’s happened the past few months, it made me realize I need to focus on what’s important. Really important. And that’s the people I love. I’ve always hoped that you’d take over the restaurant when I retire, but the other night I wondered, why wait? You could become a partner now, we’ll run it together until I retire and then the café will be yours.” Her expression softened. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have take over. There’s no one else I’d trust as much to keep the place running and successful, who’ll love it as much as I have.”

  Tori couldn’t think through the panic suffusing her. “I… How… I don’t have any money,” she blurted. “There’s no way I could do this.”

  “I’ve already spoken with the bank manager, he seems to think you could qualify for a small business loan, and your father and I would be more than happy to pitch in as well.”

  “You’ve talked to Dad about this?”

  “Of course. He thinks it’s a wonderful idea.”

  Tori blinked. “He does?”

  God, had he and Celeste lost their minds? Tori couldn’t handle a job this big. Couldn’t handle the financial responsibility of owning a restaurant. Why on earth would her dad think she could?

  Maybe it was his way to make up for how he’d always held her at arm’s length. Oh, she suspected he loved her, but he’d spent so much time at sea, away from them, that Tori had learned to get by without his attention.

  Besides, he’d given most of his love and devotion to Val which hadn’t left much for his daughters.

  “Don’t make any decision right now,” Celeste said as if she could read the terror and nerves going on inside Tori. “Take as much time as you need but please, think about it.”

  Think about it? Think about putting herself into financial debt, into taking on that risk now that she was alone, supporting herself and her son for the first time in her life?

  No. Make that hell, no. Taking that risk was way too scary. The chances of her failing were too high.

  And if she accepted Celeste’s offer, she’d be even more entrenched in Mystic Point. She’d never get free.

  * * *

  THE GODDAMN RAIN was driving Walker batty.

  It’d rained practically nonstop for four days and the heavy, gray mood seemed to hang in the air, permeated people’s attitudes and personalities.

  Or maybe Walker was just pissed that both of his investigations were going nowhere fast. That Jack Pomeroy had called him at six that morning to chew on his ass for fifteen minutes.

  Seemed the D.A. had gotten wind of Walker’s rescue mission at the Yacht Pub and had taken it upon himself to warn Walker about the consequences of getting involved with a possible suspect.

  Consequences similar to what Ross Taylor was facing due to his involvement with a Sullivan.

  “Did you ever see the chief and assistant chief in a compromising position?” Walker asked Officer Campbell—for the fourth time—in what he considered a highly reasonable tone as he stared down the younger man. God, the kid was young, maybe early twenties. Even in uniform, his hair buzzed short, he looked like a teenager.

  Campbell, his shoulders back, a mutinous expression on his face, shifted in the hard seat. “I don’t think that—”

  “I’m not asking you to think,” Walker said mildly. “All I want is a yes or no answer.”

  “No.”

  Walker leaned back, studied the officer. He was finishing his interviews with the men in the Mystic Point police department, which so far had been less than fruitful. One thing he’d learned: the officers under their command were loyal to Taylor and Sullivan.

  He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  It sure as hell wasn’t helping his case any. He needed the truth, whether good or bad, not nonanswers and attitude.

  “Can I go back to work now?” Campbell asked, his face flushed, his arms crossed.

  Walker had to stop himself from hauling the kid up by the scruff of his neck and tossing his ass out himself. “Yeah. You’re dismissed.”

  Campbell walked out, making sure to slam the door behind him. Walker sat back and stretched. The room was windowless, the air stale. He’d conducted the first few interviews in his temporary office but when he’d had no cooperation, he’d switched tactics, moved to the interview room, but maybe treating the officers as suspects had backfired.

  Live and learn.

  He walked out into the squad room to find Chief Taylor waiting for him.

  “Thank you for coming down,” Walker said, ignoring how all conversation ceased when he stepped into the room.

  “No problem. I’m glad to help in any way I can.” Though he was in civilian clothes—khakis and a striped, button-down shirt—there was no mistaking Taylor’s authority when he sent a pointed look around the room. “If everyone cooperates, answers questions honestly, the sooner things can go back to normal around here.” Now he met Walker’s eyes. “Isn’t that right, Detective?”

  Impressed despite himself, Walker rocked back on his heels. “That sounds about right.”

  Walker gestured for Taylor to go ahead of him down the hall to his old office. Inside, Walker poured himself a cup of coffee, offered one to Taylor who shook his head.

