Chapter Sixteen Nic
Chapter Sixteen
Nic
I finally finish unloading the boxes, which took twice as long as Mom said it would, mostly because I did it alone. Not that I’m complaining. Her back’s been a mess lately; lifting one of those things would have thrown it out completely.
Back in her office, I suggest she call the jail, see if she can go visit Sara before it’s too late in the day.
She protests at first, telling me there’s too much to get done here, but it doesn’t take much to convince her, and because the Logan Island Jail isn’t exactly highly trafficked, she’s able to get an appointment at three.
While she’s on the phone, she books me an appointment for tomorrow morning.
It’s about time I ask my sister what happened that night.
She leaves with a reminder to wait for Matthew and Esme, and I sink down into her chair, propping my feet up onto the edge of the desk. I slip my phone out of my pocket and find a string of text messages from Harriet, updating me on the conversation she had with her elderly next-door neighbor.
My heart leaps as I read the final one.
And—GET THIS—she heard George out on the beach talking to someone!!!
What did they say?
She responds immediately.
Where have you been??
Performing manual labor. Not sure if you know what that is?
Yes, Nic. I do. Thanks so much for asking
Whatever. Anyway, what did she hear?
Right. She heard George say This is getting pathetic. Let it go.
I frown down at the words on the screen.
I finally respond.
Let WHAT go?
My phone starts buzzing in my hand.
“Hello?”
“Sorry,” Harriet says, “I don’t usually call people, but—I don’t know what it means exactly. It’s the only thing she heard so there’s no context.”
“Did she see who he was talking to?”
“Well…she didn’t exactly see anything. It was dark and rainy. Plus, she’s pretty old. Her eyes are bad.”
My shoulders slump. “If her eyes are bad, are you sure we can trust what she told you?”
Harriet pauses. “I think so. She says her hearing is in perfect condition. Plus, she’d known George for years. She would have recognized his voice. I don’t know if you remember, but it was…distinct.”
If by distinct she means annoying as hell, then yeah. “Okay. So George was out there. But…we already knew that. What would have been useful is the identity of the other person.”
I can almost hear Harriet’s eyes roll through the phone.
“Yeah, obviously, thanks, Nic. But think about the phrasing. Getting pathetic. Let it go. It all implies that this wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument, which means he knew his killer.
It fits Patterson, but what about the caterer?
You weren’t sure if they knew each other, right? ”
“Matthew? I don’t think so, but I don’t know him that well. He only moved to town about a few weeks ago.”
“In August?” Harriet says with surprise. “Why?”
I hadn’t really thought about it before, but she’s right. It’s weird. Most people don’t move to the island at the end of the summer season. “I don’t know. But he’s on his way to the office, so I’ll see what I can find out.”
“You’re still at work?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Harriet. Some of us work to pay our rent.”
“Oh my god, I know that, okay?” She makes an exasperated noise.
“Could you please stop implying that I’m some sort of trust fund baby?
Do you think I’m living with my mom for my health?
I had a job. I got fired. I moved back here because I couldn’t afford rent.
Just because George was rich doesn’t mean I am. ”
I fall quiet, suddenly ashamed. I’m being an asshole. I need to cool it.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“It’s fine,” she says, but it’s clear she’s annoyed, and I guess I can’t blame her.
I’m about to apologize when there’s a noise from the front room and a voice calls, “Hello? Angela? Are you here?”
“Shit, I gotta run,” I tell Harriet as Esme’s puff of blue-gray hair appears in the doorway.
“Nico! It’s good to see you. How is everything? Your sister? Any news? Where’s your mother?”
“Okay, go deal with that,” Harriet says. “Talk later.”
We hang up and I stand. “Hey, Esme. Nothing new to report about Sara. My mom went to see her, actually.”
Esme walks over, wrapping her arms around my chest, enveloping me in the scent of burnt sage. “I’m glad,” she says as she pulls away. “Sara needs all the support we can give her right now.”
I nod.
“Has she been using the crystals I gave her? Black tourmaline. They should help her stay calm and centered so she can support Sara in a loving, openhearted way.”
I clear my throat. I’ve known Esme my entire life—she and my mom have been friends for the better part of forty years—and she’s always been the same. Warm, weird, and full of slightly bizarre wellness advice. “I’m not sure. You’d have to ask her.”
