Chapter 8

8

"Why is it every time a murder investigation comes along, you find a way to get involved?"

Foley was standing behind his desk, staring out the office window, shaking his head.

"Hey, Claudette came to me," I said. "She's Cordelia's sister."

"Of course she did. And I'll just bet Darlene put her up to it."

"Even if you're right, it doesn't mean my mother thinks you're incapable of solving Cordelia's murder. I suppose she thinks we make a stronger team when we work together."

"A team, huh? You know, all of this would have been a whole lot easier if you would have just come back to work as a detective."

"It's a whole lot easier to work for myself," I said. "No offense."

"What's easier is that working for yourself has made you believe you can justify breaking the rules."

I crossed one leg over the other. "Within reason."

Whitlock, who was standing by the door, arms crossed, chimed in with, "Not that anyone asked me, but I think working together on this investigation, or any murder investigation, is a swell idea. Georgiana's got the same knack for solving murders that her father had."

"You're right," Foley said. "No one asked you."

Foley's demeanor was off today, and not by a little—by a lot.

I was used to getting a little pushback from him, but not as much as he was giving me now.

"What's going on with you?" I asked.

"Why do you assume something's going on?"

"You're giving me a lot more flack than usual," I said.

"Maybe more flack is what you need," he said. "You ever think of that?"

Whitlock and I exchanged worried glances, and I went quiet, trying to make sense of the changing tide and what I was going to do about it.

Whitlock thumbed toward the hallway. "I'm gonna go … and, ahh, yeah, get a cup of coffee. Give the two of you a chance to talk."

He walked out, closing the door behind him.

Gee, thanks.

Leave me with Grumpy McGrump Face in my time of need.

Foley looked at me, and I looked at him, and he hunched over, arms stretched out, pressing his hands onto his desk. He closed his eyes and huffed a long sigh.

"I've always come to you when I've been hired to investigate a murder, offering to share information and suggesting we work together," I said. "I don't know what more to say. Cordelia's sister asked if I would take the case, and I said yes."

"You've said what you wanted to say. There isn't anything more to discuss."

Knowing the next thing I had queued up to come out of my mouth wouldn't bode well for either one of us, I stood, heading for the door while I still maintained the slightest sense of decorum.

"If you want to talk about my conversation with Cordelia's sister sometime, let me know," I said. "I have other places to be right now."

"Hang on a minute, Georgiana. Don't go."

"I don't have it in me to continue this conversation. If you're going to keep talking to me the way you have been, I'm done listening. I can only hold my tongue for so long, a fact you well know. Do yourself a favor and … you know, stop before you push me too far."

"I'm not … I didn't mean to upset you. It's not you I'm angry with, all right? I have a lot on my mind."

I had a hand on the doorknob.

Leaving would be easy.

But everything in me said staying was what he needed right now.

I turned.

"Care to talk about whatever's going on with you?" I asked. "You're upset about something—it's obvious."

Foley seemed to be considering the olive branch I'd extended.

"Maybe later," he said. "I would like to know what the sister had to say. Stay for a bit, and I promise to make up for my previous behavior."

He took a seat at his desk, and I remained standing, leaning against the wall as I thought about where to begin. "Cordelia wrote her sister a couple of letters before she died. Did you know?"

"Nope. Go on."

"She read the first one and didn't respond, and then she received a second one close to the time Cordelia was murdered. She didn't read it until after she learned Cordelia was dead." I reached into my handbag, pulling out the envelopes Claudette had given to me. "I want to keep these, but you can make copies."

He glanced at the envelopes. "What's in the letters?"

"Before I get into the letters, you should know Cordelia and Claudette were estranged and had been for decades."

"For what reason?"

"They were both in love with the same man."

Foley raised a brow. "Ohhhh. That'll do it."

"It seems Claudette knew him first. She fell for him, and then he met Cordelia, and his affection shifted from one sister to the other, according to Claudette."

"Are you referring to Marlon Bennett, or are we talking about a different man?"

"It was Marlon. In Cordelia's first letter, she tried to make amends with her sister. The second letter is much the same except for the ending when Cordelia makes a comment about fearing for her life."

"She give a reason why?"

"She did not, but Claudette believes her sister had seen or overheard something that led to her murder."

"Funny thing to suggest, given they weren't in contact with each other, isn't it? Pure speculation on Claudette's part, if you ask me."

"Maybe not. When Cordelia was younger, she had a hobby of observing people. She'd jot things down that she saw or overheard in a notebook."

"Interesting."

"When you searched the house, did you find any notebooks or journals? Any notes she'd taken anywhere?"

"Nothing, and we were thorough in our search of her place. Looks like she'd given up her childhood habit."

"What about notes she might have typed on a computer or another tech device?"

Foley shook his head. "We didn't find a desktop or a laptop in the house. There was a tablet. It had a handful of eBooks downloaded onto it. Looked like the type of books men would read. My guess is the tablet belonged to Marlon. I took it he preferred reading digital books, while Cordelia preferred physical ones. There are stacks of them all throughout the house. We opened several of the books she had. All of them have book plates on the inside cover in Cordelia's name."

Sounded like Foley may be right: Cordelia had given up the hobby of eavesdropping altogether.

Or maybe she was still doing it, but she no longer wrote down her observations.

