“Is Peter here?” I ask.
Jonathan shakes his head. “No.” He leans forward a little like he might elaborate. I see in his face the precise moment he decides not to. He rubs a hand over his forehead instead, pushing his hat up just enough to reveal the bottom edge of what appears to be a large bruise.
“That looks painful.” I point to his head.
“Oh, yeah.” Jonathan tugs the hat back down. A hat that now seems not just stupid-looking but also suspicious. “There’s a cabinet above the dishwasher,” he explains. “It’s, you know, in the exact wrong spot.”
Our eyes met. “Ouch,” I say after a long beat. I’m guessing either the fiancé hits him or that bump on his head has something to do with our dead guy at the accident scene. “So the five of you were up here for the weekend?”
“Yes,” Jonathan says. “Wait, I mean no.”
“No?”
“There were six of us at first, but Finch left.”
“His name is Finch?” These weekenders sure do know how to be hateable.
“Yeah, he’s one of Keith’s clients.”
“Keith’s a lawyer, too?”
“No, no. He owns a gallery. Finch is one of the artists he represents. Client is the wrong word. Keith is always telling me that. Finch kind of invited himself to come along.”
“You don’t sound happy about that.”
“It’s just that the rest of us are old friends,” Jonathan says. “We went to college together. Finch is always trying to insert himself into our group. And he’s just really— well, he’s a big personality. Opinionated. And the rest of us are— it’s not the best fit, that’s all.”
“When did he leave?” I ask.
“In the morning, yesterday. Early. I don’t know exactly what time.”
“And why did he leave?”
“I don’t exactly know that either,” Jonathan says. “But he and Keith were having an issue, work-related. Apparently Finch was angry about some show in London. I didn’t even know that until a couple minutes ago. Stephanie told me. Honestly, we were just glad when he was gone.”
“Finch a violent guy?”
“Violent?” Jonathan makes a face. “Wait, you think Finch . . .”
“I’m asking you what you think.”
He looks up for a moment. Seems to be genuinely considering the question. “I— I don’t know what happened, so I guess theoretically anything could have. But I’m sure he’s back in the city by now. He left almost twenty-four hours ago.”
“Okay, so what was happening tonight before Derrick and Keith went missing?”
“We were just here, you know, hanging out,” he says. “Maeve made us dinner. Penne arrabiata. She’s a really good cook.”
“So you were all here the entire night?” I ask. “No one went out?”
He nods, eyes deliberately on mine now. Maybe too deliberate. “I mean, not until Derrick and Keith left to get some cigarettes.”
“What time did they do that?”
Jonathan consults the ceiling again. “Nine thirty or nine thirty-five,” he says. “I’m not sure.”
“Had they been drinking? Using drugs of some kind?”
“Drugs?” he asks. Like he’s never heard of such a thing.
“Listen, I’m not here to bust anyone. At a minimum I’d imagine you were all drinking— this was a bachelor party, right? Some pot would be expected, too. I’m only interested to the extent that alcohol or drugs may have played a role in whatever happened. We have a pretty significant issue with opioids locally.”
“Keith, I’m sure, had several drinks. But Derrick, a beer or two, max. He hardly drinks.”
“Drugs?”
“No,” Jonathan says, then swallows, loudly. So that’s a yes on the drugs. But I’ll leave it for now.
“Did you hear from them after they went out for cigarettes?”
Jonathan shakes his head as he stares down. “They just didn’t come back. We called them again and again for at least an hour. Texted, too.”
“Where did they go to get the cigarettes?”
“Cumberland Farms.”
“And they never responded to any of your calls or texts?”
“No. When they didn’t, we called the police, but they said they needed to be missing for at least twenty-four hours. It was a little while later when you found the car.”