“I assume she hasn’t.” She shakes her head. “I’ve told her time and again how helpful they are! Your mother is so bullheaded sometimes. I guess that’s where Sara gets it—” She stops, her cheeks growing red. “Oh, Nico, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Hearing her stumble over my sister’s name deepens my exhaustion. But I can’t be mad at her for it. Esme doesn’t have an unkind bone in her body.
“It’s fine. You’re not wrong,” I say, ready for a change in subject. I pick up an envelope from a stack of papers. “Listen, here’s your check. I’m sorry if it’s less than you’d hoped.”
Esme rips open the envelope, wincing as she sees the number printed on the paper inside.
She also works part time at the Logan Island General Store, a small grocer and deli next to the police station, but it’s slow in the offseason.
Very slow. She relies on these gigs to supplement her income, and the fact that her check is three-quarters what it would have been without all the cancellations has to hurt.
I know it hurts me.
“Well, thanks.” She folds it in half and sticks it into the pocket of her overalls. “Are we still on for next Thursday?”
“For the moment, yeah.” Given everything, I don’t have high hopes the job will stick around. Still, I keep that to myself as I follow Esme into the other room. “I’ll let you know if anything changes. Or if we get anything new on the books.”
She pats me on the arm. “Thanks, Nico. You’re a good boy.”
The front door bangs open, and Matthew enters, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his gray shorts.
“Hey,” I greet him. “What’s up, man?”
“Hey,” he says gruffly, joining us.
Esme frowns. “Your chakras are out of balance.” She reaches out to cup his face, and he cringes away. “Are you eating?”
Matthew cuts his eyes to me, and I shrug. “Yeah. Why?”
Esme’s lips press together tight. “You seem—”
“I’m just tired.”
Her drawn-on eyebrows jump. “Well, all right. If you’re sure. I’ll check in about the Thursday job later, Nico.” She hikes her bag onto her shoulder and heads out the door.
“She’s weird,” Matthew mutters once we’re alone.
Esme might be a little odd, but she’s not wrong. Something is definitely off with Matthew. Dark purple hollows hang under his eyes, and his shirt is wrinkled like he slept in it. He’s never the most put-together guy, but this is something else.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask.
He sniffs, running a fingertip under one eye. “Yeah. Like I said. Just tired. Worked last night bartending at the Yacht Club, and I didn’t get home till after two.”
I’m about to go grab his check but pause as what he said registers.
The Yacht Club.
I’d forgotten he works there. He mentioned it during his initial interview but hasn’t said a word about it since. Of course, he hasn’t really talked about much of anything with me—he’s been pretty quiet whenever we’re around each other.
If he bartends at the Yacht Club, chances are he did know George. I’ll have to confirm with Harriet, but I’d bet money George belonged there—every person in his tax bracket is a member.
I slowly turn back. “Two a.m.? Shit. Late one.”
“No kidding,” he mutters. “Gonna try to get some extra sleep this afternoon, so if you don’t mind grabbing me the check?”
“Right, right, of course. It’s in the back office.” As we walk back, I continue, “I’m sorry I haven’t asked—how is that job going? At the club? I know the members there can be a little brutal to waitstaff.”
His eyes flick to my face. “It’s good.”
Not the most descriptive answer I’ve ever received.
“Have you met anyone?” I ask as we turn the corner to the office.
“What?”
“Like…have you made new friends?” I cringe. I sound like his mother.
“Uh. Sure. I guess?” he says, shooting me a skeptical look.
Right. Too much. Except if I back off, I might never get answers out of him.
I grab his check and hold it out. “Here it is.”
“Thanks,” Matthew says, reaching for it. As he does, I pull it away, and his hand is left dangling empty in midair.
“Did you ever run into the guy who died at the club?” I ask. It’s clear I’m starting to weird him out, but I need answers. In three days, Sara’s set to be arraigned. “George George?”
“What? No. Never met him.” He snatches his check from my fingers. “If you don’t mind, I gotta run.”
I trail after him into the other room, still peppering him with questions. If he didn’t have anything to do with George’s murder, he’s going to think I’ve completely lost my mind.
“Never? No conversations? No interactions at all? Even at that party at his house?”
“No,” Matthew says, stopping short next to the row of burners. “Okay? I never talked to the guy in my life. Can I go now?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say. He just directly contradicted what Harriet’s grandma told her about what she saw at the party. Was she mistaken?
Or is Matthew lying?
I rack my brain for something—anything—that would get him to open up. But it’s too late. He’s at the door, pulling it open, and then he’s gone.