Chapter Twenty-Three Harriet
Chapter Twenty-Three
Harriet
Our investigation has stalled. I haven’t really talked to Nic since he stormed out of my mom’s house, not for lack of trying. He texted after Sara’s arraignment to say she’d been officially charged and denied bail, but when I called him, he didn’t pick up.
I’m trying to give him space, but it’s been five days, and the deadline Frankie gave me is looming, keeping me up at night.
She’s sent me several emails asking for pages, but I’ve ignored them—not the right move if I ever want to get my job back.
At this point, I’m starting to worry I’ll never get the damn thing written.
My Grey Gardens nightmare is coming closer and closer to fruition with every passing day.
I’ve tried to plow forward solo, but it’s felt like hitting my head against a concrete block.
Kozel has clammed up, pissed that he ran his mouth while drunk.
Patterson’s back from her vacation (at least she didn’t go on the lam), but every time I stop by the library to talk to her, Mindy intercepts me like her personal bodyguard.
I even stopped by the Yacht Club a couple times to see if I could find that caterer, but he wasn’t working.
This morning, I woke up frustrated as hell and sent Nic a message begging him to come to George’s memorial at the club today. Actually begging, which I never normally do.
He has to come. Patterson will be there and, according to a bartender I talked to the other night, so will Matthew.
Two birds, one Nic and Harriet–size stone.
He finally responds as I’m walking into the ballroom with my mother.
I cannot show up at your stepfather’s memorial. Your mom will try to have me arrested.
Again.
He has a point, but also…
Matthew and Patterson will be here. You have to
No
PLEASE. I cannot do this alone.
There’s no reply, so I add:
Sara needs you.
The three bubbles appear.
Not cool to invoke my sister’s name, Harriet
Well she does
There’s a pause, which my mother fills by ordering me to make sure the staff is folding the bar napkins in the way George always liked. “In thirds, not in quarters,” she says, as if anyone gives two shits about it but her.
I keep the thought to myself. “Sure, okay.”
I’m about to walk away when I hear a loud sniff. She’s gazing out at the terrace overlooking the ocean.
“George asked me to marry him out there.” Her voice wobbles. “On the veranda.”
Suddenly, I feel like a real asshole. Sure, my mom drives me crazy, and yes, George wasn’t my favorite person, but still. She loved him. I’ve been so caught up with the case that I’m not even sure I’ve said how sorry I am that she lost him.
“Mom…are you okay? If you need to talk—”
She blinks like she just remembered where she is. Her lips tighten. “No, Harriet. I do not need to talk. What I need is for you to check on the napkins. For the love of god, can you just do what you’re asked for once in your life?”
My throat tightens. “Yeah.” I hurry away before she can spot the dumb tears that have popped into my eyes.
Nic responds as I’m walking up to the bar.
Fine I’ll be there around eleven. Friend will let me in the back. See you then
Suddenly, the day seems brighter.
I will see you then!!!
I shove my phone back into my pocket and turn to the bar. The bartender is crouched behind it, organizing bottles.
“Hey,” I say, peering down at him. “Do you mind—”
He looks up, and I lose my train of thought. I’m 99 percent sure this is Matthew.
“Can I help you?” He stands, wiping his hands with a soggy towel. The same strange feeling I had at my party passes over me, like I know him somehow.
“My mom’s hosting this event? And she had a very specific request. About napkins.”
He throws the towel down on the bar top, looking vaguely annoyed to be interrupted by something so silly. “Okay?”
Screw the napkins. I change course. “Listen, you work with Nic Allbright, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You guys were catering my birthday party when that guy”—I point to the giant photo of George my mom propped against the far wall—“died.”
His cheeks redden. “Oh. Right. Hey.”
“Hey. Thanks for working yet another party thrown by my mother. Hope no one dies at this one.”
My poor attempt at humor falls flat; he doesn’t even crack a smile. “Yeah. No problem. I have to finish setting up, so if you want to explain about the napkins?”
“I—okay.” I show him what she wants done.
“She wants me to refold all of them in thirds?” He shakes his head, like he’s used to fielding bizarre requests of club members. “All right. Sure. I can do that.”
“Cool, thanks,” I say, glancing over my shoulder as my mom screeches something across the room.
