Chapter Fourteen Nic
Chapter Fourteen
Nic
“Mom?” I call as I step inside the warehouse. “I’m here!”
The only response is opera music drifting from the back office.
She must be buried in admin again. The worst part of the job, in my opinion.
I walk by our cooking stations, dark and quiet, the burners snapped off, the silver counter empty.
It’s eerie, the exact opposite of a normal Saturday in the late summer when we’re in here, all hands on deck, prepping for whatever party we have that night.
What I wouldn’t give for it to be a normal Saturday. I miss it. I miss the smells, the sounds, even Sara’s shouts.
I head back to the office and find my mom at her desk, half hidden behind a teetering stack of paperwork as predicted. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Nico, hello.” She sets down the paper in her hand and takes off her glasses, rubbing her fingers against the bridge of her nose. Bags sag under her eyes, so dark they could be mistaken for bruises. “Thanks for coming. This shouldn’t take long. I don’t want to hold up your afternoon.”
“It’s fine. I don’t have much else going on,” I say.
Her face falls. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ve been scrambling to book us new jobs, but there’s nothing, and we’re hemorrhaging the ones we had.
All those Labor Day parties, down the drain.
Esme and Matthew are coming by for their checks in a bit, and I fear they’re going to be very disappointed by their size. ”
“It’s not your fault.” My voice cracks. Of course it’s not her fault, but it’s still worrisome. People we’ve known for decades, canceling on us because of my sister’s arrest.
“Have you been down to see Sara recently?”
“Yesterday. I’m hoping to get there later today too, but we’ll see how things go here.”
She sounds exhausted, not a surprise all things considered. Her daughter behind bars, her business floundering—it’s a mess all around.
“Mom, you’re friends with Barbara Patterson, right?”
She leans back in her chair with a frown. “Barbara? I suppose so, yes. Why do you ask?”
I drop into the closest chair. “Well, I drove by the old Windswept property on my way here and—have you heard anything else about the development they were trying to build there? Has Barbara mentioned it recently?”
“The development? Where is this coming from, Nico? Cosa stai combinando?”
“Just wondering.”
She narrows her eyes at me like a bloodhound catching a scent. She’s always been able to tell when I’m telling half-truths.
I groan. “Fine. Harriet and I—” The name slips out before I can stop myself.
Mom’s mouth drops open. “Harriet? Harriet Baker? Quella piccola strega in erba? Are you joking? You and Harriet—what?”
“Um.” I know better than to mention the article or our investigation. She’d never believe Harriet’s intentions are pure. “Nothing. I ran into her earlier, and we had an argument about the land. Whether George actually would have been able to develop it.”
Her lips press together in disapproval. “Una maleducata, proprio come sua madre. Except, unfortunately in this circumstance, she is right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Barbara pulled me aside during that party, all riled up because the permits George and his partner needed had been approved.”
“They were? How? I thought they’d been denied, like, ten times.”
“They had. Unsurprisingly, Barbara had some theories about how it finally happened. She thinks it had something to do with Joel Benone’s resignation.”
“Joel Benone?” I ask.
“The zoning board chair, Nico. You need to be more aware of the leadership in this town, mio caro. He resigned because he was ‘ill,’ but I promise you, the man’s never been sick a day in his life. And the new chair? Just so happens to be Mayor DiPetrio’s cousin.”
DiPetrio’s cousin? That family isn’t even trying to hide their nepotism.
“That sounds incredibly shady.”
“Barbara would agree with you. She’s been convinced for years that George and his business partner are in bed with the town government, and with this new appointee, I have to say I’m starting to agree. Personally, I hope with his death the project goes away, but I guess we’ll see.”
“Do you happen to know,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual, “if Barbara is working this weekend? At the library? I have a few questions for her.”
She raises an eyebrow. “What’s this sudden interest in town politics, Nico?”
My face grows red. “Nothing! Just trying to prove a point to Harriet is all.”
“Well. Unfortunately for your little debate with the daughter of the devil, Barbara is out of town on her annual vacation until early next week.” She rises from her chair with a groan, clutching her lower back. “Shall we get started on the boxes?”
“I guess,” I say, suddenly itching to head to the van, mind racing with everything I need to tell Harriet. “Hey, I can handle the boxes solo if your sciatica is acting up.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, already halfway back into her chair.
“Yeah, absolutely. I got it. You rest,” I tell her, glad for the opportunity to be alone.
“Hello?” Harriet answers.
“I talked to my mom.” I pop my earbuds in so I can talk while I work.
“Who is this?”
Apparently, she doesn’t have my number saved in her phone anymore. “It’s Nic,” I say, trying not to let it bother me. “Nic Allbright.”
A laugh. “I’m kidding. I know it’s you.”
I tug the first big box through the double doors of the van as I try not to smile.
“I was actually going to text you,” Harriet continues.
“I’m on the way home from my dad’s, and I saw my grandma there.
She mentioned something we should probably look into.
Apparently, someone on the catering staff—a young guy but not you—was paying George a lot of attention during the party.
Did your mom tell you guys to give George special treatment because he was paying? ”
As she speaks, I lug the box to the front door and set it on the stoop. I don’t want to carry it all the way inside just yet in case Mom asks who I’m talking to.
