Chapter Forty-Six Harriet
Chapter Forty-Six
Harriet
I set the album on the couch and scoot away from it, like putting distance between myself and it will erase what I just saw.
Vicky had a motive.
Gogo comes back in clutching two saucers, cups balanced precariously on top of them, glass rattling against glass.
I hurry over and take them from her.
“Are you feeling okay, dear?” she asks once we settle on the couch. “You look pale.”
“I…” I shake my head. I have no idea what to say. I can only imagine what my face looks like.
“What is it?” she asks.
“I…” I swallow. “Um. How did Vicky meet him?”
She takes a tiny sip of tea. “Who?”
“Her fiancé. Adrian.”
“Oh!” Gogo sounds surprised. “I haven’t thought about that in years.
I think they met through George, actually.
When Vicky moved up to New York for college, your dad put Vicky and George in touch.
You know how your father and George were close until…
well. Until your parents got together and George became a total asshole, pardon my French.
Not to speak ill of the dead, but I still don’t understand what your mother saw in him. ”
George introduced Vicky and Adrian.
“Do you know…” I cough. “Um. How did George and Adrian know each other?”
“I’m not sure. You could ask your aunt, I suppose. It’s been long enough that she might be open to talking about it.”
“She’s upstairs?” I ask.
Gogo nods.
“I’ll go say hi.”
Gogo smiles. “She’ll love that. She really wanted to spend more time with you while she was here, but obviously the last two weeks haven’t gone as we expected. And now, who knows when she’ll be back? I might not even be around.”
She’s repeating herself again.
My thumb finds its way between my teeth, and I start gnawing at the edge of my nail, something I haven’t done since I was little.
“You will be,” I tell her with more confidence than I feel.
“I would love to see Vicky more.” Gogo’s voice wobbles. “It’s hard, having her so far away…”
I leave her with her tea and take the stairs up to the second floor two by two. The door at the end of the hall is cracked, and there’s movement inside.
I stop halfway to it.
What am I thinking?
My aunt’s fiancé died in that warehouse fire. So what? It might not mean anything.
It might be a coincidence.
That would have been an awful long time to wait for revenge. I’m being silly.
I’m turning to head downstairs when the door opens.
“Harriet!” Vicky says, her face lighting up. “I didn’t know you were here. Come in, come in!”
She disappears into the bedroom.
She’s acting so normal. Smiling. I’m being ridiculous.
I slowly walk down the hall and stop in the open doorway. Her suitcase is on the floor, mostly empty, and clothes are scattered across the bed.
“I was talking with Gogo just now. She said you’re leaving soon? Tomorrow was it?”
A shadow passes over Vicky’s face. “Actually, Sunday. Have you noticed her memory has gotten…”
“A little shaky?”
She grimaces. “Maybe more than a little?”
“Maybe,” I say.
Vicky couldn’t have killed George. Right? She couldn’t have. I’m losing my mind. It’s been a long few days. I need to get out of here.
Vicky picks up a pair of jeans and starts folding them. “Well. Either way, I’m glad to see you. How are you? How’s Mindy?”
“She’s doing a lot better, thanks. I actually just came up to say goodbye. My mom’s expecting me at home soon.”
“Ah,” Vicky says, her mouth tugging into a slight frown. “Well, maybe we could grab coffee later if you’re free?”
I picture it—sitting across a table from her, trying to act normal.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. Well. Maybe tomorrow then.”
I nod, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow.”
I’m at loose ends. It’s almost midnight, and I’m lying in bed wide awake. I’ve been scrolling on social media for two hours, trying to drown out my racing thoughts. But Adrian’s face keeps sliding back into my mind, no matter how many Reels I consume.
I haven’t said a word about my suspicions to anyone—not even Nic. I should. His sister is being held in that hellhole of a prison on the mainland, and I know he’s terrified about what may happen to her there.
If what I think I know could help her… But every time I consider it, I picture Gogo’s shaking hands.
As much as I’ve been trying to deny it, Gogo is sick. Not just her memory. Her.
If it’s true…if Vicky murdered George…it might kill her.
I need to slow down. I have no real proof.
