Previously...
- Sarah went to Iowa to investigate Sabrina Gage and reported back to Brent that someone from King’s Bay had already been to the Gages’ house, asking questions. 
- Tori had a falling-out with her best friend after catching her hooking up with the guy Tori was dating. She was pleasantly surprised, however, when Philip saw how upset she was and took the time to comfort her. 
- After confirming that Helen had no alibi for the time of either killing, Brent arrested her for Sandy and Ryan’s murders. 

KING’S BAY POLICE DEPARTMENT

Don Chase's hands grip the steering wheel so hard that they hurt. He drives as if surrounded by dense fog, aware of almost nothing at all except for what is directly in front of him, despite the gleaming sunshine. He loses sight of the police cruiser after only a few minutes, and he is too paralyzed by fear to speed or take drastic measures to catch up. When he finally reaches the police station, he finds a number of squad cars parked out front, with no way of identifying which is the one that took his wife away in handcuffs. Don parks and, all too aware of the stiffness in his limbs, hurries into the station.
 
He is trying to figure out what to say -- "I'm looking for my wife. She was just arrested for murder"? -- when he rushes in and spots them. Brent Taylor and the other officer, a middle-aged man with a narrow face, stand with Helen in front of a window.
 
"Helen!" Don calls out. Instantly he is aware of the way that the entire precinct's attention zeroes in on him, but he hardly cares. They have to sort this out. Now.

"Don, we need to process her," Brent says, his posture as rigid as his tone. "Then you'll be able to meet with her--"   "Process her? Brent, what in the world is going on? Helen isn't a murderer."   "It's insane!" his wife says, shaking her head so that her light brown hair fans out wildly. "You cannot seriously think that I killed Sandy and Ryan. It isn't possible."   "I didn't think it was possible that you would have had your own granddaughter kidnapped," Brent says, "but you proved me wrong there."

The rebuttal drives into the pit of Don's stomach. He recalls his absolute horror upon learning what Helen had done. Of course, she hadn't intended for things to get so crazy -- she thought Sophie would merely be hidden away for a short while -- but it was still reckless, the most unhinged reaction he could have imagined to their loss of Courtney.
 
Until now?
 
He studies his wife. She looks as she always does: casual in a taupe sweater set, her hair unstyled except for this morning's brushing, her makeup light and unremarkable. But there is also a hardness about her, evidenced in the deepened lines in her face, in the weariness that she seems to carry with her everywhere now. He recognizes it in himself, too, every time he looks in the mirror. He has always assumed that it is a byproduct of the sudden, shocking way in which they lost their daughter -- it must be -- but he has also thought that was all it would ever be.
 
No. It's too crazy, he thinks, shuffling the thoughts out of his head like a housemaid beating off rodents with a broom.
 
"Can I post bail?" he asks. "She doesn't have to be..."
 
"We have to book her," Brent answers in that same neutral demeanor. "Then she has to be arraigned. And the judge could deny bail."
 
Helen gasps. "You can't keep me in jail! You have no proof!"
 
Brent turns sharply toward her. "I would advise you not to say another word until you have an attorney present. And Don, if you want to do something useful in the meantime, call your attorney or track one down."
 
"I didn't kill anyone!" Helen proclaims. “You’re insane if you think I did!” She looks to Don for backup. “Tell them! I have arthritis. I can’t go climbing through windows and—"

“Helen, zip it,” Brent says. 
 
A buzzer sounds, and the other officer -- maybe a detective, based on his lack of uniform -- leads Helen through a door.
 
"I'm going to find you a lawyer," Don says before the door closes, sealing Helen away from him. With its sound still echoing in his ears, Don looks to Brent. "You can't really believe that Helen murdered Sandy and Ryan."
 
"Just because I don't want to doesn't mean I can't," Brent says sternly.

"You've done everything you can," Jason Fisher says as he hoists his feet onto his desk. "There's no use beating yourself up over it forever and ever."
 
Alex Marshall sits in a chair across from his friend in the office on the second floor of the arena, his body swiveled to one side and his legs intertwined. "Logically, I know that. But I hate knowing people are mad at me--"
 
"But you can't control how other people feel," Jason says with a sympathetic lift of his brows.
 
"Unfortunately. It just feels like, if Cameron would forgive me..." Alex stops, seeming to chew on the thought for a long moment, and then shakes his head. "Never mind. It's stupid."
 
"No. Go on."
 