  “Something I can do for you, Detective?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes.” Walker sipped his coffee, added sugar then sipped again. “But first I have to know, was that little show out there for me?”

  “I don’t perform,” Taylor said. “What you see is what you get. Whether you like it or not.”

  Walker wasn’t sure he believed that but the more he was around Taylor the more he respected him. Which made his job that much harder. “So you really want your men to cooperate?”

  “Of course. The captain and I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Getting involved with a subordinate officer could be construed as wrong.”

  Taylor studied him. “Seems to me, it�
��s up to a review board to judge my actions. Not you.”

  True. And, yes, Walker was being judgmental, but only because he had the right. As a cop, it was up to him to make sure other cops toed the line, that they didn’t take advantage of their position of power.

  He was skating that line, Walker realized, and it pissed him off. He was getting personally involved with someone connected to this case. He couldn’t deny it, not when he and Tori had had personal conversations, not when she’d cooked for him.

  Touching her, kissing her, couldn’t be construed as anything other than personal.

  He dreamed of her. She slipped into his head when his guard was down, slid into his subconscious at night when exhaustion took over, after he’d spent hours tossing and turning trying to fight her invasion of his mind. But he could and did control his actions, his decisions.

  He hadn’t returned to the café since the other night, had subsisted on fast food and takeout and the occasional trip to other restaurants—the Chinese place, a pizza parlor.

  Walker hadn’t sought her out. Had no reason to. There was nothing she could tell him that would help his investigation, either of his investigations, he amended.

  But maybe the man standing before him could.

  He’d questioned Ken Sullivan twice now but was no closer to proving anything. Ken had admitted he’d paid off Dale and Valerie but that he’d refused to pay Dale this last go-round. Walker couldn’t even say for sure that Dale was murdered; it was possible—though not probable—that he ingested the poison on his own.

  They had two deaths eighteen years apart, two possible murders. Walker knew in his gut they were connected. More than that, his head told him they were. It only made sense that whoever killed Dale did so out of revenge for Valerie’s death.

  Or to keep him quiet about the truth.

  And he couldn’t rule out anyone as a suspect. Not even Tori.

  “Any new leads in the investigation of York’s death?” Taylor asked.

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “But if you were…”

  “If I was…I’d say no.” He hated being stuck, hated that the truth was out there but he couldn’t see it. And he was getting desperate enough to ask Ross Taylor for help or, at least, his thoughts. “I still think Ken Sullivan’s our man. He had motive, means and opportunity.”

  While his wife vouched that he was home the night Dale was killed, she also admitted she went to bed early and didn’t remember him coming in. Ken could’ve left the house without her knowing.

  “I have a hard time picturing Ken poisoning a man,” Taylor said, sitting in one of the chairs.

  “Maybe,” Walker conceded, “but he might be the type to pay to have someone else do his dirty work.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Who do you think is the most likely suspect, if not Ken?”

  Taylor nodded, as if he knew how hard it was for Walker to even ask that question. “You’ve been concentrating on Ken and Tim Sullivan. Captain Sullivan and her sisters—”

  “They’re the most likely suspects.”

  “True. But sometimes, it’s the person you least suspect who’s guilty. If it was me,” Taylor said slowly, “I’d widen my net to include everyone who may have had a motive—and not just for killing Dale, but for wanting Valerie Sullivan dead as well.”

  Taylor’s cell phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket. “Do you mind?” he asked Walker.

  “Go ahead.” He had enough to keep his mind occupied for a few minutes.

  “Hello?” Taylor said, then listened as he got to his feet. “Where?” Pause. “How badly injured?” Another pause. “She’ll be fine,” he said in the same tone Walker used when talking down panicked relatives. “I’ll be there in five minutes.” He shut off his phone. “Sorry, I have to go.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “One of Layne’s sisters was in an accident on Old Beach Road.”

  Walker’s stomach dropped, his blood ran cold. “Which sister is it?”

  But Taylor was already heading out the door. Walker caught up with him by Donna’s desk, grasped Taylor’s shoulder and whirled him around. “Damn it, who is it?”

  Several officers stepped forward but Ross shook his head at them. Met Walker’s eyes as if he knew how bad Walker had it, how close he was coming to completely falling over a very steep cliff.

  “It was Tori.”

  * * *

  HER ENTIRE BODY hurt. Even her eyelids, which refused to open despite what felt like a Herculean effort. Her head pounded, each breath caused a sharp pain in her chest and her throat was raw and dry.

