Detective Torgerson didn’t answer.

“You might want to investigate if there was something put into the food or drink that made people black out,” Darby persisted.

“Is that what you did? Black out?”

Darby sat back and inhaled sharply. “Well, I don’t remember anything after dancing a reel, and I wasn’t drinking except for that one dram with dinner. A lot of people seemed drunk but…” She grimaced. Maybe that was just me. It was so frustrating not to remember what happened.

Torgerson wrote a note in her file. Darby wondered if she’d follow up on her suggestion or simply ignore it. Darby would dearly love to know if anyone else had been affected last night and figure out what the hell had happened to her memory.

“So, you left the party with Martin,” the detective prompted again.

“My client already told you she doesn’t remember leaving the dance,” Elliot cut in.

“What do you remember, Darby?” Torgerson asked with forced patience.

“Nothing until I woke up on the couch.” Darby tried to slow her breathing. She knew this woman didn’t believe her. But did Eban? Did Elliot? “I was cold. I realized pretty quickly I was at Martin’s house as I’d gone to a potluck there before Christmas,” she explained. “A bottle of scotch and two glasses sat on the coffee table so I assumed we must have had another drink when we arrived, although I don’t know why I’d do that.”

She pulled a face. She honestly didn’t like the taste of whisky. Why would she voluntarily drink more of the nasty stuff? “I went to the washroom and then decided to tidy up the dishes in the hopes I’d wake Martin with all the noise if he was still asleep upstairs.”

“If?” the detective pounced on the word.

Darby scratched her forehead. “I’m usually at work before eight and Martin’s always there before me. I thought he might have already left.”

Torgerson looked disappointed. “Go on.”

“I saw both our vehicles through the kitchen window, so I figured he was probably upstairs but, like I said, he often hikes into work, even when it’s crazy cold.”

Hiked not hikes. She needed to remember he was gone now.

“It was also possible that someone else came back with us last night and they’d given him a ride to work.”

“You said there were only two glasses on the coffee table,” the detective pointed out.

“Yeah, but I also told you I don’t like whisky.” Darby hated people trying to use faulty logic against her.

“People drink things they don’t normally drink when they’re already intoxicated.”

“My client already stated that she only drank one dram of whisky at the dance.”

“She also said she can’t remember,” Torgerson countered.

“She can’t comment on what she can’t remember unless you want her to make things up. Is your need to finish for the day more important than getting to the truth of events?”

Torgerson inhaled a sharp breath. “Don’t tell me how to do my job, Byrne.”