Chapter Forty-Eight Nic
Chapter Forty-Eight
Nic
Loud knocking wakes me.
I grab my phone from my bedside table and let out a groan. It’s not even ten o’clock. Too goddamn early for a visitor. Particularly given the night I had. I lie back down and pull my pillow over my head.
After my run-in with Harriet at the hospital, I went straight to Martin’s and proceeded to get shit-faced. Not normally how I handle my problems, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now, not so much.
Whoever’s at the door better have a damn good reason.
More pounding.
“What?” I yell, which does nothing to stop them. If anything, it gets louder. “Jesus, fine.”
I drag myself upright, throw on some sweats, and head into the other room.
Another bang.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter. I swing the door open with a bang. “What?” I bark, seconds before my brain registers who’s on my doorstep.
Harriet Baker, a brown paper bag clutched in her hand. In the other, she holds a cardboard tray with two coffees. She’s beautiful. Of course she is.
I remind myself that I’m supposed to be furious with her.
“I brought bagels and coffee? From Bageltelli’s?” she says, like that’s supposed to make up for waking me at the ass-crack of dawn after I explicitly told her I needed space.
At least she has the decency to look nervous.
“I don’t eat gluten,” I say, lying through my teeth. I love gluten.
Her face falls, and I’m hit by a pang of guilt. Maybe I’m leaning into this whole pissed-off thing too hard.
I sigh. “Fine. I like it. Bageltelli’s is delightful. But bagels don’t explain what the hell you’re doing here this early.”
She glances at her phone. “It’s nine thirty a.m.?”
I stare at her, unsmiling.
She holds out the bag like a peace offering. “I’m sorry for showing up like this, but we need to talk, and you’re screening my calls. It has to do with the case. I think…” Her face crumples for the briefest of seconds.
I brace myself for very bad news.
“I think…no. I know who killed George.”
It takes my brain a beat to catch up. Not bad news. “Are you serious?”
She sniffs. “Yes.”
“Then why do you look so upset?”
Her lower lip trembles. “Can I come in so we can talk?”
“I…yeah. Fine. Come in.”
She sinks down onto a ratty old armchair I stole from my parents. “Want a bagel?” She sets the bag down on the coffee table. “I need food before I can talk about this.”
My traitor stomach growls. “Fine,” I grumble.
“Everything, cinnamon, or plain?”
“Everything, thanks.” I pluck the bagel from the bag.
She watches with wide eyes as I take an enormous bite. I get the feeling she got that one for herself. I take another big bite. She’s forced her way into my apartment; I get to pick my preferred bagel.
“Great. That’s fine. I’ll have the…cinnamon one.” She makes a face. “Coffee?” She nudges the tray toward me.
“Thanks.” I grab one and take a long sip. “Okay. You’re sitting. You’re eating. Now tell me what you know.”
She sets her bagel on the table, untouched. “After I ran into you yesterday, I went to my grandmother’s house. And—” She chews on her lower lip. “I stumbled onto this.”
She hands me her phone. On its screen is a photo of a man and a woman, their arms wrapped around each other.
I look up at her. “I don’t get it. Who are they?”
“Do you remember the obit I sent you that I found in George’s desk?”
I nod.
“Well. Gogo was showing me photos of Vicky when she was younger, and the guy in that one—next to my aunt Vicky? He’s the guy in it.”
“Wait.” I pause, mid-chew. I’m trying to process this, but my brain is moving at the speed of a slug. “I’m confused. Your aunt knew him? How? Why?”
She picks up her bagel and starts tearing it into tiny pieces. “Because they were engaged. His name is Adrian. He died in the warehouse fire we think George set up in New York.”
I slowly put down my bagel.
“I had no idea until yesterday. They were set to marry a week later.”
I repeat it to make sure I understand. “George set the fire that killed Vicky’s fiancé? A week before they were supposed to get married?”
“Yes.”
“Harriet,” I say slowly. “Are you trying to say you think Vicky killed George?”
Harriet hesitates. “No. I’m saying I know she did. I talked to her.”
I jump to my feet. “Then what the fuck are you doing here? My sister is behind bars, Harriet!”
She doesn’t move. “Vicky says it was self-defense, and I believe her. George was strangling her.”
I glare. “So?”
“So! So you know the LIPD won’t give a shit that she was protecting herself. For all we know, they’re all corrupt.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “That may be so, but my sister, Harriet—my sister is in jail! What are you saying? That Sara should give up her life so your aunt can walk free? Your aunt who, need I remind you, is a killer?”
“No!” she says. “Can you sit down? That’s not what I’m saying, okay? I have a solution. One that will save Sara and my aunt.”
“What makes you so sure your aunt deserves to be saved? She killed someone, Harriet.”
“Are you—Vicky isn’t going to do this again.
No one else is in danger!” Harriet’s mouth sets in a hard line.
“George was horrible. He was a predator, an arsonist, and a murderer too! He almost killed a child—Martin told me all about it. If that kid had died and Martin had found out George was responsible, don’t you think he would have wanted to kill him too? ”
At the mention of Martin, I sink down to the couch. “Maybe. But he wouldn’t have.”
“Sure, but what if George attacked him? Strangled him? What would he have done then?”
“He would have fought back, obviously, Harriet. But Vicky had a knife with her! Why’d she bring it unless she was planning to use it?”
Harriet winces. “Yeah, I agree that part is…not great. But remember their argument in the basement? George was screaming at her. That’s probably why she brought it. She was scared he’d—”
I don’t even know why I’m still listening to this. I cut her off. “You know what? I don’t care. You could list a million reasons why your aunt should walk free, but at the end of the day, I’m not trading my sister’s life away. This conversation is over. I’m going to the cops.”
“Nic,” she says quietly. “Please. Give me five more minutes. Just five. I’m telling you, I think I have a solution. For Sara. For Vicky. For all of it. Please.”