Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Seymour
Yes, I have a scheduled meeting with Officer Pete. What I didn’t tell them was that I asked for it. I don’t know where they are in the investigation, but I have to get this off my chest. I have to let them know, so they’ll stop looking at Mandy.
The way they’re hyper-focusing on her as a suspect makes my stomach twist. After these last two weeks of watching her carry this weight, I need to do something to make her life easier.
You probably think the worst of me. Go ahead. I deserve it.
I’ve lived up to my reputation in every way possible.
I broke the rules. I was alone with her.
I smiled. I texted—not a lot, but still.
And I fell hard. Fell for Mandy. Fell for her laugh that starts deep in her chest and bubbles up like she can’t contain it.
Her passion that lights up her entire face when she talks about art.
Her enthusiasm that makes everyone around her want to listen.
I can admit that now, sitting in my car outside the police station, watching officers come and go through the doors.
Maybe that’s why I took Harris’s terrible advice.
It’s almost as if I sabotaged the relationship because it’s terrifying.
Have you ever stood on the edge of cliff or a tall bridge and stared down?
If you’re high enough, it has a dizzying effect on the body. You instinctively step away.
That’s what happened. I have no excuse.
I need to explain, apologize. I need to ask her what is holding her back from talking to me or...maybe I need to talk first. It’s hard to find the right time. She’s busy organizing the event and working at the gallery. The distance between us grows with each passing day.
It would be easy to continue to pull away, but every night, every day I miss her.
I thought it would fade after a week, but it hasn’t.
It grows stronger every time I see her at the gallery, her head bent over paperwork, or when I catch a glimpse of her blue hair through the window of Beachside Java.
The memories haunt me. Her laugh, her smile, the way she looked at me before everything went wrong.
Harris pulls into the spot next to me and climbs into my passenger seat. “You ready for this?”
“Sure.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.
“You know what you’re doing, right?”
Absolutely. “Yes. I’m telling the truth. I’m shifting the focus onto me and off Mandy.” My fingers tap against the steering wheel, a nervous habit I thought I’d broken years ago.
Harris shrugs. “How’s it going with her?” I laugh, then offer a dry smile that says it all. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse.” The word comes out rough, like sandpaper.
“There’s one positive aspect to all this,” Harris offers, his voice taking on that tone he uses when he’s trying to make me feel better about my own stupidity.
“What is that?” Because I don’t see anything remotely positive in this mess I’ve created.
“She passed the wealth test. In fact, I would say she doesn’t care at all about your stacks of cash. You probably offended her with that ridiculous show, like you could win her over with your money, instead of your heart and soul.” Harris’s words hit hard, each one a reminder of my mistake.
Now he tells me. “Thanks a lot.” The words come out bitter.
“You never know what you’re dealing with until you give the test. Just apologize. Be honest. Tell her about Anna. That will go a long way with her. I learned that lesson too with Ivy.”
He’s the last person’s advice I should have taken. Even though falling in love and marriage has softened him up. I glance at the digital display on my dash. They’re expecting us. “Let’s get this over with.”
We head into the police station. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows, making everything look sterile and unwelcoming. A cop immediately escorts us back to a room where Officer Pete waits, his face set in stern lines.
Pete crosses his arms, his shirt pulling tight across his chest. “So you feel the need to have a lawyer.”
Harris snorts. “I’d be here if this was a speeding violation. Don’t read into it.”
“Let’s get started then.” He looks down at his notes, shuffling papers with deliberate slowness.
I’m thinking he already knows exactly what questions he’s going to ask. I’d cut him off, preemptively, but I’m also curious, hoping he’ll share information on the case. The tick of the wall clock fills the silence between us.
“Anything else you can tell us about the night of Eugene’s death?” Then he sits back and looks at me, waiting, like I haven’t already told him everything. Well, almost everything. I also wonder if he knows about the previous murders out in Ohio.
“No need to answer that,” Harris states, his voice firm.
Officer Pete shifts in his chair, the legs scraping against the linoleum floor. “Okay, then, have you remembered anything about that night in the past couple weeks?”
I look to Harris, who shakes his head, no. My jaw tightens as I hold back what I really want to say.
Officer Pete sighs, the sound heavy with frustration, like he’s played this game before. “I’ve heard from a few people that Mandy had issues with Darren.”
This is my opening, but I wait. He hasn’t given up anything. The fluorescent light above us buzzes, an irritating sound that matches the tension in the room.
He continues, “These artist types can be pretty emotional. You put a bunch of them together and...” He gives the universal sign for a bomb exploding, along with the noise. His casual dismissal of artists makes my blood pressure spike.
“It doesn’t mean they go around killing people.
” The words come out sharp, cutting through the air between us.
“If anything—” Harris puts a hand on my arm, a silent question asking if I’m sure.
Oh, I’m sure. “If anything, the person behind these murders has been methodical. If what you’re inferring is true, an artist would act out of passion and rage.
No, these murders were planned. Probably weeks or more in advance. ”
Pete returns to the night of the murder and batters me with questions I’ve already answered. I’m beginning to think they don’t have any new information. Their investigation is stalled. My shirt collar feels tight against my throat as the questions continue.
Harris presses his foot on mine, like he’s bored and wants me to get on with it. “Officer Pete, there’s a reason I wanted to meet with you.”
