Chapter Sixty Five - Liar Liar Pants On Fire

Harriet sat in a hard plastic chair bolted to the floor. It squeaked every time she shifted, so she forced herself to be still. Her spine was straight, her ankles crossed like she was in church. Across the table, the wall was blank, except for the rectangular mirror she couldn't stop glancing at. She hated mirrors that didn't show her reflection—only herself as an object being watched.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Then again. Then again.

The interrogation room smelled of stale coffee, sweat, and industrial cleaner—an odd cocktail of anxiety and bleach. The overhead fluorescent light buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows under her eyes. She'd dabbed concealer on this morning, thinking it might help her feel composed. But here, under the humming glow, she felt more like a ghost trying to blend in among the living.

When the door clicked open, she startled.

Detective Dawson and Calder entered quietly, like they'd practiced how to move without causing ripples. One was broad-shouldered with neatly combed dark hair and a jaw that looked like it had never smiled on purpose. The one other was smaller, older, her eyes sharp and unreadable.

They didn't speak right away. They just sat. Calder pulled a small voice recorder from his pocket, set it on the table, and pressed the red button.

Beep.

Harriet flinched again. Her hands, folded tightly in her lap, had gone clammy.

"Thanks for coming in, Harriet." Dawson said, his voice warm but impersonal, like a receptionist. "We appreciate your cooperation."

Harriet nodded. "Of course." Her voice was high and bright, her customer service voice. "I—I want to help."

She smiled. Reflexively. She hated herself for it.

Dawson glanced at the recorder. "We're just having a conversation, Harriet. You're not under arrest. You're free to leave whenever you like."

"Oh, okay. Good." She hesitated. "But... should I have a lawyer or something? I mean, not that I've done anything wrong—I haven't. But I've never been in a police station before. Not like this."

Rhea gave a soft chuckle, but it didn't warm the room. "You're not in trouble. We're just trying to understand everything that happened. Your perspective is very important to us."

Harriet nodded again, eyes flicking to the mirror. Her own face stared back, blurred by a sheen of fear.

"Firstly, tell us about your relationship with your grandmother." Calder said.

Her breath caught. This was where the script in her head began.

"I loved her." Harriet said immediately. Her voice cracked, then steadied. "She was so involved in our lives.. She was strong. Said she was proud of me and Cody the most. She... always put our family first."

A pause. She bit the inside of her cheek. That's not the whole truth. That's the brochure version.

"But?" Dawson prompted.

Harriet exhaled slowly. "It was complicated. We were close. But she had expectations—like, capital 'E' Expectations. I was the one who didn't cause trouble. That was my role."

She looked down at her lap, at her white-knuckled fingers.

"I was the good girl. Always."

Calder scribbled something in his notebook. "Did you resent her for that?"

"No-..Yes. I don't know." Harriet's voice softened. "It was a lot of pressure. Being the one who has to hold everything together when you're falling apart on the inside."

She blinked quickly. She would not cry. Not here.

"Did Cece ever threaten you? Say things that made you upset?" Dawson asked.

Harriet's head snapped up.

"Not like... all the time. She didn't scream or throw things or anything. But she knew how to hurt people with simple words." She swallowed. "She didn't need to raise her voice. One comment from her could stick with you for months. I was scared to upset her.. it was best to just have her on side."

"What kinds of things would she say to you?"

Harriet's lips twitched. "That I was sometimes too soft. That I was naïve. That if I kept chasing the wrong teenage boys and disappointing my parents, I'd end up forgotten and alone. That I was lucky she still believed in me."

"Was she disappointed in you recently?"

Another hesitation.

Harriet felt her throat tighten. The abortion—the word itself—echoed behind her teeth like a warning siren. Her heart pounded faster.

"She... she didn't know everything. There were some things I didn't tell her." She forced a weak laugh. "If she knew everything I'd done in the last six months, she might've died sooner."

The moment she said it, she gasped. "I—I didn't mean that. I just meant—"

Dawson raised a hand gently. "We understand."

Harriet's face burned. She wanted to vanish into the floor.

Dawson leaned forward with practiced kindness. "Let's go over it again, Harriet. Where were you the night your grandmother, Cece Baldwin, was killed?"

Harriet opened her mouth. Closed it again.

She felt her pulse in her neck, in her wrists, in the back of her tongue.

"I—" Her voice caught.

And then, her mind betrayed her.

The warm glow of the hallway light spilled through the front window, casting long shadows on the faded floral wallpaper. Harriet stepped inside Cece's manor, the familiar creak of the wooden floorboards echoing underfoot. Cece sat in her favorite armchair, the soft ticking of the old grandfather clock filling the silence between them.

