Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Harriet
My office at InovaSpire is calm and orderly, just how I like it—all clean surfaces and neat screens and a great view of the Silverton River. I’ve worked here for eight years. I’ll miss this office.
A bag I nabbed from the antique store leans against the wall. It’s a vintage train case, its soft leather burnished from decades of handling. The thing is big enough to hide a throw pillow. But today it contains a certain board game swathed in bubble wrap.
I sign off on a speaking engagement for Serena and tweak a budget bump for the backend crew.
I check my phone. Ten minutes until a Zoom with the West Coast crew. I go to another tab and pick back up on my research from this morning, and the second time’s the charm. I zoom in on a tiny line item in a scanned claims form:
Policy underwritten by Creighton Mutual Insurance Group.
Finally! The name of the insurance company that dealt with the champagne tower collapse. And it’s local!
And I just happen to know somebody inside.
I pull up LinkedIn. Who needs to get the photos from Bo Richardson when you have the admin girl mafia?
There she is: Kat McClellen–Claims Admin Specialist at Creighton Mutual. We chaired some networking events together and bonded over some unbelievably annoying venue policies. Best of all, I let her use some of our deep research firepower for a family situation she had.
This is happening.
I grab my phone and fire off a text:
Hey stranger, it’s Harriet. Question for you. Wanna catch up over lunch this week? My treat.
I watch the dots appear, pause, vanish, then return.
I was just thinking about you! Also have tea 2 spill. Thursday? Noon? Greek place on 5th?
Perfect. See you then.
I set the phone on the desk and spin slowly in my chair.
It’s a big ask for the photos from an old insurance claim, even if it was just a wedding disaster.
But I’ll tell her what it’s for and assure her it won’t get back to anyone official.
We just need to examine the background images. See if there’s anything to see.
A soft knock on my open door pulls me out of my thoughts. Serena steps inside, immaculate as ever in cuffed trousers and a stylish blouse. “Got a minute?”
“Always,” I say, straightening instinctively. Something’s on her mind. “What’s up?”
She closes the door behind her. Never a good sign. “I ran into Harlan Delmere last night at that new wine bar over in Creighton.”
“Okay.”
“He stopped by my table and said—jokingly, of course—that I must not be giving my employees enough to do because apparently one of them is out there investigating crimes that don’t exist.”
In my head, I’m thinking Gasp! But I keep my expression neutral. “Really.”
“He said,” she continues, voice tightening, “that he doesn’t mind a woman having hobbies—his exact words—but it starts to get concerning when those hobbies threaten to spread rumors that affect tourism in the valley.
Or interfere with an active investigation like the attempted assassination of Ashwood’s mayor. ”
“That’s what he said?”
Serena nods.
“Do you think it was a threat, like he would try to get some business yanked?”
“I think that’s exactly what it was. The way he looked me right in the eye, ensuring that I got the full subtext? Just really intently looking at me, you know?”
“Shit. I’m so sorry. Alexandru and I are looking into some things, but I swear, I’m not interfering in any investigation. If anything, I’m supplementing the police investigation.”
She snorts. “Said no police officer about an amateur sleuth ever. What’s really going on, Harriet?”
I give in and tell her about the investigation. Turns out Serena was at the wedding where the dance floor caved in. “You’re saying you suspect a pattern in the accidents?”
“I know there’s a pattern.”
Serena’s eyes sparkle. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that you have one hell of a spreadsheet going for it.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” I whisper. “And the stairway collapse is part of it.”
“And you don’t think it’s the Snag Tooth Riders? Everyone’s been saying it’s payback for shutting down Fight Nights. Supposedly, there’s evidence and everything.”
“Supposedly,” I say.
“If you’re right, this is serious stuff. Like serial killer territory.”
“There have only been two deaths so far, and it’s not a serial killer until three, but a budding serial killer? That’s where this is leading. But I never meant for any of this to affect the business,” I say. “I guess I need to do some damage control on it.”
Serena waves that off with a flick of her fingers. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Harlan thinks he can look me in the eye, deliver a veiled threat, and I’ll come running to shut you down? He can screw himself.”
My eyebrows lift.
“Also? I find it suspicious he’d care. Don’t you think it’s suspicious?”
“Highly,” I say. “And it’s not the first time he’s intervened. There was a curtain fire at the Glassworks Galleria that was probably arson, and he shut it down tight. What is he hiding?”
Serena twirls a pen. “But why would Harlan Delmere set a fire in one of his own properties? Why sabotage the wedding industry he so richly profits from?”
“Whoever’s behind this probably has a reasoning process we can’t comprehend.”
“‘A reasoning process we can’t comprehend’? You mean the person is batshit bonkers?”
I snort.
Serena shoves the pen in her bun. “Well, be careful. And I don’t mean be careful about InovaSpire. Harlan Delmere can call every boardroom buddy in the region to cancel our contracts, and it wouldn’t dent our bottom line.”
I smile. Our firm is a force. “Thanks.”
“But you should be careful for yourself and your family and your hot new friend. If you’re right, this person is dangerous.”
“Thanks. Will do.”
“Of course. And let me know if you need anything. I got your back.” With that, she turns and leaves.
I gaze out at the river. Could Harlan actually be behind it all? Hopefully, we’ll get the guest lists today, and with any luck, Harlan will be on each and every one of them.
Though her question is a good one. What does he get out of sabotaging weddings?