Page 17 of Sugar Free (Sugar Bowl 3)

"You know you have the right to an attorney to be here if you want," he offers.

I wait for him to go on, but he remains silent...watching me.

"I thought my list of rights were much longer," I mutter.

He laughs and it's genuine. He's totally the good cop. "I only read you your Miranda rights if I arrest you. I've got no intentions of doing that right now unless you want to confess to Mr. Townsend's murder."

My tea almost explodes violently out of my gut but I manage to give what I hope is an amused chuckle. "Yeah...I most certainly won't be doing that because it wouldn't be true."

"So you're good talking then with me right now?" he presses.

"Sure," I say, but I want to pick up my textbook, conk him over the head with it, and run.

To Mexico.

Beck can find me later.

"Well, we're obviously taking this information about his gambling debt very seriously. We've received the records from Marin General and there's no doubt he had the snot beaten out of him. We also verified that Mr. North came to pick him up, so we think that's credible evidence that Mr. North wasn't involved in that."

You think?

"But we're running low on finding anything else," he says, and then just waits for me to say something.

I try to wait him out, but the silence is too unbearable so I say, "Well, I don't know anything about it. Only what Beck told me after he came home that night after JT got beat up."

DeLatemer nods. "I'm sure Detective Denning will cover that more with Mr. North. And I'm sorry, but I have to ask, can you account for your whereabouts on January fourth from noon to five P.M.?"

I nod confidently. "I was at school and classes got out around twelve thirty. I went to the condo to study. Beck got there about two P.M."

"Gotcha," he says like we're buddies having a beer together. "So, you had roughly an hour and a half that your whereabouts can't be verified, correct?"

I give an amused laugh. "Well, the doorman at my condo can verify what time I got back from class, I'm sure. But Detective, if you think I had time to get to Sausalito, kill JT, and get back before Beck arrived, good luck in trying to figure out the logistics on that one."

He laughs along with me and gives a carefree shrug. "Hey...you know I have to ask these things, right?"

"Of course," I say kindly, and try to look at him with open honesty as he proceeds to ask me all my darkest secrets.

"So...tell me about JT and Beck's relationship. I understand they were friends for most of their lives, and then of course, hey...what a success with The Sugar Bowl, right?"

"Incredible," I agree with a smile. "But I'm afraid I don't know much. Beck and I haven't been together that long, and frankly, I've only been around him and JT together a few times."

"But has Beck said anything to you about strained relations?"

"I think every business partnership probably has that, right?" I say vaguely. "But nothing comes to mind as being troublesome."

"And you said, you've only been around them both a few times," he says as he picks up his coffee. He takes a sip, sets it back down. "Tell me those instances."

"Let's see...I met JT briefly at a Sugar Bowl Mixer, same night I met Beck. Then another time in Beck's office, both of those times only for a few minutes. Then Beck and I had dinner with him one night at a restaurant and he brought a date. And then the last time was at Beck's parents' Christmas party. Again, that was only for a few words."

"Any other times?"

"Nope. That's it."

DeLatemer nods. "And what did you think of Mr. Townsend?"

And here, I cannot lie. I just can't.

"I didn't care much for him," I tell the detective. "I found him arrogant and a misogynist. But I was polite to him because I didn't want to come between him and Beck."

"Did Beck know how you felt about his partner?"

"Probably not," I lie to his face. "I kept that stuff to myself. Didn't want to be that nagging girlfriend, you know?"

"Are you saying Beck had no clue of your feelings? I mean, he seems like a pretty nice guy. And if Mr. Townsend is as much of a jerk as you say he is, surely that's not news to Beck, right?"

"Well yeah...Beck knew those things about JT," I admit, but I feel like this is a slippery slope. "But it was business, you know."

"But Beck wanted JT out of the business, didn't he?"

Christ. Definitely a slippery slope.

"Yes," I have to say truthfully, because clearly this cop knows this for sure. "They had discussions."

