Chapter Thirty-One Nic
Chapter Thirty-One
Nic
Harriet’s sprawled out in the center of the bed, snoring, when I slip back into the room.
Her hair is a mess around her head, her makeup smudged around her eyes, and I’ve never seen someone so beautiful.
I woke up early, around six o’clock, stiff from sleeping on the floor all night, and went down to the lobby to grab coffee and work on some stuff for the case.
I wanted to give her a chance to sleep it off.
She was pretty hammered last night, not a huge surprise, given how quickly she was downing bourbons.
Walking away from her was hard as hell—I remember our chemistry back in the day, how good it felt… But I couldn’t do it. Not like that. If anything was to ever happen between us, I’d want us both to be sober. One hundred percent sure we were both on board.
She groans, flopping to her side, one of her eyes peeling open. It lands on me. I smile. Her brow wrinkles, and she bolts upright, pulling the sheets up to her neck. Her eyes are glassy, hair sticking up off her head every which way. It’s really cute as hell.
“Hey,” I say.
She stares at me. I see the moment the memory of last night smacks back into her brain.
She cringes.
Not exactly the facial expression I was hoping for.
“I was so weird last night, wasn’t I?” She rubs her eyes. “I told myself not to drink too much but clearly blew right by that promise. It’s been a long week. Guess I needed to blow off some steam. I didn’t mean to…you know. How embarrassing. Please forget it ever happened.”
How embarrassing?
The words sting more than they should. We’re here because of Sara, I remind myself.
“It’s forgotten,” I say, forcing a smile. Thank god I wasn’t an idiot. Thank god I didn’t hook up with her.
“Did you just wake up?” she asks.
“Actually, no.” I hold up the cup in my hand. “Went down to the lobby for a while. I grabbed this for you.”
“Oh my god, thank you.”
I hand it to her and settle on the desk chair.
“I was thinking about what Matthew and his mom told us. How it could connect to the Windswept Motel fire. I thought talking to the old owners of the motel could be a good next step, so I got their number from my mom and called them. Gotta say, Mr. Lewes told me a very interesting story. We already knew that George had been trying to buy their property for years, right? Well, according to Lewes, they didn’t want to sell because business was good—and the motel had been in their family for something like eighty years.
But in the months leading up to the fire, things started going south.
Their Tripadvisor page was slammed with negative reviews.
Guests started complaining about the phones in their rooms ringing at all hours of the night.
For the first time, the motel had vacancies in the summer.
Lewes reported it to the LIPD, but the cops barely gave them the time of day.
It was high season. They claimed they were too busy. ”
Harriet balances her cup on her knee. “Shit, really? Did Lewes think the harassment could be traced back to George?”
“No. But Mr. Lewes is a really nice guy. Did you know him well?”
Harriet shakes her head.
“Yeah. He was sort of known on my side of town for taking care of people. One family on our block lost their home in the 2007 mortgage crisis, and he let them stay at the motel for free for months while they got it sorted out. This is to say, just because he didn’t suspect George doesn’t mean George wasn’t behind it. ”
“And then the fire happened?” Harriet asks.
“Then the fire happened. After it, George approached the Leweses with yet another offer. By then, they were worn out. Too tired to deal with wrangling with insurance companies in order to rebuild. They accepted his offer and moved down to Florida.”
“Damn. That’s quite a story. Nice work.”
A swell of pride rises in me.
“All that makes me even more convinced that we need to figure out what was going on between Luke and George,” she says. “Did Luke know about all of it? Was he on George’s side? Or Barbara’s?” She takes a tiny sip of her coffee, and her nose wrinkles.
“Yeah, that sounds good. Oh, also—I asked my dad if they’ve released Patterson’s cause of death to the public.
Nothing yet, but I’m going to see if Martin knows anything.
I stupidly didn’t realize ’til I was talking to my dad this morning that if Patterson was murdered, it would be huge for Sara.
The cops wouldn’t be able to claim she killed Patterson from prison, right? ”
“I’m not sure the same—” Her face goes pale, her hand smacking down over her mouth. “Oh god.”
Her coffee cup clatters onto the side table as she scrambles out of the bed and rushes into the bathroom. The door slams behind her and a faucet blasts on, almost loud enough to cover the sound of retching.
Ten minutes later, she reemerges. Her face is clear of makeup, her hair wet, and her shirt buttoned crookedly. She gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I needed to, uh, get myself together.”
I get the feeling she doesn’t want to talk about her adventure in the bathroom. “It’s okay. You good to take off soon?”
Her eyes flick to the unmade bed and back to me. “Yes, absolutely,” she says hurriedly. “I’m ready now.”
We’re walking through the lobby when her phone rings.
She looks at the screen with a grimace. “Do you mind holding on a sec?” She gestures with her phone, and I see the name Frankie on the screen. “I gotta grab this really quick.”
“Oh. Sure.” I want to ask why she can’t just talk to this Frankie person in front of me, but I don’t. Things are awkward enough after last night.
