“Your father,” Gilcrest says. “How convenient.”
“Charlie,” Hadley says, “you need a lawyer.”
“First your father shows up when your mother dies,” Gilcrest says, “then again, when your brother dies.”
Hadley stands. “Lawyer,” she says. “Lawyer, lawyer, lawyer.”
But Gilcrest continues. “Paul told me you and Reid got into an argument about your mother’s estate at his house. Did you fight a lot with your brother? Did you fight tonight? Is that why you left without finishing your drinks?”
“Reid and I fight all the time,” I say. “And we make up until it happens again.”
“Except there won’t be a next time, will there? Your mother’s dead, and your brother’s dead, and you, Charlie Kilgore, have the most compelling and clear-cut motive. Greed. You own this island now, free and clear. How much is your family’s construction firm worth? From living in a shared Somerville apartment to becoming a millionaire in two easy murders—that’s the story you should tell for your podcast.” Gilcrest shoves the wooden chair aside. He comes at me, the corner of his eye twitching. “You haven’t asked why the chief came to your house in the first place.”
I haven’t asked because I’m pretty certain I already know. Seton came to arrest Reid.
“We have Reid on video,” Gilcrest says. “He was in Freya’s condo. He had access to the building’s security system and turned it off. But here’s the thing, Charlie. Freya had a hidden camera set up, and it caught Reid breaking into the apartment, and my bet is you’re the one who asked him to do it.”
“Why would I do that?” I ask.
“Because you wanted Freya to turn to you.”
“Listen,” I say, “you’re the one who couldn’t break things off with your wife, so if you need someone to blame for screwing up your personal life, look in the mirror. Freya’s a good friend. Nothing more.”
“Lawyer,” Hadley says, her voice soft but firm.
“You’re lucky your aunt’s here,” Gilcrest says. “Between her, the chief, Andrea Haviland, and even Freya, you seem to have an entire army of women ready to go into battle for you.”
Detective Stamoran appears at the screen door. “What the hell are you doing, Gilcrest?” he says, placing himself between Gilcrest and me,then moving the detective against the wall. Gilcrest shoves him, but Stamoran stands his ground.
“You’ll be surprised, Charlie,” Gilcrest says, “how many allies you lose once the murder charges hit.”
“Leave,” Stamoran says to him. “Now.”
Gilcrest closes his eyes, and I can almost hear him counting to ten. He steps into the night, slamming the screen door behind him.
“We’re done here,” Hadley says. “If you need us, we’ll be at the bungalow.”
Stamoran holds his hands out, palms open. “Let’s take the temperature down,” he says. “Did you see anyone by the lake, Charlie? Or hear something out of the ordinary? Whatever you tell us could be helpful.”
Hadley smiles. “Lawyer,” she says.
“Got it,” Stamoran says. “I’ll get someone to follow you home.”
“We know the way,” Hadley says. “We’ve done it thousands of times.”
“Not when there’s a murderer on the loose,” Stamoran says. “And lock the doors tonight. I’ll feel better when I find you safe and sound in the morning, because I have questions for both of you. And your lawyer.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“I didn’t kill Reid,” I say to Hadley, as soon as the deputy leaves us at the bungalow. “No matter what Gilcrest believes. And I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Freya’s truck, either. And I did see my father by the dock.”
Hadley slips an arm through mine and leads me into the kitchen. “You were with me at Burkehaven. Don’t forget that. Where’s the opportunity?”
Only that I was alone with my brother on the dock, and Hadley herself heard us fighting, which, if I’m not mistaken, I admitted to in the audio recording that’s sitting on my phone waiting for the police to dissect. I could easily have gulped down a martini, bashed my brother in the head, and calmly retreated from the scene of the crime. “I was only with you for part of the evening,” I say.
Hadley puts on the kettle. “Well, the cops’ll get there on their own. No need to lead them there by the nose. Besides, we don’t know what happened to Reid. That’s for the coroner to determine. Yes, there was a contusion, but maybe he dove off one of the rocks in the cove and hit his head. Maybe a boat ran him over. If your father has something to do with what happened to Reid or Jane, let the police find him.”
“They haven’t found him for twenty-five years.”
