Chapter Twenty-Nine Nic
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nic
Matthew slowly drags himself down the stairs, stopping a few feet from me and Harriet.
Harriet’s hand finds my bicep.
“You didn’t mean to do what?” I ask.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were living on Logan Island?” his mom whispers.
He’s silent.
“What did you do?” I step forward, and Harriet’s hand falls off my arm. I want to shake him. Hard. Force a confession out of him. Ask him why the hell he was willing to let my sister take the fall for what he did.
“Nic,” Harriet says softly.
Matthew’s mom is staring him in horror. “Why, Matthew?”
“Because!” he explodes.
Harriet lets out a quiet gasp behind me. We should have brought something with us—a knife, my kitchen mallet. I glance around the room; an umbrella leans again the wall to my left. If things go south, will it be enough to stop him?
Matthew continues, “Every time I asked you about him, you changed the subject. Said we could talk about it later. But we never did. We never do! And I needed more than that. I needed information! I don’t think it was unreasonable of me to want to know about my father.”
“Your father?” Harriet steps next to me. “Holy shit. I knew something about you was familiar. Something about your mouth—”
“I was trying to protect you!” his mom cries, paying Harriet no mind.
“I didn’t need protection. I needed answers! I’m twenty years old. I could have handled it.”
“But how did you find him?”
Matthew’s lips tremble. “Your old journals. I dug them out of the back of your closet when you went to visit Aunt Betty last year.”
“Those journals.” Ana closes her eyes.
“It was on the back page, his name—all his addresses over the years. You were tracking him this whole time.”
Ana tugs at her hair. “I—”
“If you’d just told me the truth, I wouldn’t have gone to meet him. He was awful.” Matthew slumps against the wall.
“Did he do something to you?” Ana asks, reaching toward him.
Matthew shakes her off. “No. Well, not at first. He was nice at the beginning.”
The pieces are starting to slot into place. “But by the night of the party, he’d stopped being nice,” I say.
Matthew turns like he just remembered they’re not alone. “What the hell are you doing here, Nic?” he snaps. “Other than fucking up my life?”
I step in front of Harriet. The umbrella is within arm’s reach. I can take him. I’m four inches taller. Twenty pounds heavier at least. “I’m here because my sister’s in jail, you asshole. She was arraigned on murder charges. Are you okay with that?”
“Murder charges?” Ana breathes.
Harriet’s hand finds my arm again, her reminder to keep control. I continue, “You said he was nice, and then he wasn’t. Was that after you told him who you really were?”
Matthew’s mouth pinches.
I keep going. “I bet it pissed you off that your father wanted nothing to do with you. So the night of the birthday party, you lured George out to the beach. And then you killed him. And then you let my sister take the fall.”
“What?” Ana cries.
Matthew laughs with no humor. “Are you serious? That’s why you’re here? You think I killed that dickhead?”
“It fits,” Harriet says. “You had motive. Means. Opportunity. The thing I still don’t understand is what did you have against Barbara Patterson?”
Matthew throws his hands up into the air. “Who the hell is Barbara Patterson?”
“The person you killed today before skipping town,” Harriet says.
“What?” he scoffs. “You both are crazy. I left today because I finally realized I had no reason to be on that island. I was only there because of George, and he was dead!”
“Then why didn’t you leave right after he died?” I ask. “Why wait?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I mean, someone killed him. One minute we’re talking, and the next he’s dead on the beach.”
Ana puts a hand over her mouth.
“I don’t buy it,” I say. “We have a witness who saw you pestering George, getting upset when he didn’t acknowledge you. You disappeared for a while in the middle of that shift. Was that when you killed him?”
“Nic, I didn’t—Jesus! Yeah, I was acting a little weird around the guy—I was trying to work up the nerve to tell him he was my dad, for fuck’s sake! When you say I disappeared was probably when I was in the basement talking to him. And—”
I wonder if that was the fight Sara mentioned.
“Did you guys yell?” Harriet asks, reading my mind.
“What?” Matthew looks annoyed by the interruption.
“When you guys were down there. Did you yell?”
“No. No yelling, but he was still a total asshole,” Matthew says.
“It caught me by surprise. He was always nice when we’d talk at the club!
After a couple drinks, he’d start telling me stuff—stuff I thought meant he trusted me, liked me.
Issues he was having with his company. His partner.
But in the wine cellar, he was a totally different person.
Said he didn’t believe me, and even if it was true, he didn’t care—he wasn’t going to give me any money.
Then he told me to get the fuck out of his house. He was awful, but I never touched him!”
“I’m so sorry,” his mom whispers. She’s crying.
“Can you prove it?” I ask. Sara’s in prison; I’m not going to let him walk away without concrete evidence of his innocence.
He glares at me. “You want proof?” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and swipes at the screen. “Here.”
He hands it to me. On the screen is a long string of messages, all sent between 7:15 and 8:00 that night. Harriet peers over my shoulder as I scroll through them.
Matthew continues, “I read that George’s estimated time of death was 7:35. The time stamps on these texts proves I was texting my mom at the exact time he was killed. Do you really think I was typing with one hand while I stabbed George with the other?”
His words are like a direct punch to my sternum. Another theory, blown to bits. One more nail in Sara’s coffin.
