Chapter 17
“Karl Holland?” I asked.
He stood too fast, almost dropping the cake in the process. “Yes?”
“My name is Georgiana Germaine, and I’m a private investigator.”
The introduction seemed to rattle him, his gaze darting toward the entrance of the office, where employees were beginning to spill out in twos and threes, chatting on their way to the parking lot. The more people who exited the building, the more on edge Karl became.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I’d like to talk to you about Mia Bennett.”
That did it.
His shoulders tensed. For a moment, I thought he was about to turn and run. Instead, he whispered, “I can’t talk here.”
“I just have a few questions.”
“No, I mean …” He turned toward the office again, lowering his voice. “Not here. Too many people I work with hanging around.”
I kept my tone even, hoping not to rile him any further. “We can talk wherever you like, Karl. But we do need to talk.”
His fingers moved to his tie, tugging at the knot though it already sat loose against his neck. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
I considered alternative options and came up with what I thought was a good idea. “Are you hungry? If you are, dinner is on me.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he seemed to realize that anywhere else was better than talking about it here, and he said, “I could eat.”
I suggested we meet at the Boathouse Diner, and minutes later we parked next to each other out front.
The diner’s owner, Billy Bob Armstrong, was a friend.
He’d bought the diner some years back and made it his own while keeping the bones of the original building intact, strengthening the place with old ship planks and adding more room in the back when the crowds outgrew the front.
The diner had become something of a landmark over the years.
Tourists came in looking for the clam chowder they’d read about in magazines and travel guides.
And locals came because the food was good, the coffee was hot, and Billy could turn a fish tale into the best seafaring story they’d ever heard.
We exited our vehicles, and Karl glanced over at me like he’d rather be anywhere I wasn’t.
“Have you eaten here before?” I asked.
“A few times, though I wouldn’t consider it a good place to talk in private.”
“It’s not, but it can be. I know the owner. I’ll ask him to put us in the back room, and I’ll let him know we need privacy.”
Karl followed me inside, the smell of chowder and fried seafood wrapping around us the second we entered.
Nets and old lanterns hung along the walls, and model ships sat on shelves between framed photographs of storms and fishermen holding catches bigger than their torsos.
A low hum of conversation filled the room, broken every now and then by a burst of laughter from one of the corner tables.
Billy Bob stood near the register talking to a couple, his weathered face set in a grin that could sell a story before he even opened his mouth. He spotted me and smiled, raising an enthusiastic hand.
“Well, now,” he called out, “if it isn’t our famous local detective. You here for dinner or to stir up trouble?”
“A bit of both,” I said.
He laughed. “Reminds me of the time I told a deckhand not to whistle at sea because it called the wind. Fool ignored me, whistled anyway, and five minutes later the storm hit so hard we lost three crab pots and a grown man’s dignity.”
I glanced at Karl.
He wasn’t amused.
Billy’s gaze shifted from me to Karl. “Friend of yours?”
“Something like that. Any chance the back room is free? We need to have a private conversation.”
“For you? Always.” He motioned for us to follow him, then lowered his voice, saying, “You should know your mother and Harvey are here.”
The comment stopped me dead in my tracks. “I’m sorry, what?”
Billy smiled at me as though it took every ounce of restraint not to burst out laughing. “They’re sitting at the corner table by the fireplace. Your mother’s on her second glass of wine or maybe her third. I’ve stopped counting.”
My ‘good idea’ to speak to Karl at the diner had just taken a turn for the worse, but before I could pivot, my mother spotted me, cupping a hand to the side of her mouth and shouting, “Yoo-hoo! Georgiana!”
I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, my mother was on her feet and making a beeline toward us, one hand raised high in the air like she was trying to flag me down.
She swept across the room in a floral blouse, white capri pants, and tennis shoes.
My stepfather, Harvey, trailed behind at a slower pace.
“What a delightful surprise,” my mother said.
She kissed the air near my cheek, then turned to Karl. “And who might you be?”
“We’re here on business,” I said.
Her gaze narrowed at Karl. “Are you a client? A witness? A suspect? Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess.”