Yes, Vicky was about to marry a man who died in a fire George might have set.
Yes, she was at my party the night he was killed.
Yes, it’s all very strange, but maybe it’s just a coincidence.
Coincidences happen every day! This would be a massive one, but it’s not impossible. Right?
What do I know for sure?
Mrs. Carter overheard George shout This is getting pathetic. Let it go shortly before he died.
George and Luke’s relationship had been going downhill before George died. The two of them had gotten involved with very scary people like Dominic.
Several people overheard George arguing with someone in the basement.
George had an illegitimate son who went down there to talk to him and—
A thought hits me.
Matthew said he and George weren’t yelling, but did he hear the fight on his way down the stairs?
I scramble upright.
A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s 11:53 p.m. Late. But Vicky is leaving the country on Sunday. It can’t wait.
I scroll through my recent calls until I find Matthew’s mom’s number.
She answers after several rings. “Hello?” she says through a yawn.
“Hi, Ana,” I say. “This is Harriet Baker? We met the other day when—” When we accused your son of murdering his father. “Um, when we came to talk to Matthew?”
“Harriet?” she says. She doesn’t sound happy, but at least she doesn’t hang up. “Why are you— Are you aware it’s almost midnight?”
“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry to wake you, but I really need to speak with Matthew. It’s urgent. Please.”
There’s a long pause. “What could you possibly have to say to him that’s so urgent you had to call in the middle of the night?”
I clear my throat. “Well, I’m sure you remember Nic’s sister is in jail for George’s murder? It’s about that.”
“I don’t want him involved in that, Harriet.”
“I’m not trying to drag him into anything. Just one question, I promise. Then we’ll leave you alone. I—”
She cuts me off with a tired exhale. “Fine. Hang on.”
The minutes tick by, but finally, Matthew’s voice fills the line.
“Harriet?” He sounds annoyed. “Why the hell are you calling my mom’s phone? You woke her up.”
“Hey. Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I know this is weird, but I just have a quick question—really quick, I swear. It’ll take, like, one second.”
“It’s already been more than one second,” he says.
“Right. Sorry.”
He sighs. “What is it?”
“Well. I was wondering. The night of my party. You said you and George talked in the basement?”
He yawns. “Yeah.”
“Did you hear anything on your way down there?”
Matthew’s quiet for so long I start to wonder if he hung up.
“Hello?” I finally venture.
“Sorry, I was thinking,” he says. “He was alone when I found him in the wine cellar, and I didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary on my way down—”
My heart sinks. “Nothing at all?”
He huffs. “Let me finish. I was going to say I didn’t hear anything, but there was this woman coming up the stairs who ran straight into me. Knocked me off-balance, and I almost fell down the rest of the flight.”
I hesitate. If I ask the next question, I’m pretty sure I’m going to get an answer I don’t like. Do I really want to know?
I think of Nic telling me that I’m just as selfish as I was in high school. About how he’s put his family above everything else. The lengths he’s gone to in order to help Sara. He deserves to know the truth, and I care about him too much to not do everything in my power to give it to him.
I dig my fingernails into the soft skin of my palm and ask it. “Do you remember what she looked like?”
“Nope.”
“Not at all?”
“I mean, not really. I didn’t see her face—she was moving fast. But once I regained my balance, I turned because I was going to yell at her. She was already too far away, but I saw her from the back. She had brown hair.”
“How long was it?”
“Jesus. This is way more than one question, you know. I don’t know! Short! Chin length, maybe?”
I can tell I’m starting to lose him, but I can’t stop now. “Do you remember what she was wearing?”
“A T-shirt. Jeans. Not a ballgown like all the other freaks there.”
Vicky.
I thank Matthew, apologize again for waking his household up, then sink back into my pillows.
Vicky argued with George in the basement.
Which makes it even more likely that she stabbed him out on that beach and then left him there to die.
George was a terrible person, but he was still a human being.
Was it an accident? Self-defense? Or straight-up, cold-blooded murder? Did she come back to the island to kill him? If she did, why now? Why wait so many years?
I don’t understand.
Before I do anything, I need to know for sure. I need to talk to the one person who can give me answers.
Vicky.