"More like arguments, right?"

"I guess," I hedge. "Beck doesn't really get into a lot of details about that stuff with me."

And shit, shit, shit. That just made me sound so guilty because it was completely evasive.

I can feel a bead of sweat trickle down my spine. I wait for him to drop the next hammer on me.

But instead, he picks up his cup of coffee and stands. "Well, I don't want to take any more of your time. I think I've got what I need here."

Not sure if that's good or bad, but I smile at him politely. "Glad to help."

He nods his head and gives me a wink. "Have a nice day, Miss Halstead."

"You too," I murmur, and watch as he walks out of the coffee shop, and I have to physically restrain myself not to run out after him.

Call out, Wait, Detective. I did it. I killed JT.

I want to do that because it's patently clear to me that they're focused on Beck, and I can't bear the thought of him taking the blame on my behalf. I can't even think about the possibility of arrest.

But then I have to remember Caroline's words that I needed to trust in Beck that we were doing the right thing. I had to remember Beck's confidence and determination that we were doing the right thing that was best for both of us at this moment.

I force myself to try to calm down. I take deep breaths, hoping to get my heart rate back under control. I tell myself over and over again that this will all work out for the best.

The church is overflowing with people, which doesn't surprise me given the large circle of people that JT knew. What does surprise me is that his parents are having his funeral service in a church. They must have given a hefty donation to the St. Luke's United Methodist Church in Sausalito to have the funeral here, because JT and his parents weren't Methodist. They weren't churchgoers at all. I expect they chose to have his funeral in the house of God because that would be expected by polite society, and after all, news of JT's death was in all the papers. There's no way Candace and Colin Townsend would want to be caught with pictures in the society page of JT's service being held in something as common as a funeral parlor.

Sela and I were surprised when Caroline showed up at the condo this morning, dressed in a long-sleeved black dress with black high-heeled boots. I took one look at her when I opened the door and said, "You didn't have to come."

She gave me a light, backhand slap to my stomach and I gave an equally fake doubled-over ooph, and she breezed by me into the condo. "I didn't come for you. I came to see Sela."

I laughed because I know my sister. She came for both of us.

We made a unanimous decision to leave for the funeral a bit

late to put us there with no time to spare for socializing once we arrived.

The church is overflowing with cars and we have to park in a public lot a few blocks down. Caroline insisted on following us in her car because she was going to head straight back to Healdsburg after the service. By the time we walk up to the chapel, it's only a few minutes before the service starts and I'm surprised when we're met at the chapel doors by my father looking upset.

Because Sela and I walked in together holding hands, and Caroline followed behind us, my father's eyes come first to me, then Sela, then back to me without even noticing Caroline.

"You're late," my father says by way of greeting. "I was afraid you weren't going to come."

"Why in the hell would you think I wouldn't come?" I ask, affronted that he gives me so little credit.

"We'll talk about it later," he says dismissively. "After the service. But your mother and I saved you a seat up front."

He then has the grace to look at Sela, and I'm surprised he remembers her name. "Hello, Sela. It's good to see you again."

"Hello, Mr. North," she says with polite reserve. Like me, she's written my parents off and isn't going to spare them much more than common decency.

"Well, come on, you two," my father says impatiently, and I'm surprised his invitation includes Sela. My mother would certainly have a cow if she knew her husband was fraternizing with the riffraff.

"Actually, we're going to sit back here with Caroline," I say to my father, and he blinks in surprise, then his eyes immediately cut over my shoulder to see his daughter standing there. He hasn't seen her in almost five years...not since the rape.

He appears confused for a moment and I think he might even be compelled to say something to her, but then an organ plays a sad melody indicating that the service is starting and his mouth clamps shut. He merely nods at me and says, "We'll talk after the burial."

I nod back, wishing this day would just hurry up and get the fuck over. Why the hell you have to have a service and then a separate get-together at the gravesite is beyond me. Why can't it all just be done there at once?

---