“Mom.”
“What? I’m just making polite conversation.”
There wasn’t anything polite about it.
She was trying to get information.
“Billy was just taking us to the back room,” I said.
“Wonderful,” she said. “We’re seated near there.”
Harvey gave me a tired nod. “Good to see you, Georgiana.”
“You too,” I said. “Why don’t you go and enjoy your dinner, and I’ll catch up with you both later, okay?”
My mother hesitated and then muttered something to Harvey about their dinner getting cold, which prompted them to return to their table.
Crisis avoided, for now.
I glanced at Karl. “I’m sorry. I had no idea she would be here.”
We followed Billy to the back room, which included a handful of tables and a second brick fireplace Billy liked to claim had been built from the remnants of one of the town’s earliest homes.
Billy pulled out two chairs, handed us a couple of menus, and then gave me a knowing look. “If your mother returns and you need saving, give me a holler.”
He laughed and left the room.
Karl took a seat, his hands flat on the table, eyes bouncing from the doorway to the window to the fireplace as though he were mapping out the exits for a quick getaway.
I sat across from him.
We looked over the menu, and once the waiter took our order, I dove in. “Let’s start simple. How long have you known Mia Bennett?”
“I don’t know her.”
“You work for the same company.”
“That doesn’t mean I know her.”
“You knew her enough to get angry with her when she got the position you wanted.”
He huffed a long sigh. “I wasn’t angry at her. I mean, maybe I was a little angry. I was just caught off guard, and I was disappointed it happened the way it did.”
“Tell me about it.”
“There’s not much to tell.” His jaw tightened. “I was told the promotion was mine, and everyone who worked there knew it. Then, out of nowhere, they brought in someone new and handed what I’d worked years to achieve over to her. She hadn’t even done anything to earn it.”
“You were frustrated, and you got upset, and then you caused a scene.”
“I raised my voice.”
“You followed her into one of the offices. What did you say to her?”
“I told her she didn’t deserve the job, and that she took something that belonged to me.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“No.”
“Why do you think Mia got the job over you?”
He gave the question some thought. “A few months before I was supposed to be promoted, my former boss retired. On her last day, she called me into her office and assured me the promotion was still mine. She said she would talk to the man taking over her position. I believe she did, but he still didn’t give it to me. ”
“Why not?”
“Let’s just say we didn’t get along from the start. He thought my management style was outdated, and he wanted me to embrace change and try new things. I tried, but my efforts still weren’t enough.”
Karl’s shoulders sagged. It was clear the promotion meant more to him than a title. It represented years of effort, and watching it go to someone else had left a mark.
Not wanting to press him further on such a sensitive subject, I switched topics.
“Have you heard about what happened to Mia’s sister, Wren?” I asked.
“I imagine everyone has by now. I may have been frustrated that she got the promotion instead of me, but I’d never wish something like that on anyone.”
I leaned back, crossing my arms. “I have reason to believe the person who killed Wren meant to kill Mia instead.”
For a moment, he seemed to struggle for words. “What do you mean?”
“They were twins, almost identical in looks.”
He stared at me in confusion, and then I watched the realization wash over him. “Are you thinking I had something to do with Wren’s murder? If you are, that’s insane. I’ve never … I could never … no. You have it all wrong.”
Before I had a chance to respond, the door swung open, and my mother swept into the room like she’d been given an invitation.
“It was just as I thought,” she said to Karl. “You’re a suspect in the murder investigation my daughter is working on, aren’t you?”
Karl recoiled.
“Mom, that’s enough,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” she said, dragging out a chair and plopping down next to us. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
Karl shot to his feet, the chair legs scraping hard against the floor as he pushed it back. “I’m not a suspect because I didn’t kill anybody! This was a mistake. I never should have agreed to come here.”
He turned and bolted for the door, and I shook my head, glaring at my mother. “You have all the timing of a natural disaster.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, dear,” she said. “Don’t be so dramatic. I was just trying to help.”
I stood and rushed out of the room after Karl, but when I got to the parking lot, I realized I was too late. He was gone.