Demitria Kofatos didn’t know anything about art, but there was nothing else to look at from where she was sitting. The two-story-tall canvas in the Saugatuck visitors lobby looked expensive. Sure, it also looked like a bomb had gone off inside a paint store, but she had seen similar paint-bomb art in the palatial homes that dotted Westport and in Manhattan at MoMA. Fancy stuff. Before she ran out of things to think about art, Saugatuck’s security guy returned with a pleasant-looking woman walking beside him.
Nora Carleton was tall—five foot twelve, she liked to say—with a chin-length auburn bob that framed large brown eyes. She was wearing a tan quarter-zip sweater over green corduroy pants and hiking shoes, which was not what the detective expected from the chief lawyer of the world’s largest hedge fund, but then Demi didn’t really know what a hedge fund was beyond the more-money-than-God thing.
The detective was shorter, with a friendly, heart-shaped face. She wore her thick dark hair in a low bun, from which escaped a few curls, no matter how much hairspray she used. Demi couldn’t shake the feeling that in another time and place Nora was someone she would like. But this wasn’t some other time and place. She stood and presented her badge. “Ms. Carleton, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I need to ask you about your canoe.”
“Of course,” Nora answered with a polite smile, “but I’m surprised you make these visits personally. I promise I’m going to get it out of there before the thirty-first.”
“It’s not that,” Demi replied. “Is there somewhere we can chat, privately?”
“Sure,” Nora answered, gesturing to the glass-enclosed conference room connected to the lobby. “In there.”
Turning to the security chief, she added, “Thanks, Laslo, you don’t need to hang around. I’m guessing somebody stole it. And, yes, I know how many times you told me to actually use the lock.”
He smiled and stepped aside as the two women walked to the conference room. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Once they were seated, Demi confirmed Nora owned a red canoe that she stored on the racks at Compo Beach. “That looks like it,” she said when the detective produced a photo of it sitting on the dock. “I have no idea what the serial number is but that looks like mine. I also have no idea why it’s on the dock.”
“Well, I do,” Demi said. “It was found this morning.”
Nora shook her head and smiled. “I don’t want to rat out my coworkers, but everybody uses it. We were out there yesterday for the Compo sunset, but I can’t remember who had it. Still, I’m glad you found it. Is there some kind of fine because it was loose?”
Demi reached into her bag for a folder. “No, no, that’s not what this is. We’re trying to identify somebody in connection with the canoe.”
“I’m not tracking,” Nora said, tilting her head and noticing for the first time that the detective’s short fingernails were painted black.
Demi slid the folder toward Nora. “We’re hoping maybe you recognize this woman.” She pinched the top edge of the closed folder with her fingers and paused to look at Nora. Still watching Nora’s face, Demi flipped the folder open, revealing an eight-by-ten color photo of the dead woman in the bottom of the canoe.
Nora squinted at the picture for several seconds before it hit.
Then her vision narrowed for an instant to a single dot before widening to a cloudy haze. Her ears thumped, and the sensation radiated down her arms. It was hard to breathe, but she brought a hand to her mouth, loudly pulling air between her fingers.
Control yourself Nora, you’ve seen worse than this. Goddammit, control yourself.
She closed her eyes, took one more deep breath, and dropped her hand. When she looked up and spoke, her voice was flat and professional, like the prosecutor she had once been.
“I can identify the woman in the photo as Helen Carmichael, the Chief Operating Officer of this company. When did this happen? Have you made arrests? Where does the investigation stand?”
Demi jerked back in her chair, retracting her chin to signal her surprise and then leaned in with a raised voice, punching words for emphasis.
“Wait just a minute. This woman was found murdered in your canoe and her body was discovered this morning and you’re asking me for investigative updates? Nope, that’s not how this goes. How about you give me an update? Where were you last night, Ms. Carleton, and what was your relationship with the victim? Did you or anyone you know have reason to want her dead?”
Nora missed Demi’s intensity because she was lost in her own thoughts. I moved here to get away from this kind of violence. How the hell did Helen end up dead in my canoe?