“So about George—” I say, turning back to Matthew, but he’s gone. I catch sight of the back of his shirt disappearing through the doors to the kitchen.
I think about chasing after him, but before I can, my mom grabs me, ordering me to handle yet another menial task like I’m her assistant, not her daughter.
The party starts uneventfully, the room filling with George’s friends and enemies.
Steven and Maggie show up a half hour in, rescuing me from a painful conversation with my mother and Mayor DiPetrio.
Steven kisses me on the cheek by way of greeting. “Har, are you aware there is a very attractive man staring at you?”
I pull back. “Who?”
He flicks his eyes in the direction of the bar. “You really didn’t notice? The bartender can’t take his eyes off of you.”
I glance over. Sure enough, Matthew is staring at me. When he sees me looking, he quickly turns away.
Steven and I don’t always have the same taste, but I can usually at least understand where he’s coming from. “You think that guy is hot?”
“Yeah? I mean, he’s objectively attractive. Like, Maggie, right? I’m not crazy?”
“He’s hot, yeah,” she confirms.
“Okay, to each their own I guess?” I say as I wonder if the two of them need glasses. “That’s Matthew. He was at my birthday party.”
“Oh!” Maggie’s eyes widen. “The hot cater waiter. What’s he doing here?”
“He works here part-time. According to Nic—”
“Excuse me?” Steven interrupts. “Did you just say ‘according to Nic’? As in Martin’s Nic? Since when do you two speak?”
I haven’t told Steven or Maggie anything about the article or our investigation. They’d lose their shit if they knew I was writing for Frankie again. Plus, Steven might slip up and tell Martin, who has friends inside the LIPD. Things could get all sorts of awkward.
“Um. Well. We ran into each other at the library—”
“The library?” Steven says, like he’s never heard me say the word before.
“Yes. The library,” I say with an eye roll. “You may have forgotten—I’m a writer? I’m literate. I read books.”
He holds up a hand. “Okay, okay, I get it. Sorry.”
“Right. Anyway, we got to talking.”
“About some random person who works for his mom? How would that even come up?”
Oh my god, why is he grilling me about this? “I don’t know, Steven! God, what are you, a detective? Am I on trial? My point is Nic mentioned it. Okay?”
Maggie grins. “Nic’s cute. He has that whole nice-guy-but-also-really-hot thing going on. I totally ship you two.”
“You know,” Steven adds, “from what I gathered from Martin, he’s also been half in love with you for about a decade.”
My stomach lurches.
Maggie and Steven have no idea what happened back in high school. My brief relationship with Nic (if you can even call it that) isn’t something I publicized. I was heartbroken and rebounding, and even in my state of grief, I could see that what I was doing was pretty fucked up.
I mean, could I see that Nic was falling for me in a way I couldn’t reciprocate because my heart had splintered in two?
Yes.
Did I care? Unfortunately, not really. I just wanted a warm body to quiet the pain of Kozel’s disappearance.
This is all to say: There’s no way he still likes me. Not after how I treated him. Sure, he seems less overtly pissed, but he’s made it clear he thinks I’m a self-centered rich girl.
Something must have gotten twisted as the story was passed down the chain. Martin misunderstood Nic. Or Steven misunderstood Martin. Nothing beyond that.
Do I wish it was true?
The question floats, annoying, through the edge of my mind.
I swallow. I need to put a stop to this line of thinking immediately. Our relationship is based on a shared goal. Nothing more, nothing less. The last thing I should do is complicate it.
“Are you okay?” Maggie asks.
“I need a drink!” I declare, mostly to change the subject.
We head across the room—filled with many of the same people in attendance at my birthday party.
Mayor DiPetrio. Mick Sharkey. George’s business partner, Luke Dalio. Even the old high school football coach. But there’s no sign of Barbara Patterson.
I’m starting to worry she might not show.
“Can I get you something?” Matthew asks when we’re at the bar.
“Champs for me, thanks,” Steven says.
“I’m good with water,” Maggie says. “I have to study later.”
As I’m ordering, Barbara Patterson sweeps into the ballroom wearing a purple dress with puffed sleeves and a silver bangle belt. An outfit appropriate for a birthday party or wedding—not a memorial. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s one last enormous F U to George.