"It feels like I'm constantly being reminded of how badly I screwed up. Cameron thinks I'm some two-faced cheater, Liam hates me and is doing God knows what to my screenplay in L.A., and Trevor is always hanging around wondering why I can't just let it all go."
 
Jason leans forward with interest. "What does Trevor have to do with this?"
 
"Aside from the fact that I slept with him while he was engaged and then became close friends with his fiancé and pretty much lied to him for a year?"
 
"Well, yeah. But now. Trevor wants to get back together with you?"
 
Alex lets out an enormous, frustrated sigh before nodding -- but the sigh is confirmation enough for Jason.
 
He decides to take a shot in the dark and fill in the rest for Alex, who seems pained by even the prospect of admitting it all: "And you feel like you can't be with him because of what the two of you did."
 
"Yeah," Alex says, his eyelids heavy with defeat.
 
"You can't punish yourself forever." Jason is about to ask a more direct question when he notices his phone light up and vibrate on the desk beside him. He plans to ignore it until he sees the name on the display. Kicking his legs down, he snatches up the phone.
 
"What is it?" Alex asks as he watches.
 
"It's Brent. They made an arrest in the murders." Numbness shoots through Jason's body, a powerful current of uneasy tingling and weightlessness.
 
Alex straightens himself out in the chair. "And?"
 
"You're never gonna believe this," Jason says, unable to peel his gaze away from the words in the text message.
 
 
KING’S BAY POLICE DEPARTMENT

Helen empties her pockets and removes the few accessories she has on: a simple, leather-banded watch and her two rings, plus the locket she wears around her neck with photos of Courtney and Sophie in it. She places these possessions in a plastic bag and moves along to get fingerprinted. Brent stands back and watches from a distance.
 
"You made an arrest?" asks a voice from his left.

He doesn't recognize it until he turns to see Rosie Jimenez standing there. The young officer has her arms folded as she watches Helen go through the booking process. "Yes, I did," he says flatly. "And I was planning to have a talk with you once this was through."   She cocks her head, her dark ponytail bobbing from one shoulder to the other. "Why?"   "You went to Iowa to investigate Sabrina Gage."

Her face goes slack, and her arms fall to her sides.

"Don't even bother trying to deny it," Brent rolls on. "Someone was at her family's house, asking questions about her and her move to King's Bay and who knows what else."
 
Rosie screws her mouth into a tight pucker.
 
"I went on my time off," she says. "Paid my own way with airline miles I had--"
 
"But you still--"
 
"Never, ever said anything about the King's Bay PD. For all it matters, I was just some nosy civilian."
 
"Except you're not a civilian." Brent reminds himself to temper his voice, keep from attracting attention. “What the hell happened there? What are you up to?"

“Nothing! I thought it was really fu-- really weird how Sabrina Gage decided to stay in town, and then I ran into her acting all sketchy and with a rip in her jeans right after the time Moriani was shot. You didn’t seem too worried about it, but I thought if I checked it out--"

"I can't even tell you how far above your pay grade that was."

“It’s not 'above my pay grade’--" She says the words with a snap of the head and a fire in her eyes, so that the implied quotation marks around them might as well be painted in the air. “--to want to solve this damn thing. I was the first one there on New Year’s after they found Sandy James. I spent a lot of nights waiting outside Jason Fisher’s house to make sure no one tried to hurt him or his daughter. I was at that ice rink the day Sabrina showed up! So yeah, I’m invested. When her job checked out and I was sure she was who she says she is, I let it go."

The sincerity of her argument, despite how forcefully and perhaps unwisely it is delivered, takes Brent by surprise. 

"You could've screwed up a lot of things, Jimenez,” he manages to sputter. "Hell, you almost did."
 
"Like what?"
 
He realizes that he is caught. He can maneuver through the situation, of course -- he set it up that way to begin with -- but he nearly lost sight of the need to be delicate in light of today's adrenaline and anger.
 
"You sent someone out there," she says, the sparkle of gaining an upper hand glimmering all over her face. "That's a little hypocritical, isn't it?"
 
"If I were a rookie uniform, I would watch my tone with my commander."
 
That seems to hit her like a blast of frigid air. "Sorry. I just meant--"
 
"Look, this is not your show," he says. "You work your beat, you respond to your calls, you run stuff by your supervisors when you need to. You don't get jumped to the front of the line by seizing control."
 
She takes that in, cowed by the harsh reality of this scolding.
 
"Yes, sir," she says with a respectful nod.

