CHAPTER FOUR

      WORKING TO KEEP her expression unchanged, Tori slid her arm down, pretending she was reaching over to straighten the metal napkin holder. She wished she could cross her arms over her chest, hunch her shoulders and duck her head, but that would be surrendering.

      She could handle him; she could handle any man. It was what she did.

      Bertrand pulled a notebook from his pocket. “Were you aware that Dale York had arrived in Mystic Point in July of this year?”

      “Of course.”

      “When did you become aware of Mr. York’s presence in town?” he asked when it became clear she wasn’t about to offer more information.

      “I’m not sure of the exact date.”

      He wrote something. “You must’ve been surprised he was back.”

      “Yes.” Just thinking about it, about Dale walking around her town, made her throat constrict. “Yes, I certainly was surprised.”

      Surprised. Furious. More scared than she’d ever been in her life.

      When Layne had come into the café that hot July day and told Tori that Dale was in town, Tori’s first instinct had been to grab her son and run. To somehow escape what she’d known would only be more heartache and pain. To try to escape the past.

      Her family had only just begun to come to terms with the fact that after all these years, Dale would probably never be found, would never be brought to justice for murdering their mother. The cops had tried to track him down but it was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth the night he left town.

      Until he waltzed into the Mystic Point police station, hard-eyed and cocky, and claimed he wanted to cooperate with the investigation.

      “Did you and Mr. York cross paths during the two weeks he was in Mystic Point?”

      “Once,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, as if their encounter had been of no importance. “But then, I’m guessing you already know that, don’t you?”

      Again he waited, giving her a look that said he had one nerve left and she was getting on it.

      She blinked innocently at him. Well, as innocently as possible.

      He flipped through his notebook. “You were listed as a witness to an assault the night of July 17 at a bar called the Yacht Pub.” He lifted his head, his pen poised over paper. “Is that correct?”

      “If it’s in your handy dandy notebook, I’d say it must be.”

      He set the notebook aside, laid his hands flat on the table. “Mrs. Mott, police reports indicate you were a witness to an altercation that night between Dale York and his son, Griffin. Your sister Nora also witnessed the event and your other sister, Captain Sullivan, was the arresting officer.”

      Tori’s stomach grew queasy. She was starting to see how bad this all looked to someone on the outside. How it could be construed that her family had conspired against the man who killed their mother. “That’s right.”

      “You and your sister Nora went to the bar together?”

      “No. I was with a group of friends. Nora was there when I arrived.”

      “She was alone?”

      “She was with Griffin.” Tori tipped her bottle, watched a drop of water slide to the top, then flipped it again. She’d been so upset seeing her sister sitting next to Griffin York at the Yacht Pub, the bar where their mother had tended bar. Where Val and Dale had started their affair.

      “You went to school together, you and Griffin York.”

      “We did. Although we hardly ran around with the same crowd. I was half of Mystic Point High’s hottest couple and he was the ultimate bad boy, hauling around that chip on his shoulder, a perpetual smirk on his face.”

      “You don’t like him,” Bertrand said.

      Truth or lie? She had no problem with lies but sensed it wouldn’t hurt to tell the truth in this instance. “Those are some seriously well-honed investigating skills, Detective.”

      “The police report also indicated that Griffin started the fight.”

      She may not like Griffin, wasn’t sure she trusted him, but Nora did. Nora loved him. “Dale instigated it.”

      “How?”

      “He got grabby with Nora.” An exaggeration, one Tori didn’t regret. As far as she was concerned, Griffin had every reason and every right to have laid into Dale that night. “Griffin punched him. They fought. Layne broke it up—”

      “By using her Taser on Dale.”

      “He charged at her,” Tori said, straightening. Bertrand was trying to turn things around, make it seem as if Layne had used unnecessary force because they all hated Dale. “She was defending herself and trying to get the situation under control. Besides, it wasn’t like she shot him.”

      “This morning at Chief Taylor’s office, you said you were glad Dale York was dead.”

      She narrowed her eyes. Wasn’t he clever, trying to trip her up with his lightning-fast questions? “Actually you asked if I was happy Dale was dead. I didn’t answer. But I will now. Yes. I’m glad he’s dead.”

      “Mrs. Mott, where were you the night Dale York died?”

      “You think I killed Dale?” she asked, wondering if she’d made a mistake, a big one, in agreeing to speak with Bertrand here, now, on her own.

      “I think you hated him,” Bertrand said, watching her carefully. “That you were angry there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him with your mother’s murder.”

      “Right on both counts. But I didn’t kill him.”

      “Your whereabouts that night?” he asked again.

      “I was at the country club with the rest of my family. It was my cousin’s engagement party.”

      He jotted that in his damn notebook. She wanted to snatch it up, take it into the kitchen and burn it on the stove.

      “What time did you leave the party?”

      “Midnight? Maybe a little later.” She tossed the empty bottle aside. It rolled across the table, stopping at the salt and pepper shaker holder. “Look, it was late and—”

      “Were you drinking that night?”

      “I had a few glasses of wine.” Had needed them considering her ex, Greg, had been there with his new girlfriend. Colleen Gibbs taught at the same school as Tori’s cousin Erin so Tori had spent a tense evening watching them cozy up to each other. Even though Tori knew she’d made the right decision asking Greg for a divorce, seeing him with her, seeing how happy he was with another woman—when she’d failed so miserably at being his wife—hurt.

      “Were your sisters there?”

      “My sisters, my father and Celeste—”

      “Celeste Vitello, your father’s girlfriend and owner of this establishment?”

      Nerves tumbled in Tori’s stomach. She hadn’t been far off the mark