Silent Harbour

Chapter 20: A Family Affair

November 4, 2025

"Wait, what do you mean?" I ask in bewilderment. If Henri didn't have my full attention before, he sure has it now. "Are you talking about Erin Halstead?"

"Erm–," Henri looks at me sheepishly, "I never knew her name. I stopped by the house during lunch and she was inside. She didn't see me or anything, I just saw her through the window. Looked like she left something for you on the kitchen table, like an envelope or something."

"Yeah, that sounds like Erin alright. Wait, can we get back to what you first said? Erin and Peter dated?" It's hard to mask the disbelief from my voice. Growing up, Peter had never been a fan of hers, and from our last conversation, the afternoon before his death, he hadn't painted her in the best light.

"I spent a fair chunk of my nights over at Mr. R's house those last few weeks before he died. I usually got a second wind for food late at night, at which point I'd raid his pantry. There were a few nights when I'd be on my way down the stairs when I'd overhear him talking to someone in the living room. I'm not proud of this, but I'd stop to eavesdrop on them. After hearing the same voice in the living room a couple nights in a row, I snuck a peak to put a face to the mystery voice. It was definitely this Erin person that I saw."

"But Henri, what would make you think that Mr. R and Erin were dating though?"

"They were standing awfully close together for two people to not be dating," he states childishly. "Plus, why else would she be at the house at that hour? 11pm isn't exactly prime tea time."

"Whatever the case may be, thank you for entrusting me with the information. Erin's the agent handling the sale of my parents' house. We were classmates way back when. Nothing else of note really." I respond, hoping Henri's curiosity is satisfied and the topic can be put to rest.

Although I doubt Henri has ill intentions with sharing this information, I can't take it quite too seriously. He is, afterall, just a teenager who isn't even one-hundred-percent sure what it is that he overheard those nights. If there's anything my career in investigative journalism has taught me, it's to always factcheck my sources. Luckily, Erin dropping off that envelope full of documents for me to sign offers the perfect excuse to see her sooner rather than later.

Pulling out my cell phone, I open up my text thread with Erin and begin drafting a text to send to her.

Hey Erin. Thanks for dropping off those documents. I had a couple questions, and I figured it's best to meet with you before I accidentally make a gazillion mistakes when I fill them out. Are you free to meet at the Grill tomorrow night? Let me know.

Before I can put my phone down, it dings, alerting me to Erin's response.

Hey. I'm afraid the next few days are jam packed with meetings and showings. Could we meet on the 7th instead? Any time will do.

I quickly acknowledge her text with a 'thumbs up' and Henri and I make our way to the car in silence.

**********

When we get home, Henri retreats to 'his room,' also known as the loft.

The draw of spending a few quiet hours reading out on the front porch is too tempting to dismiss. Despite the situational irony, there's nothing quite like the thrill of a classic murder mystery novel, and Miss Agatha Christie is undoubtedly the queen of that sector. I don't know exactly how much time passes before the creak of the floorboard startles me out of the fictional world.

"Emery Pierce?" Judging by his face, the man standing in front of me can't be more than a couple years older than me. His attire – rounded glasses, pin-stripe shirt, and matching tan leather belt and shoes – ages him in such a way that I'm sure he intended as a tactic to appear more intimidating than he really is.