Chapter Thirty-Three Nic
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nic
I walk over to Joe’s Diner just after one to meet Martin.
The diner is a long, narrow, silver bullet of a building, which has been around longer than I’ve been alive. As I push through the door, I spot Martin in a booth, root beer and a plate of fries in front of him.
My shoulders relax at his familiar face. It’s only been a few days since we saw each other, but they’ve been some of the longest of my entire life.
“Fry?” he says by way of greeting as I slip in across from him.
“Yeah, thanks.” I grab a couple and stuff them in my mouth.
“How’re you doing with everything?”
Before I can respond, a waitress stops at our table. “Anything to drink?”
I order an Arnold Palmer and another plate of fries, and she heads off toward the kitchen. “Things are okay,” I say to Martin. “Just tired. Got back into town—”
“Back to town?” Martin asks. “Where were you?”
Shit. I really am tired, or I wouldn’t have said that. I haven’t told him about Harriet’s article or the fact that we’re looking into things. He works closely with both the fire department and the LIPD; he hangs out socially with them. I don’t know if he’d believe his friends might be corrupt.
I trust him, of course I do, but what if he’s drinking and lets something slip about what we’re doing? We’d be screwed.
“Yeah. I went up to New York. It was supposed to be a quick trip, but I ended up staying overnight because of the storm—”
He interrupts. “I’m confused. You find a dead body, and then five seconds later, you take off for New York? What’s going on, man?”
“I…um. I went up there with Harriet,” I finally say for lack of anything better. It’s the truth, but not entirely.
“Harriet? Somebody told me that it was you two who found Barbara, but I thought they must have been mistaken. I didn’t know you guys were hanging out. Wait.” His eyes narrow at me. “Why are you guys hanging out? The last I’d heard, you were mortal enemies.”
He’s so dramatic. “We weren’t mortal enemies!”
“If I’m not mistaken, you referred to her as the devil herself when we ran into her at Hendricks.”
God, why does the man have the memory of an elephant?
He’s staring at me, waiting for an answer.
“Actually…um. We’re the opposite of mortal enemies,” I say. “We’re dating.”
What I just said sinks into my brain. We’re dating? I really wish I’d gotten more sleep last night.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” Martin slaps a hand over his mouth. “You’re dating?”
Shit. This is bad. This is very, very bad.
“I have to admit, Steven and I talked about how you two seemed…” A grin fills his face. “Honestly, very enemies-to-lovers. Like you were either going to strangle each other or start making out on the bar.”
It’s too late to take it back. That would lead to even more questions I don’t want to answer. “Yeah. Well.”
Martin leans across the table. “Tell me everything. How did this happen?”
I cough. “Uh, well, we ran into each other the day after the bar and got to talking—”
“Wait.” His expression darkens. “I can’t believe I— This isn’t exciting, it’s insane! Don’t you remember how she treated you back in high school? How wrecked you were? She broke your heart!”
“It wasn’t broken.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You showed up at my house crying.”
“One time!”
“More than one time.”
I suddenly regret the length of our friendship.
“She ditched you with no explanation. Have you guys talked that through?”
I’m silent as the waitress sets down my fries and drink.
Once she’s gone, Martin continues, “I just don’t want her to hurt you again. It’s been eight years, and you’ve barely dated.”
“That isn’t because of Harriet!”
He raises an eyebrow.
“It isn’t! There are limited options around, you know? And most of them are so…”
Boring.
“So what?”
“Never mind.” I don’t need a lecture from Martin on my taste in women. “And to answer your first question, yes. We have talked about what happened, and she apologized.”
Martin sits back in his seat and picks up his phone. “Well, that’s good.”
“And Harriet is…is— What the hell are you doing?”
He’s typing away furiously. “Texting Steven.”
“Wait—” I say, but it’s too late.
“Done. He’s gonna die. Or—does he already know?” He shakes his head, staring at the screen. “No, if he knew, he would have told me.”
I stifle a groan. I am so screwed. “Anyway, after we found Patterson, we drove up there.”
“Yeah.” He sets the phone onto his napkin. “Patterson. I wanted to ask how you’re doing with that? Two bodies in a month is some heavy shit.”
The image of George’s limp body flashes through my mind, now joined by Barbara Patterson, bleeding out in the fridge.
So much death.
“I’m okay,” I say. “But it was certainly surprising.”
“That’s one word for it. Poor Mrs. Patterson. She was a hard-ass, but still. She didn’t deserve to die like that.”