“Fuck,” Harriet breathes.
“I sent her those after George blew me off. Had to remind myself I have one parent who cares.”
“I love you so much,” Ana says. She wraps her arms around his chest and buries her head in his chest.
Matthew pets the back of her hair. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
“No, I’m sorry.” Her voice shakes. “I should have trusted that you could handle the truth. He just… He isn’t a good man, Matthew.” She pulls back, wiping under her eyes.
“Did you guys date?” Matthew asks. “And if so, why?”
She winces. “It was…complicated.”
“You said you would tell the truth.”
“I—” Ana’s lips press together. “All right. I worked at his company. One night, I had too much to drink, and…” She hesitates.
Harriet stills next to me, Ana’s words sitting heavy in the air between all of us.
“Did he rape you?” Matthew asks, voice raw with anger.
She puts a hand on his arm. “No, no. I’m sorry, I should have been clearer. Yes, I was stupid, young, too drunk for my own good, but it was consensual. Once I told him I was pregnant, George just wanted me gone. I got a substantial payout, left the company, and never saw him again.”
“Jesus.” Harriet shudders. “What a creep. I still can’t believe my mom married him. I don’t care if they did date back in high school. She’s an idiot.”
“Oh,” Ana says, her voice softening. “I wonder… Sometimes when you’ve known a person for a very long time, it becomes difficult to see them clearly.
I worked with George every day for years and didn’t realize how awful he could be until I ended up pregnant.
It was impressive, really, how well he hid it.
” She lets out a bitter laugh. “And he wasn’t just awful in his personal life.
Those last weeks I was with the company, I started noticing things I had overlooked before.
Things he was twisted up in that weren’t exactly ethical.
Or legal even. I heard he sold the business a few years back? ”
“Yeah,” Harriet says. “For millions.”
“Millions. I shouldn’t be surprised by that.
It’s a lot easier to make that sort of money when you don’t care where it comes from or who gets hurt in the process.
A couple years after I left, I ran into some old friends from work.
They mentioned George was trying to broker a deal with the owner of some waterfront property in the Meatpacking District, but the guy didn’t want anything to do with him.
” She pauses. “I don’t know why, but I kept an eye on it.
Habit, maybe? And wouldn’t you know—two months later, the building on the land burned down.
Total loss. A death. Insurance claims were through the roof.
After that, George was able to buy up the land for cheap. ”
Hearing all this is making me even angrier about what’s happening to my sister. There have to be tons of people who want a scumbag like that dead.
“A death?” Harriet asks, fingers pressed against her lips.
“Unfortunately, yes. The property manager—a lovely man named Adrian—was inside when the blaze started, and they didn’t get him out in time. It was a real tragedy. He was supposed to get married the following weekend.”
“And you think George did that?” Harriet asks. “He killed someone?”
Ana studies us, eyes moving slowly between Harriet and me like she’s weighing just how open to be.
“Like I said, after the fire, the owners were more than willing to make a deal, which always struck me as incredibly convenient for him. That said, this is all speculation, so please don’t go quoting me on that. ”
“What happened when the NYFD investigated?” I ask. “They must have, right?” I’ve learned that much from Martin.
“Yes, they did.” Ana pauses, then adds more quietly, “Not to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but George was very buddy-buddy with several fire inspectors. I remember them coming by the office a few times, having lunch, joking around like they were old friends. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but…
” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m sure I sound crazy.
At the end of the day, they determined the cause was faulty wiring.
An old building, outdated infrastructure. But I couldn’t help but wonder.”
Faulty wiring. The words snag in my brain.
“Harriet. The Windswept Motel,” I say, grabbing her arm.
“The Windswept…” Her face pales. “Oh. The fire.”
“The fire.”
An accident caused by faulty wiring. No one ever questioned it.
“It parallels what happened in New York,” I say. “Land George wanted but couldn’t get. An accidental, total-loss fire. And suddenly the owners are willing to sell.”
Martin worked that scene. One of the people he treated, a six-year-old kid, almost died from the severity of his burns. Normally unflappable Martin suffered insomnia for months after, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get it out of his head.
“You know a kid almost died in the motel fire,” I tell Harriet. “Martin saved his life.”
“A kid?” she whispers.
I nod.
“I lived under the same roof as that man. I feel sick.” The distress on her face makes me want to wrap my arms around her. Protect her. “I wonder… The note I found in George’s desk from Barbara said she knew what he did. Do you think she figured out he was responsible?”
“Maybe,” I say. “But it couldn’t have been George who killed her. He was already dead.”
“True.” Harriet’s eyes lock on Matthew, who’s been murmuring with his mom. “You said George mentioned problems he was having with his business partner?”
Matthew nods. “That’s what he told me. Said there was tension between them but didn’t get into any details.”
“Right.” Harriet looks at me. “I think we need to figure out what exactly was going on between George and Luke. Where the tension stemmed from. Luke was involved with the Windswept Motel build, but how involved? Did he know about the fire? Did he know that Barbara had figured out—”
She’s interrupted by a loud cough.
“Not to be a dick,” says Matthew. “But as fascinating as all this is, I sort of need to talk to my mom about some stuff. Could you guys please get the hell out of my house?”