"Well, look who finally decided to visit." Cece said, smiling gently, smoothing her silver hair back from her forehead. "I was beginning to think you were too busy for me, with University coming up."

Harriet smiled, feeling a flutter of relief at her grandmother's warmth. "I'm sorry it's been a while. I wanted to come by and talk about university—my midwifery classes start next term. I'm actually excited about it."

Cece's eyes softened. "Midwifery, yes. A fine field to study."

Harriet took a slow breath, trying to steady the nerves humming beneath her skin. "Yeah, I think it suits me. I've been reading up on it, and I think it'll be good."

Cece reached over and patted Harriet's hand. "I'm glad you're finding something you love. You are going to make us so proud. The true Baldwin way."

There was a pause, and then Cece's gaze sharpened slightly.

"So." she said, voice lighter but probing, "How are things with Sebastian?"

Harriet stiffened almost imperceptibly. She kept her smile polite but forced. "We haven't really talked much lately, grandma. Things have been... a little complicated."

Cece studied her carefully, as if reading between invisible lines. "Complicated is putting it mildly. You seem... different. More guarded. What's going on, Harriet?"

The warmth drained from Cece's face as she leaned in, her voice lowering. "I hear things, you know. From your little friend Finola. She told Emma, from your maths class.. Emma told her mother. And her mother... well, she works at the same studio as me. The news travels fast, Harriet."

Harriet's heart jolted, cold sweat breaking out across her forehead. She swallowed hard, eyes darting toward the unopened scotch on the side table.

"Don't play coy with me." Cece snapped suddenly, voice sharp like a whip. "What were you thinking?!"

Harriet's voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with panic. "I wasn't ready. I... I couldn't be a mother—not then. Not like that."

Cece's eyes narrowed. "Not ready?! You're old enough to take midwifery classes but not ready to face your own consequences?"

Harriet bit her lip, tears stinging. "It wasn't planned. I didn't want to ruin things for everyone."

Cece's expression hardened. "And what about your parents? They deserve to know the truth. If you don't get your act together, Harriet, I will tell them myself."

The threat hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable.

Harriet's fingers trembled as she clenched them in her lap. She wanted to run, to disappear, but the weight of Cece's gaze held her frozen.

Cece's words echoed in Harriet's mind like a verdict: "If you don't get your act together, Harriet, I will tell them myself." The room felt suddenly smaller, the soft ticking of the grandfather clock pounding like a drum in Harriet's ears. Her throat tightened, and a cold wave of panic swept through her chest.

Her eyes flicked to the side table where the glass of scotch waited, untouched, glimmering faintly in the lamplight. The small paper packet in her coat pocket seemed to burn against her ribs, each second stretching unbearably long.

"I... I need some air." Harriet stammered, pushing herself up from the chair too fast. Her legs trembled, and she steadied herself against the back of the velvet sofa. The smooth fabric was cool beneath her fingers, a stark contrast to the heat rushing up her neck.

Cece turned away slowly, her expression unreadable. "Harriet." she said quietly, her eyes looking elsewhere. 

"You don't have to go down this path. Don't embarrass us. Don't tarnish the Baldwin name, you know better than this."

Harriet's heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst. The weight of guilt pressed on her like a stone, crushing and relentless. Her hand slipped into her coat pocket, fingers closing tightly around the pills she had crushed carefully earlier that evening.

She stepped toward the minibar table, her breath shaky, mind racing. Just one pill in the drink, she told herself. No pain, no more threats, no more shame. She could be free. They all could.

Hurry up.

Harriet do it.

Back at the police station, Harriet swallowed hard. She forced herself to breathe evenly, counting silently to four, to steady the storm inside her chest.

"I was... I was home with my siblings." she said finally, voice wavering but controlled. "We were watching TV. I didn't leave the house that night."

The female detective's eyes narrowed, searching for any flicker of doubt. "Your siblings?"

"Yes." Harriet nodded quickly, voice firming. "Aura, Jackson, Cody, Harper. They'll confirm it. We all watched a movie together.. I think it was Scream 3?

Inside, her mind screamed. Lying. Lying. Lying. But she knew better than to admit the truth. Not now.

The male detective leaned forward, voice softer but firm. "Okay, thank you Harriet. We will give you a call if we need anything else."

Harriet's fingers clenched tighter, nails digging into her palms. Her mind raced back to the tight knot of fear and regret, the crushed pills left untouched. She imagined her grandmother's disapproving glare, the threat still hanging in the air like smoke.