Chapter 14 #2
"Maybe we are," Grant said. "Now leave, before we make you."
Harlan cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, perhaps we could lower our voices. We're in a public place."
For a long moment, Chad's gaze darted between Erin and the others, clearly calculating how much more humiliation he was willing to risk. Without another word, he strode toward the door, muttering something under his breath.
Elizabeth followed without so much as a glance over her shoulder.
Erin crumpled, tears streaming down her face. "I can't believe I stood up to him. I can't believe I told him off."
"You did great," Grant said, reaching across to squeeze her hand.
"You know," Bryson said, "I'm sure my parents would let you stay at the house until you get on your feet. And if you need a job, we've got an opening at the tasting room. I can’t keep working double shifts."
"I can babysit until you figure out what you want to do next," Riley offered.
"You're staying?" Erin turned, blinking out tears.
"My boyfriend wants me to. My sister needs me. And I think my brother wants me to stick around too."
"I do." Grant smiled. "But really?" He jerked his thumb toward Bryson. "This guy?"
Riley snorted.
Despite everything, the air in the room lightened slightly.
Through the window, they watched as Sandy emerged from the station and looked around the street before heading directly toward the cafe.
"Riley," Sandy said as she pushed through the door, her expression unreadable. "I need you to come with me."
“Me? Why?”
“I just need to ask you a few questions. That’s all.” Sandy offered a slight, polite smile.
“Then I’m coming with her.” Harlan eased from the table with his briefcase in hand.
Riley rose, her chin tilting in that stubborn way Bryson knew meant she'd face whatever came next on her own terms.
"I'll be right here," Bryson said.
"I know." She managed a smile as she and Harlan headed back across the street, disappearing into the police station.
And Bryson was left to wait again, watching through the window and hoping this nightmare would end soon.
Riley sucked in a deep breath and stepped across the threshold into Sandy’s office.
It had the kind of forced warmth that came from trying to make a small, official space feel less like an integral part of a police station.
A framed Napa Valley harvest print hung crookedly on one wall, flanked by two mismatched diplomas.
A jar of wrapped peppermints sat on the edge of her desk, beside a low vase of fading hydrangeas—blue gone brittle at the edges.
The scent in the air wasn’t coffee and paper, but lemon cleaner mixed with the faint metallic tang of the radiator knocking in the corner.
“I thought we’d do this here, instead of the interrogation room. No reason to make you any more uncomfortable than you already are.” Sandy gestured to the chairs opposite her desk. “Have a seat, Riley. Harlan.”
Harlan set his papers on the corner of the desk and eased back, taking a folder and opening it.
“Is this where you questioned my brother?” Riley asked.
“It is.” Sandy smiled.
Feeling a tad better, Riley sat, crossing one leg over the other, her slow pulse pounded stubbornly in her ears. “How can I help?”
Sandy settled into her own chair. “I need to ask a few questions so I can eliminate you from anything that might come up later.”
Riley frowned. “Eliminate me?”
“Standard procedure,” Sandy replied, flipping open a thin manila folder.
“I keep hearing that term from you and everyone else.”
“I’m sorry,” Sandy said. “But there’s no other way to say it, and this is official.”
Riley shifted. She liked sarcastic, smiley Sandy better.
“Where were you when your father died?” Sandy asked.
“Patagonia,” Riley said evenly. “I had just finished leading a hiking group when Bryson called with the news.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“The company I worked for. My best friend, Mateo. Half a dozen clients, the lodge staff, the park rangers,” Riley said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Need me to send you their numbers?”
“Give them to Harlan, and he’ll get them to me.” Sandy’s pen scratched across the page. “Have you traveled back to the U.S.—specifically Napa Valley—in the past year?”
“No.” Riley glanced between Sandy and Harlan, who have her a reassuring smile as if this was all normal stuff.
Sandy clasped her hands, rested them on her desk, and leaned forward. “What can you tell me about Sean and Grant’s relationship?”
“I haven’t lived here in twelve years,” Riley said with a tremor in her tone. “I was close to my dad, but not as close to Grant. They’ve had their issues over the years, but to my knowledge, they worked hard to maintain a decent relationship.”
“What does that mean?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t know.” Riley raised her hands and slapped them against her legs. “Can you be more specific?”
“Sure.” Sandy unclasped her hands and shuffled a few papers across her desk. “Was Grant harboring a grudge against your dad?”
“Not that I know of,” Riley said.
“Did they fight a lot?”
“My dad said they’d been getting along, especially since Grant had kids.
Grant softened a lot after that.” Riley hesitated for a moment, afraid she might say something to hurt her brother.
She glanced toward Harlan, who gave her a short nod.
“I’m the one who had problems with my family.
All of them, except my father. But I think he and Grant got along mostly well enough. ”
“Do you know anything about your brother’s financial status?” Sandy asked.
“He’s well-off. Not at the same level as the Boones or the Callaways, but I believe he’s a millionaire.”
“And how do you think he got that way?” Sandy asked.