I clap my hands together to get the dust off them and head back for the next one. “Huh. No. That had to have been Matthew Prado. He’s the only other guy on our staff right now. What was he doing?”
“From what she said, it sounds like whenever he came out with a new tray, he’d go straight to George and try to chat him up. George blew him off every time—not a surprise, given George’s charming personality. Gogo said the kid seemed upset by it.”
“Okay, well, that’s weird.” I swing both van doors open this time, and a giant mountain of boxes greets me.
Shit. This is going to take hours.
Instead of grabbing the next one, I settle in the open doorway, my knees groaning with pleasure. “I wonder what that was all about. I don’t think Matthew knew George, but I’ll see what I can find out. Did your grandma say anything else?”
“She says lots of things, Nic.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. Sorry, just being a dick. Nothing else on my end. What about you?”
I wipe the back of my arm across my forehead. “Well,” I say. “According to my mom, the permits George needed to build on the motel property had finally come through, and Patterson was extremely pissed.”
“Patterson! I knew it!” Harriet says. “She was there that night. She probably stole the knife from the kitchen, lured him outside and—”
As much as I want Sara out of jail, I can’t help but pump the brakes.
“Hang on. You sound like you’re in an episode of Forensic Files, Harriet.
I think you’re jumping to conclusions. Being mad at someone doesn’t equal murdering them.
Plus, even if Patterson could have stabbed him—which I still don’t totally believe—George was at least a decade younger and much, much stronger than her. ”
“Yeah, but maybe she surprised him. Caught him off guard. You found him. Were his hands cut up?”
My mind drifts to the beach. George’s body splayed on the sand. The blood.
So much blood.
Bile rises in my throat. Nope. Can’t do that right now. “I don’t remember. I’ll ask Martin if he’s heard. He’s friends with a few of the medical examiners.”
“Great,” says Harriet. “Well, at the very least, Patterson should be on our suspect list, right? Along with that caterer?”
“I suppose.” I’m not fully behind the idea of Patterson, but I’m also not sure about Matthew. Two maybes is better than nothing though.
“Great. When can we talk to her? Maybe we can get her to incriminate herself.”
I ignore the second part, which, again, makes her sound like she’s a character in a bad crime novel, and say, “Unfortunately, my mom said she’s out of town until sometime next week.”
“What?” Harriet gasps. “She left town? That’s incredibly suspicious. Not to mention annoying. How the hell can we grill her if she isn’t even here?”
A thought occurs to me. I’m a little reluctant to suggest it for personal reasons, but Sara needs my help, and if Patterson’s our best suspect right now, I’ll do what I gotta do.
I clear my throat, watching as a car pulls into the lot, does a three-point turn, and then drives back out. “We could talk to Mindy Washington. She works at the library. She and Patterson are close.”
“Who?” Harriet says.
She’s got to be kidding. “Mindy Washington? She was in our class in high school? We only had two hundred people in our grade, Harriet.”
“Nope. Don’t remember her. Which, might I add, is different from not recognizing someone.”
A bead of perspiration trickles down my cheek. I flick it away, deciding to ignore her little dig. “Well, she could probably help.”
“You think she’d give us information on her boss?” She sounds skeptical. “Why?”
I hesitate. The real answer is because Mindy sort of has a thing for me.
We went on a few dates earlier this year, but I quickly realized she was more into it than me.
I’ve kept my distance recently—we’ve been friends since middle school, and I don’t want to risk ruining that for a short-term fling.
“I think she’d answer some questions,” I confirm without explaining further. Why am I reluctant to tell Harriet about my dating life? A question for a later time. “Also…” I hate to bring it up, but it seems necessary. “Adam Kozel. You mentioned earlier that you’d get in touch with him. Have you?”
“Um,” she says. “Well. No. Not yet.”
“Maybe you can invite him to dinner or something? Get a few drinks in him, loosen his tongue…”
“Perv.” She breathes a laugh, and a shiver runs down my spine. I mentally kick myself for having that sort of reaction to her. I barely know her. I never really did.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say for the second time this conversation. I’m irritable all of a sudden, which I decide to blame on all the boxes I still have to lug inside.
“I know, I know. Sorry. Mouth ahead of brain, as usual.”
“But really,” I say. Could she just get on board with this? If I can go see Mindy, she can have one fucking conversation with her stupid ex-boyfriend. “Us questioning people is helpful, sure, but Kozel has access to official casework. He actually knows what’s going on inside the LIPD.”
She groans.
“You agreed to do it,” I say sharply.
“I’m going to, okay? God,” she says with obvious annoyance. “Why are you being so pushy?”
This of course makes me want to push her even more. I hop up to my feet and start pacing next to the van. “And what about your neighbors? There are other houses on the beach, right? Have you even thought about seeing if those people saw anything?”
“The middle house is empty…”
“What about the third house?”
“An old lady lives there. I doubt she could have seen anything.”
“Didn’t you tell me not to be ageist?”
“Fine,” she grumbles. It’s clear she’s not thrilled by the idea, but right now, I don’t really care. “I’ll go talk to Mrs. Carter. You see when your friend Mindy is around. And don’t forget about Matthew either.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
I roll my eyes. “Goodbye, Harriet,” I say.
She sniffs. “Goodbye,” she says, and with that, she’s gone.