I liked the theory about Cordelia seeing or knowing something she shouldn't have. It was a solid motive for murder that made sense to me. What didn't make sense was the fact that Cordelia didn't get out of the house much after Marlon died, making the odds she'd witnessed or overheard something she shouldn't have slim at best.

"Did you hear what I just said?" Foley asked.

"Sorry, I was just running some theories in my mind."

"Care to share?"

"I think we were on the right track the night the murder took place. The attack on Cordelia could have been a targeted one. It's just, if she was a recluse after Marlon died, I don't see her being involved in many situations where she had the chance to see or hear something she shouldn't have."

"Even so, it's a theory I'd like to pursue. So far, I can't figure out how to give it legs, you know?"

"This is why I like the idea of Claudette hiring my agency to look into her sister's murder," I said. "If we work together, sharing our information, I believe we'll uncover what happened to Cordelia, and why, in no time."

He looked at me, saying nothing for a moment.

"Hey, listen," he said. "About my behavior when you first got here. I didn't mean to get snippy with you."

I guessed it was the closest thing I would get to an apology.

"We all have bad days," I said. "I get it. I know I'm not always easy to deal with, but you deal with me anyway."

"I want to talk to you about what's going on. Believe me, I do. You and I, we've always been straight with each other. It's just … I'm not supposed to say anything to anyone."

"Not supposed to say anything about …?"

He breathed out a long sigh. "Your sister."

My sister?

Now I wasn't going anywhere until he told me everything.

"What about Phoebe?" I asked.

Foley and Phoebe had started dating two years before. Given he was the chief of police and was now part of the family had its advantages.

It also had its disadvantages.

When we first met, he hadn't been keen on the two of us working the same investigations. At the time, he'd just been hired as a detective for the county, and the idea of a private investigator coming in and solving a case before he did didn't go over well. Over time, we'd learned to work together, and I was certain his relationship with my sister played a role in it.

"Is there something about Phoebe I should know?" I asked.

He laced his hands behind his head, thinking. "If I tell you, she might kill me."

I shot him a wink. "And I might kill you if you don't."

"If I'm being honest, I've wanted to talk to you about it."

"So talk. If Phoebe gets upset because you did, I'll deal with her."

Another pause and then, "She had a miscarriage, Georgiana."

A miscarriage.

I hung my head.

Of all the things I thought he would say, Phoebe having a miscarriage wasn't one.

"When did it happen?" I asked.

"Last week."

"I didn't even know she was pregnant. I don't think anyone did."

"We were planning on telling everyone once we hit the three-month mark, which would have been next week."

"I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

"I didn't even know the two of you were trying for a baby."

Phoebe had been married once before, to a man named Jack. He was her high school sweetheart and a man I thought she'd be with for the rest of her life. He'd been murdered four years earlier, shot in the backyard one night while their daughter Lark looked on. She was seven years old at the time.

As the killer was making his exit, he'd spotted Lark staring at him through her bedroom window. Knowing she was a witness to the murder, he abducted her. At the time, I was off grid, mourning my own daughter, who'd died in a tragic pool accident. Prior to her death, I'd worked as a detective for San Luis Obispo County. After, I detached from everyone … until I learned Lark had been kidnapped. It compelled me to return home to Cambria. Lark's kidnapping had given me purpose and a new lease on life. Not too long after, Lark was found, alive and as well as could be expected at the time. She was eleven now, and after four years of therapy, she was starting to thrive again.

After Jack's death, I worried my sister would never be interested in finding love again. And then Foley came along, showing her that love could be found when you least expected it.

"How is Phoebe doing?" I asked.

"Not good. I hope you don't mind me saying, but she shared something with me about you."

"I'm guessing she told you about my miscarriages."

He nodded. "It's one of the reasons I thought we should talk. You know what she's going through."

"They happened a long time ago, but I still think about it at times. The pain never goes away—not all the way."

"If anyone can get through to her right now, I believe it's you."

"Why hasn't she reached out to me about it?"

"She wants to, but she hesitates because she remembers what it was like for you when it happened. She's afraid if she tells you, you'll relive those memories all over again."

"I've mourned their losses, and I've done what I can to move past them. You were right by telling me, and I appreciate you for it."

He laced his hands behind his head. "What will you do now that you know?"

"I'd like to speak to her. She'll need to know you told me, of course, but Phoebe is an understanding person. If it does upset her, she won't stay that way for long."

"If she's angry at me, we'll get through it. I've tried everything I can think of to support her during this time. She's just so despondent. I don't know what else to do."

"Leave it to me," I said.

He was about to say something more when the office door opened.

Whitlock poked his head in and said, "Mr. Branson is here, and he wants to speak with you. Are you two about finished up with your conversation?"

"Are you referring to Benjamin Branson, the man running against Octavia Bloom for mayor?" I asked.

"I am," Whitlock said. "I assume he's making the rounds. Although he did press me with questions about Cordelia Bennett's case. He's interested to know how it's coming along."

"So is Octavia," Foley said. "She was here this morning. The two of them are driving me crazy."

"Why?" I asked.

"It seems they're both looking at the murder investigation as something that might bolster their campaigns if they stay involved somehow. They both want their names attached to it. I want them off my back. I don't have time to indulge their personal agendas."

"What do you want me to tell him?" Whitlock asked.

"Show him in. I'll see him … this once."