“Wait, that reception was a month ago. You knew about that contract this whole time?”
“I didn’t know how to tell you. I was just so embarrassed about the whole thing. I’m sorry, Keith,” I said. “Really.”
For the longest time, he didn’t say a word. Finally, he took a deep breath. “I know I told you to, like, live your life and feel things and whatever. But for the record, Finch was not what I had in mind.” Then he turned to me with a sly but forgiving smile, and I felt overwhelmed by relief.
We startled when Keith’s phone rang. He answered it. “Hi, hold on one second,” he said into the phone. He looked at me. “Sorry, I need to take this. Privately.”
“Is that Finch?” I asked. I’d grab the phone if I had to. Finch could fire Keith if he wanted, but he could not kick him when he was already down. Not on my watch.
“No, it’s not Finch,” he said. “It’s somebody else who is actually way more pissed at me than Finch, believe it or not. I’ve got to— I’m, um, trying to deal with it.”
There was genuine fear in Keith’s voice. And Keith didn’t get scared of things. It was actually a problem. “What is it? Do you need help?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said, smiling, but in a way that was distressing. “I’ve got this. You’ve helped enough.” He waved me toward the door. “Go, go. Please.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling increasingly uneasy as I crossed the room.
“But, hey, Stephanie,” Keith called after me. “Thank you. You’re a good friend. I mean, except for the part about sleeping with my most important artist.”
I raised a finger in the air at the door and forced a playful smile. “Former artist. That’s totally different.”
DETECTIVE JULIA SCUTT
SUNDAY, 5:09 P.M.
The Falls is busier when I return, but not by much. There are maybe twenty people scattered around the tables, the bar stools mostly full. It takes a minute of waiting for me to get the bartender’s attention this time. He does not look happy to see me.
“I need to know if some people were in here on Saturday night.”
“Didn’t we already do this?” he asks, crossing his arms.
“Different people.” I hold up my phone and swipe through photos of Maeve, Jonathan, and Stephanie. “Did you see any of these people in here on Saturday night? I know they were here Friday. That’s when Crystal left with them in that SUV. But were they here last night, too? While the McGregor fight was on?”
The bartender is already shaking his head. “Not that blond one. I mean, she might have been here, but I didn’t see her. The other two, though . . .” He rubs a hand over his face, glances around to see if anyone is listening, then gestures toward an empty table at the back. “They were sitting over there with Luke Gaffney. They got into a thing.” The bartender shakes his head. “I didn’t see what happened. But there was some kind of dustup. A minute later they were gone.”
Dan is waiting for me outside, standing near my car. As I get closer, I can see that his mouth is turned down. He’s here to deliver bad news. I wonder if Seldon has already fired me.
“I’m guessing you’re not here to tell me we lucked out with those Arkansas prints for Derrick Chism?”
Dan shakes his head. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up on that. I didn’t get the sense they were real well-staffed. Or motivated. The NYPD is sending officers to collect DNA from their apartments. But, as you know, that’s gonna take some time. What’d you find in here?”
“Bartender remembers Stephanie and Jonathan,” I say. “From last night.”
“They sure do know how to lie, don’t they?”
“Yup,” I say. “Starting to look like what they’re covering up is the truth about what happened to Keith and Derrick. Weekender on weekender. Seldon will be happy.”
Me too, that’s the honest truth.
“Or . . .” Dan holds out a paper evidence bag. There’s something palm-sized and T-shaped at the bottom.
“What’s that?” I lean in closer.
“I was just taking it to the station when I saw your car. It’s a corkscrew,” he says. “Dogs followed that scent in circles. But eventually, this was at the end of it. Or rather it was over the side of the cliff at the end of it, on the ridge right below. My guess is that somebody tossed it there in the dark, didn’t realize it landed only seven feet below in plain sight, instead of forty feet down in the river.”