Mindy enters on her tail, dressed more fittingly in a short black sheath dress. They stop a few feet into the room, and Mindy whispers something in Patterson’s ear.
Steven nudges me. “Harriet.”
I tear my eyes away from the librarians and find Matthew staring at me.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“Oh, sorry. Just a glass of champagne.”
Matthew pours the drinks, and I watch Patterson and Mindy make their way through the room, stopping every few feet to chat with guests.
“Here you go.” Matthew slides three glasses to us. “Anything else?”
I grab my flute, fiddling with its stem. I’ll ask him my questions, then I can catch Patterson once she’s settled. “Nic mentioned you’re new to the island. You just moved here in August?”
Matthew scratches the back of his neck. “Yup.”
“What brought you? Family?”
“Just looking for something different.”
“Different?” I ask. “How so?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Mostly, I didn’t have a lot going on.”
“But you moved here in August.”
“Yeah? So?”
“So…why?” This is like trying to pump water from a brick wall.
“I just told you!” He’s growing visibly agitated by my questions. A sign of guilt?
“Did you and George—”
A throat clears behind me, sharp and impatient, and I realize a long line is forming behind me. Oh. Maybe that’s why Matthew looks so stressed.
I force a laugh. “Sorry. We’ll talk later.”
“Great,” he says, like he’d rather do anything but.
“What the hell was that?” Steven asks as we walk away, my face hot with embarrassment.
“Nothing. Never mind. So how are things going with Martin?” As hoped, the question distracts him.
We stop in the middle of the room, and he starts giving Maggie and me a play-by-play of his burgeoning relationship. As he talks, I try to pinpoint Patterson’s whereabouts. Mindy’s over by the veranda doors talking to some women I don’t recognize, but Patterson’s nowhere to be found.
Where did she go?
I’m about to excuse myself to go look for her when a hand lands on my arm.
“Harriet, where have you been? I have been trying to find you for ages.”
My mother.
“Hi, Mrs. George,” Maggie says. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
My mother ignores her. “Harriet, the bar has run out of seltzer.” She says this like I’m personally responsible for the shortage.
I take a deep breath through my nose. “How can I help?”
She heaves a sigh. “Obviously, you should find the manager. Tell her that she must find more!”
She’s grieving, I remind myself.
“What’s her name?”
“Ella,” she says, then walks away.
I drain my drink. “Sorry. Gotta take care of this.”
“Do you need help?” Maggie asks gently. They’re well aware how my mom can be.
“Thanks, but I got it.” I work my way back through the crowd to the bar. Matthew has disappeared, replaced by a girl who can’t be a day over eighteen.
“Where’s Matthew?” I ask her.
“I don’t know!” Her voice cracks like she’s about to burst into tears. “He said he needed a break, but that was twenty minutes ago! I’m supposed to be waitressing, not bartending. I don’t know how to make drinks! We’re out of seltzer, and people keep yelling at me!”
“Is there more?” I ask.
“Yeah, back in the kitchen, but I can’t exactly go get it. Look at all these people!”
“I’ll see if I can find it, okay?”
“Ohmygod thank you so much. And if you find Matthew, please send him back. I didn’t sign up for this shit!”
I turn toward the kitchen, but just past the edge of the bar, a hand catches me by the sleeve.
“Harriet, hello,” Luke Dalio says. He’s wearing a gray suit and a somber smile.
I stop with a sigh. So close and yet so far.
I’ve only spoken to Luke a few times, but he’s always struck me as mostly decent. I’ve never understood what he was doing working with George.
“Hi,” I say with forced politeness.
“It’s crazy, what happened. To George,” he adds.
“Yeah. Awful.”
“How’s your mom holding up?”
“She’s okay. Actually, she’s over there,” I say, pointing to her. “I’m sure she’d love to chat about George.”
He nods. “I haven’t had a chance to speak with her yet. I’ll go say hello. It was good to see you, Harriet.”
“Sure, yeah. You too.” I hurry away.
The kitchen is busy with noise: waiters filling trays with food, the crash of pots and pans, cooks barking orders. I ask one of the waiters if he knows where the seltzer would be, and he looks at me like I have two heads.
The next person barks at me to get out of their way, and that’s when I decide maybe I should just find it myself.