Chapter 12
Ben’s response was slow in coming, and Tori figured she wasn’t going to like his answer. “It’s a yes or no question,” she said.
“It’s not that simple,” Ben answered. “And your nephew isn’t helping matters by refusing to talk.”
“What do you mean?” Even though Erin had said the same thing, Drew never had a problem with talking before, but then, no one had ever accused him of murder, either.
Ben shrugged. “He won’t explain what he was doing near Jenny’s house around the time she was killed.”
She crossed her arms. “It wouldn’t matter if he was seen coming from her back door—Drew isn’t capable of killing anyone. Do you have any other suspects?”
“Not yet.” Ben eyed her. “And don’t get it in your head that you can investigate Jenny’s murder on that Dark Deeds Unraveled podcast.”
“Wait . . .” Surprise laced Scott’s voice.
Tori shifted her gaze to Scott. She’d been so intent on questioning Ben, she’d almost forgotten he was there. He stared at her, recognition dawning in his face.
“Tori . . . Victoria Mitchell from Dark Deeds Unraveled?”
“You’ve listened to my podcast?” She couldn’t suppress her proud grin. It always amazed her to meet a listener.
“It’s one of the few I listen to,” he said. “Most of the true crime podcasters don’t care whether they get their facts straight as long as their ratings are good.”
Ben tapped his pen on the notebook. “I will agree with him on that—you don’t spout off just anything.”
“Thank you.” Tori prided herself on providing accurate information on the cold cases she discussed on the podcast. However, one look at Ben’s face dampened her enthusiasm.
“But, I’m warning you again—I better not hear one mention of this case on your podcast.”
“I’ve never investigated an active case, only cold cases, and if you listen to the podcast, you would know that.”
Ben narrowed his eyes. “None of the other cases involved a family member.”
She crossed her arms. “You don’t know me at all if you think I’d cash in on Jenny Tremont’s death and my family’s connection. Besides, I only plan to be here long enough to get Drew’s side of the story—two days, max.”
She could hope. But if Ben arrested Drew, all bets were off—she’d be investigating the case whether the sheriff liked it or not. At least investigating as much as two days would allow.
A text dinged on her phone, and she glanced at it. Erin. She’d gotten home early and wanted to know where she was. “If you’re done with me, I need to leave. My sister is wondering where I am.”
Ben gave her a curt nod. “Mind giving me your cell number, in case I have questions?”
She didn’t normally give out her number, but being cooperative might win her points, and she rattled it off.
“Mind if I put it in my phone too?” Scott asked.
“Why?”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. With Scott’s good looks, she didn’t imagine many women questioned his request for their phone number.
“I like to keep up with the women I rescue.”
“Yeah, right.” The way he missed the target, she was the one who would’ve had to do the rescuing if their assailant hadn’t fled.
Scott had the grace to redden. “No, really. Besides, I’d like to talk to you about your podcast.”
Was he putting her on? She eyed him, her heart skipping a beat when he didn’t look away.
He looked nothing like the skinny Scott Sinclair of her teen years.
The man was . . . Tori didn’t quite know how to describe him.
Eye candy, that was what he was in his sleeveless tank top that showed off muscles any body builder would envy.
And those smokin’ brown eyes that she could easily get lost in.
Except after Michael, she wasn’t interested in dating .
. . and if she were, there was no way she’d ever date a recovering alcoholic.
That’s what he’d been when she met him at church—a nineteen-year-old trying to get sober.
“I’ll repeat it in case you missed a number.” Tori managed to get the number out without stammering. A few seconds later, her phone dinged with a text.
“Now you have mine,” Scott said. “In case you need rescuing again.”
She managed not to roll her eyes at him and turned to Ben. “Mind giving me your cell number?”
When he hesitated, Tori said, “I’ll have it anyway if you call me.”
Ben laughed and repeated Scott’s action. When her phone dinged, she saved the contact information, then did the same for Scott’s number. “Thank you, gentlemen. If there are no more questions, I’ll be on my way.”
Tori climbed the hill to where her Toyota was parked and looked back at the two men. They appeared to be in deep discussion, about her, probably. Get real. Everything’s not about you. Shaking off the thoughts, she climbed in her car and called Amy to fill her in on the shooter.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled onto her sister’s street, hoping the delay had sent her dad on his way.
Her heart sank when she pulled into the drive and got out.
A late-model, green Chevy Blazer sat parked between a Honda Civic and an older Toyota Tacoma pickup.
The last time she saw Erin, her sister drove the tan Civic, and Tori had helped Drew buy the silver Tacoma.
That meant the Blazer belonged to her dad, who had a fondness for Chevrolets.
Just keep your cool. Don’t let him get under your skin . . . Erin’s front door opened, and her sister hurried out to Tori.
Erin wrapped her arms around her. “I was getting worried. What happened?”
Always the mother hen. Tori guessed that came naturally to Erin as the older sister. “I stopped at the lake for a few minutes,” she said, hugging her sister back.
Tori wasn’t ready to tell her about the shooter. Actually, she’d never be ready and prayed the three men who knew about it wouldn’t say anything.