Chapter Twenty-Six Nic
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nic
Outside, Harriet smacks me on the shoulder. “What the hell was that? Are you trying to get yourself arrested?”
Before I can respond, she grabs my arm and drags me to her car. “Get in.”
I’m too tired to argue.
I climb into the car and lean my head back against the headrest. I can’t believe this. Another person dead. I guess it could have been a freak accident, but that type of shelf doesn’t just fall over.
Matthew was at both events. And now he’s gone.
Harriet gets in, watching me for a long moment before speaking.
“I know things are fucked up. I know you’ve had a terrible week.
And I’m sorry. I really am. I wish I could rewind time, make it all go away.
But what did you expect Kozel to do back there?
We have no proof Matthew did anything wrong—not yet at least—and we never will if you end up behind bars.
Sara needs you. I need you. If the last few days proved anything to me, it’s that I can’t do this alone. ”
The sunlight filters through the window behind her, catching on the tiny hairs on her cheek. She’s gorgeous. I want to pull her close, tangle my fingers in her hair, push my tongue between her lips to distract myself from all this shit, but also because she’s being so kind. She’s been so kind.
I don’t know if what I see in her eyes right now is real or just my imagination. I’m afraid of misinterpreting things, of assuming she feels what I do. What if she doesn’t? What if I make a move and she pulls away?
I misread her once, all those years ago. I thought we were on the same page, then she just up and disappeared. The same thing could be happening right now.
I can’t risk it. I need her to write that article.
I clear my throat. “Okay,” I say.
Harriet nods and turns back to the wheel. The car roars to life as she twists the key in the ignition. “Great. Let’s go find Matthew.”
We pull Matthew’s contact information from his file and head toward his apartment, the weight of our search settling in the car between us.
Harriet pulls to the curb outside a six-story building, its red brick facade worn down by years of salty air.
“This is it,” she says. “Let’s call up?”
I nod. We gather by the call box, and she presses the buzzer. Once and then again.
No one answers.
“Okay. Maybe not home,” Harriet says. “Which fits if he just killed Barbara, right? I wouldn’t go back home after I did something like that either. Let’s call him? Try the cell number on his contact sheet.”
I do, and it rings out to voicemail. “Nope.”
“What about his emergency contact number? Maybe they’ll know where he is. I’ll make the call.”
“It’s there. Somebody named Ana Davis.” I show her the contact sheet, and she plugs the number into her phone.
“It’s ringing,” she says a moment later. “Hello? Hi, yes, Ana? Hi. I work with Matthew? Matthew Prado? Yeah, about six feet tall, early twenties? I guess we’re talking about the same person, but I’m not sure why…”
“What’s she saying?” I whisper, and Harriet holds up a finger.
“Anyway, I’m so sorry to bother you, but we’re short-staffed tonight, and I’m a little desperate.
I wanted to see if Matthew could cover a shift, but I can’t seem to get a hold of him.
You’re listed as his emergency contact—” She pauses.
“No, the catering company where he works? All Bright Catering? Oh. He is? Do you know why? No, that’s okay.
I appreciate it. Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Thanks.
” She hangs up and turns to me. “Get this. When I asked for Matthew Prado, she said she doesn’t know anyone by that name, but her son’s name is Matthew.
Matthew Davis. And he fit my description.
It has to be the same guy, right? Did he give you guys a fake last name? ”
I stiffen. “Davis?”
I was there when he filled out his paperwork. I saw his license, his electrical bill—they all said Matthew Prado. Has he been lying since the first day I met him?
She nods. “Yeah. And get this—she said she was sorry, but he called about an hour ago. Told her he was coming home. He must have taken off right after Patterson died.”
“Dammit!” I slam the sole of my shoe into the brick wall. I can’t believe this. We’ve spent the past week chasing threads that led nowhere, focusing on the wrong shit.
And all along, he was right there.
Matthew.