Page 16 of Whiskey and Whispers
Finn, the local sheriff, cleared his throat to get their attention. His expression was grim, his lips in a flat line, and his brows pinched together.
“I’m going to need to talk to each of you,” he said. “Rachel, can we do this in the house, perhaps? Is there a private location where I can conduct the interviews? I don’t want to drag everyone to the station house.”
“We have to go to the hospital,” Diane protested. “We have to be there for Tyler.”
“I need to get your statements first,” Finn insisted. “This is an attempted murder case. We have protocols for this.”
“C’mon, man,” Glen replied, shaking his head. “We can’t tell you anything. We were all inside. No one saw anything.”
“Then your statements won’t take long,” Finn shot back. “If you don’t willingly give a statement, I can get my deputies to escort you to the station.”
Glen muttered something under his breath, but didn’t say anything more. Tate’s attention wasn’t on his old friend anyway. It was directed at the person who had stepped out from behind Winnie and Glen.
Cat.
“It’s a possible murder investigation,” she said. “We need to cooperate. I can tell you that New York City cops wouldn’t be asking nicely like Finn is.”
“Fine,” Glen said, throwing up his hands in frustration. “We’ll give our statement. You’re right. It won’t take long. We didn’t see or hear anything.”
In silent agreement, the group returned to the house, Tate following behind them. He was still trying to wrap his head around what he’d walked into this morning.
Tyler had been shot. What in the hell? Why? And by whom? It didn’t make a lick of sense.
“You can use the home office,” Rachel said, still sniffling from her earlier tears. “I’ll bring out some coffee or something. Oh my god, I’ve got a French toast casserole in the oven that I completely forgot about.”
Rachel darted into the kitchen with Diane on her heels.
“There’s a bunch of food if anyone is hungry,” Winnie said. “Help yourself. Rachel and I have been cooking since six.”
“Thanks, but maybe later,” Tate said, his gaze on Cat. “Maybe I should go help Rachel with that coffee.”
“No need,” Winnie replied. “We started it before?—”
She broke off, her hand flying to her mouth as a sob broke through.
“Jesus, Winnie,” Glen said, his tone scathing. “Keep it together. Tyler isn’t dead yet.”
Winnie burst into tears, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. Cat immediately went to comfort the other woman, putting her arm around her and whispering something into her ear.
“Yes, I would like to get some air,” Winnie said, glaring at her husband. “Let’s go sit on the front porch. Call us when we’re needed.”
“I hate it when she gets so emotional,” Glen said when the women were outside. “We’re all upset, but she tries and makes everything about her. She and Tyler weren’t even that close.”
Tate wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond. Yes, they were all upset, but Winnie was someone who wore her emotions on her sleeve. She’d always been that way since they were kids. It hadn’t bothered Glen before.
“It must be a shock to her,” Tate finally replied. “I’m not sure how to react myself.”
Truth be told, he was still trying to understand it all. He had to keep repeating to himself that Tyler had been shot.
Shot.
“Can I give you some advice?” Glen asked. “Don’t get married. Stay single. It’s much easier.”
Trouble in paradise? Winnie and Glen had been together for a decade. They’d always been happy, but in a quiet way. They’d never been one of those couples who had lots of public displays of affection, but they’d been solid as far as Tate knew.
“I think you’re both under a lot of stress,” Tate said. “What happened this morning has knocked us all off balance.”
Glen sighed and nodded in agreement.
