Wednesday, December 30: eight days after the murder
6:15 p.m.
Since no one but Paul Durant seemed interested in speaking to me, and even he didn’t want to talk about his client or his girlfriend, I busied myself looking at paintings and trying to figure out which ones were Virgil’s until my mother came over to tell me we were leaving and handed me my coat. I guess that meant I was going too, even though I had my own car. My dad was probably afraid what I would do without a chaperone. I didn’t fight it though. I didn’t think there was anyone else in here who would talk to me, and being this close to June creeped me out.
Out on the porch, when I stopped to pull my scarf around my neck, I spotted Harvey Hackett. He’d just gotten out of his car and was heading toward his front door.
“You guys go ahead,” I said to my parents. “I need to chat with Harvey for a minute. Thanks for bringing me. I’ll call you guys later!” I turned away before they could protest and hurried next door.
“Hi, Harvey!” I waved, catching his attention just as he slid his key into the lock.
“Hi, Maddie. How are you?”
“Fine,” I said. “I went with my parents to pay my respects to the Prousts.”
He looked puzzled by that, but nodded. “I understand. I would’ve gone, but…” he trailed off.
“Yeah, I imagine it’s not fun having neighbors you don’t really get along with,” I said. “I’m sorry about that. It must be hard to look at people who can be so mean to animals. Especially the way you and your wife feel about cats.” I watched him closely.
He reddened a little and glanced down at the driveway before he shrugged. “We got along fine.” His tone wasn’t convincing, and he must have realized it.
My mind was racing frantically on how to get him to talk about Virgil and the board without sounding like I was fishing. I should’ve been more prepared, but I’d seen an opportunity and grabbed it without really knowing my next move. “I just met his art agent, actually. I had no idea Virgil was an artist.”
Harvey squinted at me in a way that made me think he had no use for artists. “Yes, I heard that too. Anyway, it was nice to see you—”
“Harvey. I know you and Virgil were on the Audubon board together,” I burst out, then cringed as soon as the words came out of my mouth. So much for smooth.
He gave me an odd look, his hand dropping from his doorknob. “We were,” he said. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
He shrugged. “Virgil was really not that involved. I think he only did it for his résumé. He wasn’t very reliable.”
“I had no idea you were part of that organization,” I said. “Don’t they hate cats?” I blinked innocently at him.
Harvey’s face turned even more red. “No! I mean, birds are the priority of course, but the group has nothing against cats. Why are you asking about the board anyway?”
“I’m really curious about it,” I said. “I get that Virgil and his wife didn’t want the cats here. But I heard there was a lot of controversy about whether the board should get involved with the situation here. Since you and Virgil were the two residents on the board…” I let my sentence trail off.
“Where on earth did you hear that?” Harvey’s laugh was forced. “Listen, the only controversy was me telling Virgil a few times that if he wanted to be on the board he should probably show up more, but that’s it. The topic of feral cats always comes up in one way or another at Audubon meetings all over the country. It’s because there are definitely some people who blame the cats for bird populations declining. But here, we did our best to turn people’s attention elsewhere. We have a new report on how many birds we’ve lost in this part of the country in the past fifty years under review, for instance, and I wanted to make sure we didn’t lose focus on that.”
I nodded, pretending to understand. “So Virgil wasn’t really into this whole thing. You think it was June making him do it?”
He nodded. “I do.” He glanced behind him as if he thought June might be listening. “In Virgil’s defense, June … she’s bats, you know. Well, I don’t have to tell you. You’ve seen it.”
“I have,” I said sympathetically. “She gave you a hard time too, I heard.”
Harvey nodded again, emphatically, seemingly happy to point out June’s shortcomings. “She’s at my door all the time, telling me how awful my children are and how they’re in her yard doing hideous things. I can only imagine what it was like to live with her. Almost felt sorry for him.” He looked like he wanted to go on, but caught himself and shut his mouth. “Why so many questions about Virgil, though?”
“I’m sure you know my friend is their number-one suspect in his murder,” I said.
He nodded. Opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.
“She didn’t do it,” I said.
“And you’re trying to find out if someone else did? That’s a big job, Maddie. And possibly a dangerous one.”
Was it me, or was there something threatening to his tone? I shrugged. “I’m helping my grandfather. He’s doing some private investigating.”
Harvey frowned. “Into Virgil’s murder?”
I hesitated for dramatic effect, then nodded. “Yes. And honestly, I’m really worried about June.” I leaned closer, conspiratorially. “I saw her take his phone and smash it. I can’t help but wonder if she was disturbed enough to … well.”
“Oh, she’s got some problems, alright,” Harvey said. “I wouldn’t doubt that she’d be capable of something like that. I said as much to Monica.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re serious?”
He nodded. “She had a temper.”
I didn’t disagree, but he’d thrown her under the bus pretty quickly. “Thanks, Harvey. Hey, one more question,” I said, as if I’d just remembered. “Was Virgil the one who brought up the feral cat issue to the Audubon board? And the poison petition?”
He frowned, then glanced around again as if he thought someone was eavesdropping. “I shouldn’t be talking about this, but yes, he was.”
I made a sympathetic noise. “I know you and Monica care so much about the cats. It must’ve really bothered you.”
“Oh, it certainly did,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I just remember being so shocked about him introducing the petition to poison them. I was the first to vote against it.”
He was a liar. A bald-faced liar. What else was he capable of?
“Daddy!”
Harvey whipped around at the sound of his son’s voice. One of the kids stood inside the front door, waving madly.
“Daddy, I need to talk to you!”
Harvey glanced back at me, clearly relieved. “I have to run, Maddie. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” He pulled the door open and stepped inside. He turned to look at me one last time before he ushered his son through the door, pausing, then closing it firmly behind him.
I walked to my car, trying to put this information together in my mind. Harvey had argued with Virgil in the middle of the street because neither of them wanted their wives to know what they were really up to. He’d lied about his stance regarding the cats and tried to make it look like Virgil was the bad guy at the Audubon board. And now he was flat-out lying to me about all of it.
Could he have also lied about where he was that night? Could he have left his house, parked out of sight, then snuck back to the neighborhood to bash Virgil over the head with a Christmas gnome?