I knew one of the neighbors must have made a call to the local television stations, because if Detective McKenzie had her way, word of Mr. Harwick’s death would have been kept from the media until at least the initial investigation was over and all the family members had been notified. But I guess it’s hard to keep things under wraps when ambulances and police cars start surrounding the home of a major figure in one of the biggest companies in the world. This little group of local reporters was just the tip of the iceberg. Once word started spreading, the whole neighborhood would be crawling with news teams and photographers from all over the place.
I took a deep breath. I don’t get along too well with reporters. Anyone who knows me can vouch for that. So before I got out of the Bronco, I closed my eyes and started slowly counting to ten. With each breath, I imagined myself taking one step toward a gently babbling brook, with sparkling water softly gurgling over time-polished pebbles and blue and yellow butterflies flitting all about. Growing up the lush banks of the brook on both sides were cheery black-eyed Susans, sunning their yellow petals in the dappled sunlight and swaying gently in the warm, nectar-scented breeze. Just when I was at the fifth blissful step, I heard an obnoxiously loud rapping next to my head. I nearly jumped out of my seat, and there was Deputy Morgan’s big face looming in the window next to me.
“Hey, Detective McKenzie is inside. She wants to see you.”
I gulped out, “Okay, I’m on my way.”
“Were you sleeping?”
I grabbed my bag and opened the door. “No, I was not sleeping. I was preparing.”
“Preparing for what?”
“That.”
I tipped my chin in the direction of the reporters, who were now making a beeline right for us.
“Ma’am! What’s your connection to the Harwicks?”
Before I could even answer, another said, “Are you an employee here?”
A young woman in a Tampa University baseball cap stuck a microphone in my face. “Can you tell us in your own words what’s happening here?”
I put my head down and concentrated on the heels of Deputy Morgan’s shiny black boots as he led me past the news vans. The reporters ran alongside us like angry geese until we reached the front gate. Morgan lifted up the police tape and I scooted under, then we made a quick escape up the cobblestone driveway, leaving the gaggle of honking reporters behind.
Morgan grinned. “Well, that wasn’t too bad.”
As we walked away, I heard one of the reporters say, “I think I recognize that woman. She’s a pet sitter.”
I shifted my backpack to the other shoulder and nodded mutely. Detective McKenzie was standing in the doorway on the front porch with her clipboard of notes and police reports.
“Miss Hemingway, I’m glad you’re here. I was wondering if you might show me that fish.”
* * *
The master bathroom looked exactly the same, except now the wet towel I had noticed on the counter had a small yellow card lying next to it with the number 21 written in black ink. There was another yellow card next to the gold-plated phone, and another taped to the door above the handle. The cards were markers left by the investigative team, each indicating a potential piece of evidence. It gave me an eerie feeling to know they’d picked up my own fingerprints in the room, and that they were now part of the puzzle of clues.
The hermit crab I had spotted in the mermaid’s cleavage on that first day I met the Harwicks was now perched precariously on the ridge of her nose. She looked a little peeved about it, and I completely understood. Who can look sexy with a crab on her nose? I pointed to a little fish that was hovering at the base of one of the coral towers, peeking at us from behind a gently waving frond of sea fern. He was creamy yellow from head to tail, with a russet jigsaw pattern tattooed down his sides and fins that seemed almost comically small for his plump body. He had big puppy-dog eyes and a wide goofy smile that looked painted on, as if he’d learned to apply it at clown school.
“It’s that one right there. That’s a porcupine fish.”
Detective McKenzie said, “How did you know it was afraid?”
I said, “Believe me, you know. They puff up into a big ball. And see all those stripes going down his body? Those are spines. When he gets scared and puffs up, those spines stick out like needles in a pin cushion.”
“Or a porcupine.”
“Exactly.”
She nodded thoughtfully. I felt a little secret twinge of pride, imagining her telling Sergeant Owens how brilliant it was of me to notice such an important clue.
“They’re poisonous, aren’t they?”
I nodded. “Yeah, big-time.”
“And did you notice anything else out of place?”
I hesitated. “Not really, other than I couldn’t find Charlotte. And I was a little surprised that the alarm system wasn’t on when I arrived. The Harwicks made a point of telling me that they always kept it on when they were away. When I unlocked the door, it was the first thing I thought.”
“The door was locked?”
“Yes, I’m positive. I know because I remember taking my keys out to unlock the door.”
She sniffed. “Yes, except the use of a key to open a door doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s locked, does it? All it means is that you inserted your key in the lock and turned it. Did you try to open the door before you unlocked it?”
“No … I guess I just assumed it was locked.”
She wrinkled her nose and flipped a page in her clipboard. “Tell me about Mr. Harwick. You’ve known him a while?”
“No, I never even heard of him before this week.”
She looked up at me and tilted her head. There were a couple of tangled strands of mousy brown hair falling across her face, and I resisted the urge to brush them aside.
“Miss Hemingway, that’s a little difficult to understand.”
“Huh?”
“I said, that’s a little difficult—”
I said, “Yes, I heard you, I’m just not sure what you mean. I know he’s famous in the business world, but I really don’t keep up on that kind of stuff.”
“Well, what I meant is, your boyfriend cleans the pool here, doesn’t he? I would assume you’d at least be familiar with the Harwicks through him.”
I sputtered, “Kenny? He isn’t my boyfriend! I don’t have a boyfriend. I know Kenny Newman because he hired me to check in on his cat a few times, and he sometimes works for me doing overnight dog sitting. But I didn’t even know he cleaned the pool here until Mr. Harwick told me himself.”
She pulled a pen out of her clipboard and circled something in her notes. “So, you did not know Mr. and Mrs. Harwick before two days ago?”
“No, I did not.”
“I apologize. Mrs. Harwick was under the impression that you and Kenny Newman were seeing each other.”
This woman was smart. I couldn’t be sure, but I had the distinct feeling she was testing me again. I considered the possibility that Becca had already spilled her guts to Detective McKenzie and told her everything: that she was secretly dating Kenny, that she was pregnant, that Kenny had left her when he found out. McKenzie probably also knew that Becca had told me everything that morning when I found her crying her eyes out in the master bathroom. McKenzie had laid out a little piece of bait, and now she was waiting to see if I would snatch it up. Would I tell her everything I knew about Becca and Kenny? Or would I keep some secrets to myself?
I said, “I don’t know where Mrs. Harwick got that impression, but I think you should probably talk to Becca about Kenny.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t feel right telling you things that Becca told me in confidence. If she hasn’t already told you, I think you should ask her what’s happening in her life right now. I’m not sure it has any bearing on the investigation, but it could.”