“Hard work.” Riley shifted her gaze once again to her attorney.
“How do you think he avoided Robert Wilkerson’s Ponzi scheme?” Sandy asked.
“He’s smart. He’s good with numbers. And knew what kind of person Robert was. He even tried to warn people about him. At least that’s what I’ve been told,” Riley said.
“Okay. But what about that letter your dad sent you?” Sandy asked.
“I can’t explain that. I just know what my brother had to say.”
“You and your dad never talked about it?”
Tears welled in Riley’s eyes. “I didn’t know about the note until after my dad had died. My friend, Mateo, called me when it arrived.”
“I’d like your friend’s contact information so I can speak with him directly.”
“I can give that to you,” Riley said.
“Alright. What do you know about your mother’s finances?”
“Not that much, truthfully,” Riley admitted.
“I mean, she married Parker because he was well off, but I don’t know the first thing about how that worked.
And I learned recently that she lost some money in that Ponzi scheme, but I don’t think that put too much of a dent in their resources.
” Riley wanted to jump out of her seat and scream at her friend that she knew all this already.
“What do you know about Monica and your mother’s friendship?”
“I didn’t know they had become friendly until I got back to town.”
“Are you aware that Monica’s on the Main Street Beautification committee?” Sandy asked, leaning back and rubbing her temple. “And that your mother has a hand in that.”
“I’ve become aware, but I don’t know the logistics of it.”
“Alright.” Sandy waved her hand.
Harlan shifted his stance against the wall.
“I know you’ve been away a long time. But you know the people in this town. The history. Tell me what you know about the relationships between Monica, Kelly, and your mother.”
“None of them are good,” Riley said.
“And how does Grant play into that?” Sandy asked.
“Kelly doesn’t like Monica, but that feeling is mutual. My mom doesn’t respect Kelly and again, mutual. I really don’t understand Monica and my mother having any kind of bond, except mutual hatred of the Boones.” Riley sighed, frustrated.
Sandy picked up a pencil and tapped it against her temple. “One last question. Does your mom have any reason that you can think of to want your father dead?”
“I can’t think of one,” Riley said.
“What about pinning it on your brother?”
Harlan coughed.
“Is that what’s happening?” Riley asked.
“I don’t know, you tell me.” Sandy’s tone had just enough dryness to make it sound like a yes.
“I mean. My parents had a bad marriage. My mom constantly belittled my dad. It wasn’t good. But if you’re asking me for a motive—you know, like on TV—I just can’t come up with one. Not one that makes sense.” Riley sat back and pressed her palms into her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Is it true? About the autopsy? About the poison? Is that my father’s cause of death? Because we can’t get an honest answer. All we’ve been told is there was ‘something’ in his labs that didn’t make sense. A substance that could be considered a toxin, and his death is now suspicious.”
Sandy’s expression didn’t shift. “I can’t answer that.”
“Can’t,” Riley echoed, “or won’t?”
For a beat, the only sound was the radiator clanging twice before settling.
Sandy set down her pen. “Riley, I need you to understand something—this is bigger than any one interview. The less you know right now, the less likely it is that someone can accuse you of interfering later. That’s protection, not punishment,” Sandy said.
“And, it’s both. We don’t know exactly what killed your father. We just know it wasn’t a heart attack.”
Harlan closed his folder. “She’s right. You’re better off letting this play out through official channels,” he said. “She’s given us more than you think. Trust me.”
Riley let out a humorless laugh. “For some reason, it doesn’t feel that way.”
Sandy’s brow lifted a fraction, but she didn’t comment. “We’re done for now.”
Sandy stood, and Riley followed her out into the waiting area, where Byson sat in one of the chairs.
He rose, and in seconds, was standing at her side, arm wrapped around her waist, as if to hold her up.
Harlan leaned against the counter.
“Thanks for coming in, Riley,” Sandy said. “Harlan, can I have a word?” She turned and disappeared down the hallway, Harlan, one step behind.
Riley stared at the empty space, squeezing Bryson’s hand.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I will be when I know what those two are talking about.”
Bryson kissed her temple.
Two minutes later, Harlan emerged, his expression neutral. “Let’s step outside.”
“What did she say?” Riley asked.
“Things are moving quickly. Sandy didn’t give me much, but she’s doing her job. You’ve got a PI on board, and he’s good. Let him dig. Let Sandy work. I’ll be working, too. Go back to Bryson’s. Try to have a day that’s not all about this.”
“That’s it?” Riley blinked.
“For now,” Harlan said. “Sometimes, the system works slowly. And this phase can be frustrating as hell. But Sandy knows what she’s doing.
I might not always like the way she questions someone.
Or some of her tactics. And I know she doesn’t like some of mine.
But that’s the dance. Right now, your job is to go home, spend time with your family, and try not to worry. ”
“That’s no easy task.” Riley glanced over her shoulder at the station, the closed door, the faint sound of a phone ringing inside. The knot in her chest tightened.