  And someone was shaking her, causing all of her pain to coalesce into an unending torment, her stomach to turn.

  Oh, she really, really wished they’d stop.

  Tori just wanted to slip back into oblivion. It beckoned, the darkness, the silence and numbness, right at the edge of her consciousness. Whoever was trying to wake her could wait.

  “Mom.”

  The voice, whisper-soft and so achingly familiar floated into her mind.

  “Mom, wake up. Please.”

  Her baby. Her son. He was scared, she could hear it in his voice. Terrified. He wanted her.

  He needed her.

  Struggling, she pried her eyelids open. Blinked against the harsh glare, pain searing her head. She couldn’t get her mind to work clearly, she kept seeing images—a wet road, a sharp corner, then the feeling of flying and a jarring, bone-rattling landing. Panic flowed through her as memory returned. She’d been in an accident. She remembered bits and pieces. The fear and pain, the shock. Someone holding her hand, telling her she was going to be okay, the flashing lights as the EMTs arrived, the siren blaring on the ambulance. She must’ve passed out because the next thing she remembered, she was lying on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance, swaying as it raced toward the hospital.

  And now she was here. Hurt, but alive.

  Tori turned her head slightly but her vision blurred so she shut her eyes again. Opened them and focused on Brandon’s features until they sharpened.

  There he was. His hair floppy and mussed, his face streaked with tear marks. His eyes worried and way too serious.

  “You’re awake,” he said, like an epiphany. Like a prayer.

  “It’s okay,” she said, but her voice came out a wordless croak.

  “Here,” Layne said, her usual brusque tone soft. She held a cup with a straw to Tori’s mouth. “Drink.”

  Tori sucked in water. It was deliciously cool and soothing. She leaned back, noticed Nora standing behind Brandon, her hands on his shoulders, a worried look on her face.

  But Tori looked at her son. Tried to smile as she reached for him. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

  It was a refrain she’d used many, many times when he’d been a baby and had needed soothing. She’d held him, sometimes walking until her legs ached and her arms became numb from his weight. Sometimes in the rocking chair as she rocked and rocked and rocked, her head heavy from fatigue. She would repeat over and over again that everything would be all right. That she was there and would never leave him.

  Not like her mother had left her.

  Brandon grabbed her hand, linked his fingers with hers, and her breath caught, a new sort of pain flowing through her, bittersweet and all too real. Her son’s hand was as big as hers and a bit sweaty. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d allowed her to hold his hand, hadn’t realized how good it would feel to have that connection to her child again.

  She met his eyes. I’ve got you. I’m holding on. I’ll never let go.

  She’d never let him go.

  Layne came into Tori’s line of vision. Her face drawn, her expression unreadable. She nudged Brandon lightly. “Why don’t you run out, tell your dad and Colleen that your mom’s awake?”

  He looked like he was about to refuse but then he glanced at his aunt’s face and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Here,” Layne said, giving him some cash. “G
rab yourself a snack and could you bring me back a cola?”

  “Sure.” He stood and stuck the money into his pocket. Looked at Tori, worry still clear in his eyes. “You’ll still be awake when I get back?”

  She tried to smile, wanted to reassure him, her little man, who looked so scared. “I’ll be awake. I promise.”

  Layne walked him out, her arm around his shoulder as she spoke softly to him. Nora fussed with Tori’s pillow, helped her sit up.

  She must’ve been out longer than she’d thought if Brandon and her sisters were here. And Greg and Colleen, she realized, remembering what Layne had said about them being in the waiting room. Thank God they were here for Brandon.

  “More water?” Nora asked, holding the cup. Tori nodded and drank then leaned back with a groan. “Should I call the nurse?” Nora asked. “Get you some pain medicine?”

  “No. Thanks. It might make me drowsy. I’ll wait until after Brandon comes back. How did he get here?”

  “Greg picked him up from school.”

  Tori looked out the window but it was still as gray and overcast as it’d been earlier. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly five,” Nora said, sitting gingerly on the side of the bed. “We all came as soon as we heard. Layne was already here when I arrived—”

  “She always has to be first.”

  Nora smiled but it wobbled around the edges. “True. Greg and Colleen came with Brandon and Dad and Celeste are out there, too, with Ross and Jess. Layne called Aunt Astor… told her what was going on. We, uh, thought it would be best if they didn’t come down until a few of us had cleared out.”