Page 67 of What They'll Say About Us

"We're not having this conversation. Leave, or I'll call security and have you removed."

"What about Detective Cabot?" I asked, ignoring his directive. "Did he ever question you about Paige, about the rumors?"

"No."

"Is that because you were friends with Cabot? Chess partners, right?"

Surprise shot through his gaze. He hadn't expected me to know that.

"I told you to go, and I'm not going to tell you again. I'm calling security."

As he reached for the phone, a voice came from behind me. "No need to do that, Professor."

I whirled around to see Barclay behind me.

"I'm Detective Colton Barclay, Professor Hale."

"What is going on?" Hale asked.

"I don't know if Ms. Conway told you…" He gave me a glance and I shook my head. He turned back to the professor. "Detective Cabot was killed last night."

"What?" Hale asked, shock running through his expression. He'd once been an actor himself, back in his teens and twenties, so I had no idea if his reaction was genuine or practiced. "What do you mean he was killed?"

"Exactly what I said," Barclay told him.

"Well, I don't know anything about that."

"But you knew him. In fact, you were at his house yesterday."

I stiffened, realizing that one of the wineglasses must have belonged to him.

"I did stop by Vincent's house," Hale said. "We play chess together. We had a game, a glass of wine, and then I left. He was very much alive when we said goodbye. What happened?"

"What time did you leave?" Barclay asked.

Hale cleared his throat, shooting me a dark look. "I don't think Ms. Conway needs to be present for this."

"Answer the question," Barclay ordered in a firm voice that told Hale he wasn't going to be managed.

"I arrived a little before one o'clock and left about two thirty."

"What did you two talk about?"

"Chess."

"You didn't discuss Paige MacIntyre or the renewed interest in her case?"

"It came up, but he said there was nothing for anyone to find, so he wasn't concerned. He understood that the family couldn't accept the truth. He didn't blame them for that. He knew they were still grieving, still looking for a reason for their pain. That was all he had to say about it."

"What did you have to say?" I interrupted, unable to stop myself.

"I may have to answer his questions but not yours," Hale returned.

"What did you say?" Barclay asked.

Hale let out a sigh. "I expressed the same sentiment. That it bothered me that this was all coming up again because there was nothing anyone could do to change what happened. It was an accident, a tragic accident."

"If that were true, Detective Cabot would still be alive," Barclay said.