He leans forward, his eyes narrowed. He’s ready, probably hoping for a confession.
That’s when we hear a commotion out in the front of the station. Someone is demanding to talk with Officer Pete. That someone sounds a lot like Mandy.
Her voice rises loud enough to hear through the closed door. “I know Officer Pete is here. I demand to talk to him. I have information.”
I need to say what I’ve come here to say. This situation is about to become heated in about ten seconds. “I’d like to share about something that happened—”
The door bursts open. Mandy rushes in, her blue hair wild around her face, her chest heaving like she’s run all the way here. Her eyes are wide, almost feverish with whatever knowledge she’s carrying.
One look at her tells me something has happened in the past hour or so since the board meeting.
Yes, we’ve learned about the previous murders, but she’s ramped up.
She’s frazzled, hair skewed, body twitching with barely contained energy.
But it’s her expression that stops me cold—pure panic mixed with determination.
I shift forward in my chair, every protective instinct firing. “Did something happen?” I demand, though I have no right to ask anything of her until we talk.
She shakes her head, causing loose strands of hair to fall across her face.
“No, I mean, yes. It was in front of us the whole time...he was hidden...only just met...it’s clearly them.
..I didn’t think the murders would be tied to anything else.
We’re a small town...we don’t get big news like this.
” She runs out of breath and leans over, sucking in air.
Her knuckles turn white as she grips the edge of Pete’s desk.
Officer Pete plays his part well, his voice softening as he approaches her.
“It’s okay, Mandy. Come in and take a seat.
” He eyes Harris, who offers up his chair and stands in the corner, watching.
Pete helps Mandy into the chair, his hand hovering near her elbow.
“Now take some deep breaths, then you can tell us.”
I want to pull her aside and talk first. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything to Pete until she’s talked to Harris, but she’s definitely learned something beyond the previous set of murders.
Harris jumps in, his lawyer voice taking over. “You don’t have to say anything against your will. We can have a private meeting first.”
I send him a silent thank you, grateful for his intervention.
Mandy straightens in the chair, squaring her shoulders. “No, this doesn’t have anything to do with the fact I lied to the police.”
Officer Pete’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “Talk to me, Mandy.”
She looks right at Pete, her voice steady despite her trembling hands. “I’m sorry I lied. Yes, I had issues with Darren.”
“What kind of issues?” Pete asks, leaning forward.
“The pervert kind,” I spit out. I can’t help myself. The memory of how Darren treated her makes my blood boil.
She flashes me a look that says to stay out of this, but it’s too late for that. I’m involved whether she wants me to be or not.
“I had to deal with him a lot—”
“He often asked her to move his paintings to a different wall or a higher position. She couldn’t see but he took advantage of that time—”
“I would have told you about it earlier, but I was scared and embarrassed.” Her cheeks flush crimson as she speaks, her voice small but determined.
Officer Pete just looks confused as Mandy and I keep interrupting each other, his head swiveling between us like he’s watching a tennis match. “Mandy, you tell me what happened. Seymour, you shut up.”
She takes a deep breath, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “I’m sorry I lied. Like Seymour hinted at. He had a hard time keeping his hands to himself, but that’s not why I’m here.” Now, her eyes brighten with purpose. “Did you know about the triple murder at the gallery in Ohio?”
Pete’s gaze bounces between all of us, calculating how much to reveal. The silence stretches until he finally admits, “Yes. We knew about them.”
“Have you tried to talk to the owner of the gallery from Ohio?” she asks, breathless. Her question almost sounds like a challenge, like she knows he hasn’t been able to track them down.
“We’ve tried. Haven’t been able to contact him. He closed the gallery and disappeared.” Pete’s words come out carefully measured.
Mandy looks triumphant, sitting straighter in her chair. “What if I told you he’s here in town?”
“What makes you think that?” Pete tries to act nonchalant, but sweat has broken out along his hairline. His pen taps against the desk in an uneven rhythm.
“I was at a board meeting at the gallery. Diana has pretty much announced the inevitable closing of the gallery due to the bad press. As the event is in a couple days, she introduced her art consultant, Jack Hansen.” She pauses, the weight of her words hanging in the air.
“Explain. How did you find all this out?” Pete asks, his voice tight with tension.
“Barrie.”
“That explains everything,” Pete says, drily. “What does Jack Hansen have to do with this?”
“Well, he’s shaved the beard and added glasses, but he can’t change his face. Jack Hansen is John Walters.”
The room goes completely still. Even the buzz of the fluorescent lights seems to fade away.
So her bursting in here has nothing to do with Darren’s handsy ways. In fact, my confessing to threatening Darren is now irrelevant. The muscles in my shoulders tighten as I process this new information.
This changes everything.
Officer Pete shifts in his seat. His lips twitch. His gaze flickers between us like he’s trying to decide how much to reveal. He sighs, the sound heavy with resignation. “There’s a few things you should know.”
It hits me then, the realization settling like a stone in my stomach.
He knew about all this, except for maybe the Jack Hansen-slash-John Walters thing.
If he knew, why was he so focused on Mandy?
I think we’re about to find out. My hand finds the arm of my chair, gripping it tight as I wait for Pete to continue. Whatever he’s about to tell us, I have a feeling none of us are ready for it.