He had his hands full dealing with his parents. She had a bad feeling the Scotts might know more about August Kaminski than either she or Matthew would be comfortable with.
She texted him later that night.
He didn’t respond.
Jane ignored her unease and went to bed, intent on getting answers the following day.
Chapter 23
Jane and Rayarrived in separate cars at the Harte home at nine in the morning.
Like their fellow Collective families, the Hartes lived a more than comfortable life in a swanky area in Seattle. The four-car garage and palatial estate in Capitol Hill took up five full blocks.
A beautiful young woman dressed in khaki shorts, a floral tank, and sandals let them in and directed them past a tiled entryway, in the middle of which sat a summer floral bouquet that looked as if it belonged in some upscale hotel.
Jane followed her into a comfortable, elegant living area, complete with a roaring fire. Two sets of French doors remained open, leading to a gorgeous inground pool and patio.
A tall, fit man with medium-brown skin, a short, shadow fade haircut, and neatly trimmed goatee and mustache greeted them. Appearing a few years older than Jane, wearing pressed trousers and a light green, collared polo, he stood with a glass in hand.
Jane could all but see the nerves quaking inside him. This would be an interesting meeting.
“Not too early for a drink?” Detective Ryan asked with a smile.
“Not when it’s my wife’s peach iced tea.” Stephen Harte smiled back. “Can I get you some?”
“Please,” Ray said, turned to Jane, and confessed, “I never turn down tea. It’s my one great weakness.”
She was pleased to see Ray’s humor put Stephen Harte at ease.
The woman who’d greeted them at the door brought in a tray with a pitcher and several glasses. “Mrs. Harte is upstairs with the boys. Should she come down?”
Stephen shook his head. “Not at all, Sabrina. I’m sure I can handle whatever the police and FBI have to say.”
Jane studied him. Yep. Something was definitely off.
Harte’s smile looked a little too wide, too welcoming. She wondered if Ray sensed it.
Ray took charge of the conversation. “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Harte.”
They’d agreed beforehand that Ray would be the interrogator. Stephen Harte had a soft spot for cops, his father having retired as one. He also remained a loud voice for progressive change and encouraged men and women of color to step up their involvement in society, in particular in law enforcement and medical careers.
She glanced outside while Ray chatted him up and noticed wet footprints leading from the outside across the wooden floor.
A glance at Harte showed him watching her with a frown while trying to act as if engaged with Ray. When he saw her watching, he blanked his expression.
She pretended to ignore the water and moved to study the pool, where children’s toys and a pool noodle floated. A surreptitious glance at Harte showed him ignoring her, sweat dripping down his temple, despite the cool air blowing from the air vent.
He smiled and laughed at something Ray said.
Jane heard a low thump from upstairs.
“Oh, don’t mind my kids,” Stephen said to Jane. “My wife has a tough time wrangling them.”
Jane nodded, saw his relief, and said to Ray, “I left my notebook in the car. Would you mind if I went out to grab it?”
“Nah, go ahead.” He gave her a look.What’s up?
She gave him one back with a subtle nod at Stephen.Keep him busy.
