Friends Like These(70)

Mike Gaffney is a successful local business owner, sure. But pillar of the community is a stretch. Still, this is not a good fight to be having.

“Simply trying to advance this investigation methodically, sir,” I say, more steadily now. Because this is ridiculous. “Ruling out Mike Gaffney gives us the opportunity to focus on the more viable leads.”

Seldon crosses his arms. “What leads?”

“For instance, that individual who left halfway through the weekend is being held in interview room two. He was the victim of a physical assault perpetrated by one of the individuals in the car, perhaps the deceased. And his alibi isn’t credible.”

Seldon narrows his eyes at me and works his jaw some more.

“Fine. Get back to it then. But be sure to stay focused, Scutt,” he says, nostrils flaring. “This investigation is make-or-break for you.”





STEPHANIE


SATURDAY, 4:52 P.M.

“Thank you, Stephanie,” Jonathan said as we reached the top of the steps. Back at his house, finally, at nearly 5:00 p.m. “I couldn’t have made it through all that without you.”

“No problem,” I said, like it had been no big thing. Even though I was pretty sure Jonathan, in fact, could not have done it without me, and I had a pounding headache from arguing with so many different bank employees.

We’d had to drive all the way to Albany and back— forty-five minutes each way— visiting four banks to get together the $20,000 Jonathan now had in two envelopes. He’d also arranged for a wire of the remaining $11,000 to the contractors for Monday. All we needed now were the details on where to send it. Peter seemed concerned that the contractors weren’t going to be satisfied with the delay on the balance. Unhelpful, given that we had no alternatives. Thus far, that was Peter: completely unhelpful.

“No, I mean it, really.” Jonathan glanced back toward Peter, who was some distance behind. “Also, for the record, I do know this situation didn’t have to be— ” His voice cut out. “But Peter is a good person— he’s just . . . immature.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” I said. “That’s the point of old friends. No excuses required.”

“I know,” Jonathan said. “But it is kind of excruciating, all of this happening in front of you. I just feel so ashamed.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel ashamed, believe me.”

“No, no. You’ve never made me feel bad about even my worst choices.” He considered for a moment. “But somehow you also never pretended they were okay either,” he said. “I’ve been grateful for that, even if I haven’t always admitted it. I love Maeve and Derrick and Keith— but they’re a little too good at pretending.”

I was about to say something snarky, to joke, to deflect. Instead, I put a hand on Jonathan’s back. “Anytime,” I said. “Besides, you aren’t the only person who’s had shitty romantic taste lately.”

“Wait.” Jonathan mimed shock. “You had a romance?”

“Ha ha,” I said mildly. “Yeah, and when I fuck up, I fuck up spectacularly.”

“That seems fair, actually.”

I held his gaze. “Promise me one thing, though?”

“Anything.”

“Work this out with Peter before you get married. And work it out for real. I’m sure he regrets how this played out, but that doesn’t actually make it okay.”

“I know that. I just need some time to process, that’s all.”

“And as your friend, I’m obligated to remind you that not every process has to end in forgiveness.”

Inside, the house was eerily silent.

“Where is everyone?” Peter asked.

“Hello?” Jonathan called out.

“Out here,” Maeve called from the living room. “I’m going to get out of the way and give you all a minute,” Peter whispered loudly as he headed for the steps, warmly squeezing Jonathan’s arm.

Maeve was sitting alone at the center of one of the red couches, looking wound like a coil. “Did you pick up the money?” she asked, with a forced smile.

Jonathan nodded. “Twenty thousand,” he said. “The rest will have to get wired on Monday.”

“Great, so we can go then?” Maeve stood. “I mean, we should, right? Leave town. Considering everything that’s happened.”

“We still need to actually get the money to them,” Jonathan said. “They’re calling Peter soon, hopefully.”

“Oh.” Maeve brought a manicured hand to her lips. “I see.”

“Maeve, what’s wrong?” I asked. “Where are Derrick and Keith?”

Jonathan looked around. “They’re back, right?”

Maeve nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “Yeah, they’re back.”

“Maeve, come on,” I pressed. “You look about to crawl out of your skin.”

“Keith is trying to get out of going to rehab.”

Jonathan waved a hand. “No, no, we talked about it. He’ll go somewhere. He just doesn’t want it to be Bright Horizons.”

Maeve shook her head. “I don’t think so. I just went up to check on him, and he’s saying that he needs to go see Finch instead.”