“Yeah. Awful.” I take a sip of my drink. “Have you heard anything? About whether it was an accident?”
Martin glances around the restaurant, then leans in. “You didn’t hear it from me, but they think she was killed. Word is they think she was hit on the back of the head, died, and then someone pushed the shelving unit over.”
I frown. “Why go to all that trouble if she was already dead?”
“Current theory is that whoever killed her wanted it to look accidental. But there was a contusion on the back of her head inconsistent with the injuries she sustained from the shelf.”
I knew it. “So she was murdered,” I say to confirm.
“Seems like it, yeah.”
I pick up my phone. “Good.”
Martin looks at me like I’m crazy. “Good?”
“Well, Sara couldn’t have killed Patterson, obviously. Which proves she didn’t kill George.”
“I hate to say it, but that’s not what it proves.”
He sounds just like Harriet. “Yes, it does.”
Martin sighs. “Nic. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. You’re not thinking clearly. Just because someone else died—”
“Was murdered!”
“Shh!” Martin twists around to make sure no one heard my outburst. When he turns back, he’s pissed.
“Keep your fucking voice down! I could get fired for telling you that. Don’t make me regret it.
You know I don’t think Sara’s guilty, but think about it like a cop.
There’s no reason to think the same person killed both of them, and as much as I hate to say it, the evidence against your sister is strong.
Strong enough that the DA charged her. I understand this whole situation is impossibly hard, but you have to trust the American justice system—”
I snort.
“—because there’s not much else you can do. Except maybe try to convince your parents that she’d be better off with a public defender than cousin Barry.”
“They won’t listen.” I rub my forehead. I know he’s right. I knew Harriet was right back there in the car. I just didn’t want to let myself see it. “I’m sorry. I won’t get you in trouble, I promise. I’m just exhausted. Every time I think she’s caught a break…”
“I’m sorry, man,” Martin says, patting my arm.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I know he means it, but all the sorrys in the world aren’t going to save Sara.
After we leave the diner, I drive straight to Harriet’s.
She answers the front door with a frown, brandishing her phone like a weapon. She’s changed into jean shorts and a button-up, her hair piled high on her head. She looks hot.
Hot and mad.
Of course she is; the thought of us dating must be appalling to her. The brother.
“So we’re dating now, huh?” she says before I can get a word in edgewise. “Thanks so much for the heads-up, Nic. What the hell were you thinking?”
My jaw clenches at her tone. “Martin was grilling me about New York, and it just came out,” I say. Does she really have to act so fucking annoyed about this?
“It just came out?” She stares me for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
“I’ll call him right now and take it back. But he’s going to have a lot of questions. Do you want everyone in a thirty-mile radius knowing what we’re doing?”
She makes a face and steps back so I can walk into the house. “No. It’s fine. But in the future, could you please keep me in the loop so I don’t have to learn about shit like this from Steven?”
“If I’m ever in another situation where I have to lie about us dating, I’ll be sure to give you a heads-up,” I say, stopping in the foyer. I cross my arms.
“Whatever. I have news, so it’s good you’re here anyway. I found them.” She rummages in her back pocket and pulls out a set of keys, dangling them between her fingers. “For George’s office!”
“Great,” I say tersely.
Her face falls. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You look mad. What did I do?” She swipes at her cheeks like she’ll find an explanation there.
I force myself to breathe. I need to fucking relax. Martin’s right. Eight years ago, I stupidly let myself fall for her, and it nearly destroyed me. I can’t let myself make the same dumb mistake.
“Nothing,” I say again. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just tired.”
“I told you that you shouldn’t sleep on the floor!”
The words hang in the air between us, a reminder of last night. Of how mortified she was this morning.
“It’s fine.” I need a change of subject. “I saw Martin.” I fill her in on what he told me about Barbara Patterson’s death. Harriet listens, her eyes softening as I tell her what he said about the two murders. How it doesn’t help Sara at all.
“I’m sorry, Nic,” she says. “I know that isn’t what you want to hear.”
“Yeah. Well. We’re going to George and Luke’s office, right? We’ll find something that will help her.”
She blinks in surprise. “Are you saying— You want to go now?”
“It’s Saturday. The office will be empty, right?”
“Yeah, I guess? I mean, George is, well, dead, and I sorta doubt Luke is sitting there working the week after his partner was killed.” She heads into the kitchen and returns a moment later, a pair of sneakers clenched in her hand. “Ready?”
I nod. “Ready.”