Page 9 of The Gallagher Place
“I guess Harmon preferred it that way,” Ariel said. “Until he didn’t.”
“How do you mean?”
“Harmon reached out to your father, but did he ever reach out to you?” Ariel asked.
“No,” Marlowe said. “I’d never heard his name before today.”
“How often are you up here?” Ariel asked, each question following quickly after the previous one. She was making up for her silence in front of the group. Ben had a passive bearing now, leaning back in his chair and flipping through his notes, as though completely at ease with Ariel taking the lead. They had a kind of shorthand that was indecipherable to Marlowe. How nice it was to know someone else so completely, to read a whole speech in the tilt of their head, the raising of their brows.
“I’m here for a week or two out of every month,” Marlowe said. “Sometimes longer in December or in the summer.”
“What do you do for work?” Ariel asked.
“I’m an illustrator,” Marlowe said. “Mostly children’s books. I can work from here or the city.”
“Ah, anything I would know?” Ben asked.
Marlowe cocked her head. “I don’t know. Do you have kids?”
Ariel’s chuckle was brief but genuine, and it relaxed Marlowe somewhat.
“No, not yet,” Ben said, and then paused. His mind seemed to go elsewhere.
Ariel collected the reins once again. “Last night, you had dinner with your family, and then what?”
“I stayed up talking with my brothers,” Marlowe said. “I went to bed around eleven, maybe a bit later.”
“And you didn’t hear anything? See anything?” Ariel asked.
“No.” Marlowe shook her head. “Nothing unusual. Just some coyotes howling around two. I woke up for a few seconds, but I didn’t get out of bed.”
“What about since you’ve been back from the city? Have you seen or interacted with anyone besides your family?”
“Not that I can think of,” Marlowe said. “There are hunters with permission to come and go in the early hours, but I’m typically not around to see that. And I’ve only run into neighbors on the road.”
“Who?”
“Charlie Beacon. He’s out with his dogs often,” Marlowe said. “There’s a weekender family at the top of the road too. The Hopewells. They sometimes take walks with their three young daughters.”
The Hopewells had the second-largest Dutch colonial house on the road, the first being the Fishers’. Marlowe thought their renovations looked out of place, far too shiny. But Frank and Glory hadfully embraced Mrs. Hopewell, who was British and charismatic and always threw a Boxing Day party.
“And who lives on the property across the river?” Ariel asked. “I’m a bit turned around. GPS isn’t very strong out here.”
Marlowe nodded in acknowledgment. “Sarah and Bob Chase have a house on that land. I couldn’t say exactly where the property line is, but my dad would know.”
“Thank you. We’ll be talking to your neighbors tomorrow,” Ariel said. “Harmon’s friends and family as well.” She paused and made a point of refocusing her attention on Marlowe. “It’s awful what happened. But don’t worry, we’ll piece it together.”
She wasn’t sure exactly what her face had betrayed to Ariel, but for a moment Marlowe felt like they were the only ones in the room.
“Thank you, Marlowe, that’s all.” Ariel and Ben stood. They looked absurd together; Ariel was so much shorter. Marlowe could hear her mother’s voice in her head:A woman of that height ought to wear heels, if she wants to play at a career.
Marlowe nodded and rocked herself up from the chair, pulling down the hem of her sweater as she rose. She smiled, as if to thank the detectives for their time spent in the comfort of her own home, and reached for the door handle.
“Oh, before you go, I wanted to ask you one more thing.” Ben’s voice came from behind her, as if this incidental thought had just occurred to him.
“Of course, anything.” Marlowe looked over her shoulder, her fingers still resting on the brass knob.
“A girl went missing around here a while back. Isn’t that right?”
