Chapter 10
DESPITE THE COLD, THERE ARE PLENTY OF TOURISTS WALKING THE quaint streets of Evansport.
With the weather changing fast, people have started flocking to the northeast to experience a New England autumn.
Dry leaves tumble along the sidewalk, wheeling on the steady breeze.
I lingered in the bookstore for a while, Alex’s books prominently displayed on a table near the front entrance.
I was proud and still astonished to see them and know that my father wrote those books.
Back in my car, I debate a ride to the waterfront, but a chill has settled in my bones, and I decide to head back to Spencer House.
There’s a dark car sitting in front of Alex’s place as I pull up.
I wonder who it could be. A man with gleaming white hair and a bulky build climbs out of the driver’s side.
He stands and leans against his vehicle, watching me pull around into the driveway.
My heart starts thumping wildly. Could it be one of the men who’s been calling me?
Could they have tracked me down? Obviously, he was waiting for me.
I glance up at the house as I get out of my car, but I don’t see Alex or Sunny. The man isn’t here to see them.
“Ms. Shrader?” he calls, walking toward me.
I stand still as a pointer. “Yes?”
He extends his hand. “Detective Tom Bellman. I’m investigating the Harwood death.”
“Oh.” I take his hand, which is cold, meaty, his grip firm.
“I have a few questions for you.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a notebook.
“Okay.”
He has me run through yesterday morning. He nods periodically as if he’s checking my words against the statement I gave to the cop on the scene.
“I understand that there was a dinner party the night before the victim went missing?”
Victim. And they wouldn’t send a detective out here asking questions if they didn’t suspect there was foul play.
“Yes. All of the people who went looking for Simon were there.”
“Uh-huh.”
His narrow, light eyes meet mine. “Any problems you saw that night or earlier that made you think that Mr. Harwood and his neighbors didn’t get along? Anything?”
“No, nothing like that. Everyone seemed to like Simon.”
“What do you know about these people here at Cheshire Lake?” He turns and looks over at the dark water that laps the shore.
“Not much, really. I’ve only been here a little over a week.”
He scratches his head. “How are you related to the Spencers? No one I’ve talked to yet has been very precise. I’ve lived here my entire life, know the people here well. Never heard of you.”
He enunciates the last sentence like an accusation and my heart is thudding.
Did he talk to Alex already and Alex didn’t tell him that I’m his daughter?
Does Alex not want anyone to know? But I have to be honest, right?
I’m talking to a detective. I don’t want him to think I’m hiding anything.
Then I think of the men who lent my ex-husband money.
I had nothing to do with that, but somehow I feel like I’ve been involved in something illegal, dirty, and I wonder if my anxiety is all over my face.
This man looks for deception for a living, and he’s obviously been doing this a long time judging by his white hair and sagging jowls.
“I’m Mr. Spencer’s daughter,” I blurt out.
He raises his bushy gray eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yes. I just found out. He just found out. He and my mother were together, never married, for a short time when they were both young. Alex moved on before he knew my mom was pregnant,” I say, giving Alex the benefit of the doubt.
I can see the skepticism in his eyes. Alex is the area’s most famous resident and now here’s a daughter popping up out of nowhere. “He had me take a DNA test before we met. It confirmed it.” I clamp my lips together to stop my rambling.
He nods slowly. “Okay. So, what are you doing here?”
“My father invited me. We just wanted to get to know each other.”
“Where do you live?”
“New York. Albany.”
“You didn’t know anything about the Harwoods before you got here?”
“No. I’m just getting to know everyone.”
He slaps his notebook shut. “Okay. You came here at your father’s request? He wanted to get to know you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it? Just a visit with your new family?”
Why does he make it seem sinister? “That’s all. Yes.”
“Okay, Ms. Shrader. I might need to circle back with you later.”
“All right.”
He turns, heads back to his car. I jog for the porch and notice Sunny, arms crossed over her chest, at the front room window looking out.