She smiles gratefully and rounds a corner into a little alcove, leaving me stewing in my thoughts. Who the hell is Frankie? Does Harriet have a boyfriend she just conveniently forgot to tell me about? Why else would she need privacy to talk to him?
I edge closer to the gap she disappeared through, telling myself it’s just self-protection. Her voice is low, but I can hear it, just barely, over the hum of voices in the lobby.
“Frankie, yes, I know. Yes.” I hear her sigh. She sounds frustrated. “Of course I want my job back.”
I stop breathing. Her job back? Frankie must be her editor.
“I’m trying—yes. I’m trying to get it done as fast as possible. Once I get the right angle—” She cuts off. “Yeah. I’m staying close to the brother. He’s—”
Her voice drops again, but I don’t need to hear any more.
It’s enough.
I’m quiet as Harriet steers us onto the highway. Quiet as she settles us in the middle lane, heading south.
“Are you okay?” she asks after ten minutes of silence.
I realize my leg is bouncing aggressively. I force it still. “Yeah. Fine.”
Fine. What a fucking joke. I thought we were in this together, that we were in the pursuit of justice for Sara.
That Harriet decided to write the article because she was appalled by what was happening to my sister.
That she believes in Sara’s innocence. That maybe she had the same feelings growing for me that I have—had—for her.
But she’s getting a job out of it? She hadn’t bothered to mention that little fact.
Convenient.
And calling me the brother, like I’m not even important enough to have a name, like I’m nothing more than a source, a lead, an assistant helping her to get her career back on track.
What’d she tell her editor, that she knew me way back when?
That she knew I’d help her with anything she asked because I’m a sucker?
She’s not wrong. I was stupid enough to think she cared.
“Great.” She flicks on the turn signal and pulls left.
“So last night while I was writing, I realized what we’re missing here is evidence.
Cold, hard proof. We have a lot of theories, but I can’t publish an article based on those alone.
I’d get my ass sued. We need something concrete that shows George set those fires.
That he was colluding with government officials.
And like I said, we need to figure out how Luke plays into all of it.
I mean, right now, we don’t even know for sure whether Patterson’s death was an accident or murder. ”
I scowl at the Welcome to New Jersey sign looming up ahead. “Seriously? You think Patterson happened to wander into that fridge as a giant shelving unit toppled over? Those racks are bolted to the wall. They don’t just spontaneously fall.”
“That’s not what I said. I just think—”
“I think the same person killed George and Patterson.”
“Why?”
“It just makes sense.”
“I mean, I get that. But we need to focus on facts. And the fact is we don’t know that. If Patterson was murdered—”
I interrupt. “Logan Island isn’t exactly a haven for criminals, Harriet.
If two people were murdered over the course of as many weeks, that’s weird.
Sometimes the simplest explanation is the best. Occam’s razor.
Two deaths, one killer. If I’m right, it means Sara couldn’t have done it, and our goal is to get her out of jail—right? ”
I can’t help but wonder if she hopes there are two separate killers. It would give her more juice for her article. A better chance of getting her old job back and getting the hell off the island.
Harriet’s frowning. “We can’t force things to fit our narrative, Nic. In order for me to write this article, we need to focus on the truth, not whatever’s convenient.”
Easy for her to say. Her sister isn’t the one behind bars. “So Sara can get justice. Right?” I ask again.
“Yeah,” she says as she slams on the brakes, the car in front of us suddenly slowing. “Jesus, these fucking assholes can’t drive worth a damn.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“We need to think out of the box,” Harriet says. “Try something new. Maybe get into the office George and Luke shared over on the mainland. See what we can dig up.”
Not this again. “You mean break in? That’s not something new. It’s exactly what you suggested about Patterson’s office last week.”
“Yeah, but we never did it.”
“Harriet, if you find something in that office, can you include that in your article? Shouldn’t we start by, I don’t know, looking at public records?”
“Pfff,” she scoffs. “FOIA requests can take weeks. Even months. You want your sister sitting behind bars for that long? She’s headed to that AC jail any day now.”
“Not once they figure out Patterson was murdered. They’ll have to let her out then.”
“What—no. They won’t.”
I throw my foot up against the glove compartment. “Yes. They will.”
“Nic, I know you want your sister out of jail. I do too—”
“Do you?” I mutter.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shoots me a wounded glance.
“I do. That’s why I think getting into that office is important.
And listen, we won’t have to break in. George’s keys are in my mom’s bedroom.
If I can get her out of the house for a bit, I can sneak in there and snag them.
Then we can drive over to the mainland and let ourselves in.
It’s not breaking and entering if there’s no breaking, right?
If anyone catches us, I’ll just say I left something inside—a sweater, maybe—and I need it back.
I mean, I was his stepdaughter. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.
” She senses my hesitation. “If we want to figure out how involved Luke was, this is our best bet. His files, his computer even—it’ll all be there. ”
I gnaw on my inner cheek. I said I’d do anything in my power to help my sister. This is my chance to prove it.
“All right,” I finally say.
Harriet smiles. “Once we’re back, I’ll drop you off, head home, and find the key. I mean, if we’ve got a key, what’s the worst that can happen?”