Page 73 of A Vintage of Regret
"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.
