Hope's Peak (Harper and Lane #1)(45)

“Got it. You’re the boss,” Weinberg says.

Harper looks at Albie. “Don’t you say anything.”

“Was I about to?”



Esmerelda Escovado stands to one side and tells them to go on through to the living room.

Harper notices the pictures on the walls. Hugo, his parents, and what looks like a younger sister.

“I’ll just go wake him. He’s still asleep,” Esmerelda says. “Please, sit down. I won’t be a minute.”

Harper smiles. “Thank you.”

There are two sofas and a chair. Albie sits in the chair, and Harper sits on the sofa to the right. When Hugo and his mother come downstairs, they will intuitively choose to sit on the middle sofa, as it’s unoccupied—when you board a bus or train, you hunt for two free seats together. You don’t just sit right next to a stranger . . . unless that’s your thing, of course.

“Detectives, this is my son, Hugo,” Esmerelda says.

Hugo enters the living room sheepishly. “Uh . . . hi.”

Harper nods. “Morning, Hugo. Please, take a seat. I am Detective Jane Harper. That there is Detective Albie Goode. We’re with Hope’s Peak PD.”

Hugo has turned a definite shade of white. He sits down and his mother perches next to him. “Is my son in trouble?”

“Not right now,” Harper says. “Hugo, we’re investigating a very serious crime.”

The kid swallows. “Okay.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Gertie Wilson?” Harper asks him.

Realization dawns on his face. He sits forward, eyes wide. “Gertie? Has something happened to Gertie?”

Harper waves him back. “Slow it down a notch. When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“About three days ago, I guess.”

“Where’s your phone?”

He digs into his sweatpants pocket for his cell phone, swipes the screen, and hands it to her. Harper walks across the room and gives it to Albie.

She stands in front of Esmerelda and Hugo. “I’ve been led to believe you and Gertie were going out?”

“Yes.”

Esmerelda looks at him. “Really? I thought you were just friends.”

Hugo shakes his head. “No, Mom. I didn’t want to say anything because, well, you know. Her being black and all.”

“Oh, Hugo! You know I am not a racist!”

He puts her hands in his. “Mom, I didn’t know how you’d react. You and Pop are pretty old-fashioned with a lot of things.”

Esmerelda’s face flushes red. “I’m very angry. Really, I am,” she says, looking up at Harper. “We came here from Mexico thirty years ago, as immigrants. We have sought acceptance from black, white, Asian . . . We are all Americans. I never gave my son any indication I would frown upon such a pairing.”

Before Harper can reply, Hugo is on point. “I know, Mom, but Maria Torres down the street introduced her black boyfriend to her parents. Half an hour later her Dad’s getting hauled downtown by the police for threatening behavior.”

“Well, I can assure you that will never happen here,” Esmerelda says.

A big coffee table sits atop a white rug in the middle of the room. Harper perches on the edge of it so she can look them both in the eye.

“We found Gertie’s body left in a crop field just outside of town. It’s taken all this time to get into her phone and retrieve her call logs and her messages,” she says, looking squarely at Hugo.

“She . . . you found her . . . what?” Hugo mumbles, shaking his head. “It can’t be true.”

“I’m afraid it is, son,” Harper assures him. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask this. I need to know where you were three days ago, Hugo. Her last message to you was at four thirty in the afternoon. I need to know where you were from four thirty, till the following morning.”

Without hesitation, Esmerelda says, “He was here with us. We ate out at Lorenzo’s in town, had pizza, then we went and watched a movie as a family.”

“Uh-huh.” Harper glances at Albie. “How’re you doing with that?”

He shrugs. “It’s all here,” he says, handing it to Hugo, then sitting back down.

“Okay,” Harper says. “I’m going to need to see some kind of receipt. And maybe ticket stubs for the movie theater if you have them.”

Esmerelda is instantly on her feet. “I keep all that stuff. I’ll go get them.”

Hugo is very quiet. He’s watching the floor, lost in his own thoughts.

“Hey,” Harper says in a soft voice, sitting next to him. “Are you okay?”

“Gertie’s . . . gone?”

“I’m afraid so.”

A single tear rolls down the boy’s cheek and falls into his lap. “I can’t believe it.”

Harper feels her heart sink. There’s no way this boy—this kid—killed Gertie. He loved her. She can see it.

“I’m so sorry, Hugo.”

Esmerelda returns with the receipts and stubs, just as Harper asked. It clearly says three medium pizzas, four Cokes, and four sundaes on the receipt for Lorenzo’s . . . unless Esmerelda’s husband and daughter are exceptionally large and have voracious appetites, then Hugo was with them.