The dim lighting and the chill of the air conditioner stand in stark contract to the blazing sun and heavy heat outside. When Tori Gray steps through the shop’s front door, she takes a moment to appreciate the relief of her new environment before proceeding to the counter, where she orders an iced coffee.

As she waits at the end of the bar for her drink, she sets down the pair of shopping bags that she just carted several blocks. She was supposed to have a lunch date and shopping trip with the girls, but since her falling-out with Fee C., she hasn’t been too eager to see any of them -- especially since none of them have reached out to her, either. 

Their loss, she thinks with annoyance. But she needed to get out of the house, so she decided to treat herself to a day of solo shopping. She is trying to put the situation out of her head, glancing around the shop casually, when she spots something that makes her do a double-take.

Unable to believe her good fortune, she manages to wait until the barista hands her the iced coffee before she takes her bags and waltzes toward the long table where Philip Ragan sits with roughly 1,000 photos spread out before him. 

“Hi there,” she says. 

Philip looks up and, after shaking off the cobwebs of whatever project he is clearly entranced by, returns her smile. “Hi, Tori. How are you?"

“I’m good. Better than the other night. I’m sorry you had to see that. I feel so silly."

“Everyone has bad days. I’m happy to hear things are better."

“They are. Thanks.” She takes a split-second to drink him in; he wears a checked red-and-blue shirt with gray pants and desert boots, a laid-back look for him, given all she knows of him. A dusting of dark stubble shadows his jaw. “What’s all this? New work?"

“Some of it. They’re all photocopies.” He stares down at the pictures for a long moment, as if overwhelmed by the enormity of whatever he is working on. “I’m doing an exhibit out at the winery next weekend. They have a summer festival and asked me to show some work. I’m trying to choose what to show."

Tori sips her coffee and looks over the spread of photos. “I really love the whole barn series you did,” she says, using her pinky finger to point toward that cluster of images. “They seem… sleepy and summery, but you can almost see something… I don’t know, haunting… in there."

Philip sits up straighter and narrows his eyes. Tori’s stomach clenches. But then a grin creeps over his mouth.

“That’s precisely what I was aiming for,” he says. “Are you interested in art?"

“I took an introductory class this semester.” She expels the tiniest sigh of relief into her straw, grateful that she took the time to read up on his work on the internet; before then, all she had seen of it were the advertisements he shot for her aunt’s company. 

“You have very perceptive instincts, then."

She is basking in the compliment when a woman sidles up beside Philip, hands him a cup, and then sits down at the table herself.

“I made sure it was the lemongrass tea,” the woman says. She has dark hair, worn loose and slightly wavy, and interesting features: big eyes, a large mouth. There is something striking about her, but the way her posture appears to fold in on itself counteracts that -- and that says nothing about her simple attire of straight-leg jeans and a thin gray sweatshirt. Tori’s mind spins fast as she tries to figure out how Philip could be with this person. 

Philip looks to her gratefully. “Thank you.” His palm curves around the cup. “Sabrina, I’d like to introduce you to Victoria Gray. She’s my-- well, a family friend."

The way that he says her full name, making it sound so sophisticated, echoes in Tori’s head.

“Tori, this is Sabrina Gage. My assistant."

“Oh. Hi.” Tori extends a hand, and she and Sabrina shake in front of Philip. “Nice to meet you."

“You, too.” 

Tori is suddenly conscious that she has walked right into a work session, and she has long known that the best way to maintain a guy’s attention is to leave him wanting more, so she picks up her shopping bags and smiles at them both.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” she says. “Good luck setting up the exhibit. I’ll make sure I come see it."

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you,” Philip says, and after a flurry of quick goodbyes, Tori makes her exit.

As she steps outside and waits for her eyes to adjust to the intense brightness, she keeps hearing the way that he tacked on that descriptor so hurriedly: My assistant. As if he wanted to make sure Tori knew it was professional, platonic. She knows she didn’t imagine that.  

322 BAR & GRILL

“What do you wanna do now?” Travis Fisher asks as he signs his credit card receipt.

Landon Esco groans as he slides out of the booth and pats his stomach. “I don’t know if I’m up for the beach now."

“You should’ve thought about that before you ate like you were on Death Row and it was your last meal."

“Sorry if I really wanted onion rings,” Landon says as they make their way through the dining room and toward the exit. “But it doesn’t really make me wanna go sit on the beach. No girl is gonna give me a second look right now."

