Chapter Eight Harriet #2
Kozel’s eyes cut to my reddening face, then back to her.
“Lisa. Right. As my partner was saying, we’re very sorry for your loss.
We’re told Mr. George was a good friend to the Logan Island police force.
His death is a great loss to the community as a whole.
As I’m sure you realize, we believe George’s death was not from natural causes. ”
“Of course it wasn’t!” my mother cries. “Which leads me back to my original question: Why hasn’t that awful woman been charged?”
“We’re working on it,” Kozel says vaguely.
“In fact, we’re here because we want to hear your account of what happened last night.
Not just the argument between Mr. George and the—” He coughs.
“The cook but the rest of it too. I remember you were always so observant when I was younger, and as I told my partner on the way here, I’m sure you noticed things no one else did. ”
Kozel is many things (sociopath, liar, the list goes on), but a dummy he is not.
My mother titters. “Oh, Adam. You do flatter me,” she says, then launches into it. “Well. As you know, last night we hosted a party here in celebration of my daughter’s twenty-sixth birthday. I would have invited you, Adam, but you know how stubborn Harriet is—”
“Mother!” I snap.
“What?” she says with a frown, like she can’t imagine why I’m annoyed.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
“Well then.” She turns back to the detectives. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted: We invited some old classmates from PHS, George’s business associates, VIPs in the town government—”
Detective Jones flips the page of her steno pad. “Can you confirm the names of the attendees for us, please?”
“Actually, I can do one better. I’ll get you a full list.” Rising from her chair, my mom heads over to her desk.
A moment later, she returns with her iPad in hand.
On the screen is an Excel spreadsheet, which she proudly shows the cops.
“Would you like me to print it for you? There’s a printer back in George’s office. ”
“That would be very helpful,” Kozel says with a smile.
My mom hurries out of the room, and an awkward silence descends. I study the ceiling, trying to avoid Kozel’s eyes, which I can feel running laps around my face.
“The beach,” Jones says, disrupting the silence. She’s flipping through her notebook. “We understand it’s private, but it’s also geographically inaccessible, correct? One side blocked by a rocky hill, the other by a thicket of trees?”
“Correct. The only paths in and out are through the gates, and they all have codes.”
She scribbles this down. “Great. Can you tell us who has the codes? Anyone other than residents? Workers? Friends?”
I shake my head. “Not really. At least not ours. George changed the code weekly.”
Her eyes flick up. “And was that new behavior?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I was living up in the city until a couple months ago. My mom would be the one to ask.”
“I’m so sorry to hear about your job, Harriet,” Kozel says, pretending like he has an empathetic bone in his body. “All you ever wanted was to work in journalism.”
I ignore him.
My mom returns, a piece of paper clutched in her hand.
“Here you are,” she says, holding it out to Kozel. “You’ll recognize many of the names as local VIPs.”
Kozel scans it, then looks back to her. “Are you aware of anyone on this list who wanted to hurt George?”
“Your daughter mentioned he changed the gate code frequently,” Jones adds. “Was that something new? Was he concerned about his safety?”
“Absolutely not! George was beloved on this island. He was a member of the town council. A figurehead. A leader! Everyone respected him.”
Her eyes fill with tears. I extend a box of tissues, and she pulls out a handful, carefully blotting her cheeks so as not to mess up her blush.
“You can’t think of anyone who wanted to hurt your husband?” Jones asks.
“Well, of course I can,” my mom huffs. “That cook! But outside of that, no. George was an angel.”
“Are you serious?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Three sets of eyes land on me. “Harriet? Is there something you’d like to add?” Kozel asks.
“I’m sorry, but—” How do I say this without getting myself kicked out of the house? My mother’s glare is burning a hole in my cheek. “George wasn’t… Mom, you know he could be very…difficult.”
“How dare you!” she snaps. “I knew you disliked him, but to say such a thing! Really, Harriet. He hasn’t even been gone for a full day. You have absolutely no respect for the people who—”
Kozel stands. “Lisa, I’d really like to get your perspective on the fight between Sara—err, the chef and George. As I said before, I remember you being so observant. Would you be willing to step into the other room with me so we can chat? Just the two of us.”
Her eyes light up. “Absolutely.”
He leads her out of the room. Once they’re gone, Jones leans forward. “So George had a lot of enemies?” she asks softly.
A part of me wishes I’d just kept my mouth shut—less risk of fallout with my mom later—but it’s too late now.
I plunge ahead. I need to get it on record that lots of people hated George.
“I don’t know how much you know about my stepfather, but he was not an easy man. Especially if he didn’t get his own way.”
Jones flips to a new page in her notebook. “Can you be more specific?”
“Well.” I pick at a loose thread on the pillow next to me.
“Take, for example, the fight over development of the island. When George moved back here after decades up in Manhattan, he arrived with all these ideas. Ideas a lot of locals really hated. He wanted to build apartment buildings, luxury hotels, high-end shopping—things that were strictly forbidden under the zoning laws here. But did that stop him? Of course not. Instead, he managed to get himself elected to the town council and was working to change those laws from the inside. And let me tell you, people were pissed.” I glance toward the doorway my mom and Kozel disappeared through, but it’s quiet.
“If I were you, I’d look at everyone he interacted with at the party, especially the people who’ve spoken out against his development plans.
Take Barbara Patterson, the head librarian—she was vehemently opposed to everything George stood for and really hated him.
Honestly, I thought it was weird she was there. ”
“Got it, thanks.” Jones snaps her notebook shut without asking anything further.
I’m caught off guard. I thought she’d have follow-up questions, ask me more about Patterson and George’s relationship, about who else I think could have done it.
“I’m just saying, you guys should investigate other people. Outside of Sara Allbright, I mean. Just because my mom says she’s guilty doesn’t mean she is.”
“Of course, Ms. Baker,” Jones says smoothly. “We’re exploring all possible angles.”
She’d make a good politician; I can’t tell if she’s telling the truth or lying to my face. I’m tempted to ask her about the conversation I overheard on the beach—what she thinks Sharkey meant by pin it on someone. Is anyone actually investigating this, or has Sara’s fate already been decided?
But would she answer me honestly?
Is she after the truth, or is she just another cop looking for an easy conviction?
She stands, smooths her slacks, and calls, “Detective Kozel!”
A beat, then Kozel appears.
“Ready to go?” she asks him.
His eyes cut to my face, and my cheeks warm. I look away.
“Yup. All set,” he says.
“Great.” She turns to me. “Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch.”