“Yeah, blame the onion rings for that,” Travis teases as he pushes the front door open. He is half-a-step outside when something seems to come flying at him.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” the woman says.

“How about you--” But he freezes mid-statement when he notices her blue police uniform. He is about to replace his retort with an apology when he looks up and sees her face.

“Oh. You,” he says instead.

Rosie grimaces as she takes in his face. “Out of my way. I need a beer."

“Someone’s touchy,” Travis says, amused at seeing her so out-of-sorts after how pushy she was during their last encounter. “What’s up? Did my uncle finally bring the hammer down on you?"

The way she glowers back at him makes him realize that his joke was spot-on.

“Wow. Good for him,” Travis says. “What’d you do this time?"

“That’s none of your business, kid.” She muscles her way past him and Landon so that she is inside the restaurant. “But no one ever accomplished anything by standing around, you know?"

Before Travis can figure out what that has to do with anything, she heads toward the bar. He and Landon stand on the sidewalk as the restaurant’s door swings closed.

“What the eff was that?” Landon asks.

Travis shakes his head. “Damned if I know.” 

“She was hot."

“She works for my uncle. And she’s a major pain-in-the-ass.” Travis smacks his buddy on the shoulder. “Now come on. Sure I can’t talk you into hitting the beach?” 

FISHER HOME

Jason paces the floor of his parents' kitchen, his leather boat shoes thumping against the tile.
 
"Brent said he would let me know as soon as they set a time for her arraignment," he explains.
 
Bill and Paula Fisher sit at the kitchen table, which is for once not covered in either a meal or the remains of one.
 
"I don't understand," Paula says breathlessly. "Helen, of all people?"
 
Jason nods tersely. "I'm shocked, too. I never would've thought..."
 
"She hasn't been convicted of anything," Bill says, in his usual diplomatic way. As far back as Jason can remember, his father was the one throughout his childhood who would try to reason his way into familial peace -- and, save for a few rare occasions, that dynamic has very much persisted over the years.
 
"No, but Brent wouldn't arrest someone for murder on a whim!" Paula counters.
 
"All I'm saying is that this is far from an open-and-shut case."
 
"Dad's right," Jason says, ceasing his movement long enough to grip the back of one of the kitchen chairs with both hands, as if he needs it to stabilize his entire being. "But I keep thinking about how... how erratic Helen has been. The times she's snapped at Natalie and me, the way she got into it with Ryan..."
 
"She lost a child herself!" Paula says. "How could she do that to someone else?"
 
Bill shakes his head sadly. "Grief can be a powerful thing. I still can't believe this is anything but a bad dream. Helen loved Sandy--"
 
"But what if she thought I was the one going up to that room, like the police were thinking?" Jason asks.
 
Neither of his parents is readily able to produce an answer. Jason passes the moment by again checking his phone, but there is still no update from Brent.
 
"I should call Danielle," Paula says, bursting from her seat in a sudden flurry of energy. "She'll want to know what's going on."
 
Once she disappears into the dining room, Jason shifts even lower, so that his elbows rest on the top of the chair.
 
"How the hell am I going to explain this to Sophie someday?" he says. The thought is absolutely horrifying -- especially because Sophie is old enough to hear and process things. If charges really are filed, as it seems they will be, there is no way that Jason will be able to control the news cycle in his own household.
 
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Bill says, but the dreariness in his face makes it apparent that he doesn't have any idea how they might even begin to pull off such a task.
 
 
CASSIE’S COFFEE HOUSE

“Thanks for your help,” Philip says as he steps back out into the summer heat. “I’ll see you back at the loft."

“See you there,” Sabrina says as they fork off toward their individual cars. She uses the remote to unlock the trunk of the used Nissan she quickly bought when she moved to King’s Bay a few weeks ago. 

She is placing the zippered portfolio, which contains the many photocopies of Philip’s work, into the trunk when a jolt of pain rockets through her body and into her head. She inhales sharply as she clenches her teeth, in a futile effort to ward off the misery. “Ugh,” she says, hands going to her head reflexively -- not that they can do anything. She knows that the only way to deal with these headaches is to ride them out. Still, that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier to cope while she is under siege like this.

Blindly she staggers around to the driver’s door and slides into the car. She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, but the pain continues to ravage her head. The doctor said these would stop after a few months, but they haven’t… 

She breathes hard, trying to will away the pain and all it brings with it.

END OF EPISODE #783

What is going on with Sabrina?
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