Chapter 19
The drive to Bakersfield the following day took a little over two hours, the landscape shifting as I moved farther inland. The coastal greens gave way to dry stretches of land, the hills flattening into long, open fields that gave me too much time to think.
My thoughts drifted to Karl, the way he spoke, and the way he watched me leave. As far as suspects go, he was still on my list.
By the time I reached Renee’s neighborhood, the sun had climbed high enough to wash the streets in bright light. The homes in the subdivision were newer, uniform in structure, and polished in presentation with clean lines, fresh paint, and immaculate landscaping.
I pulled to a stop in front of a two-story house with white trim and beige siding. There were no toys scattered across the yard, though the presence of children was clear in the chalk drawings along the edge of the driveway.
I knocked on the door, and a woman opened it. She was dressed in a light blue blouse and fitted jeans, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She had the kind of look that felt put together without trying too hard, and she gave off the impression of someone natural and approachable.
She smiled and said, “Can I help you?”
“Are you Renee?”
“I am.”
“My name is Georgiana Germaine, and I’m a private investigator. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your cousins, Mia and Wren.”
At the mention of their names, her smile shifted to an expression of sadness. “Did someone hire you?”
“Mia did a few days ago. I’m working with the police to try and find out who killed her sister and why.”
“Killed her? I thought the police said it was a break-in.”
“They suspected robbery at first, but now we know it’s a homicide. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
She glanced over her shoulder into the house, then back at me. “Sure, come in.”
The home was clean and bright with an abundance of light filtering in through the windows, the kind of space that felt lived in, but not cluttered. Toys were present but tucked into baskets, and a stack of folded laundry sat on a chair near the hallway, ready to be put away.
“If you live anywhere near Mia, you’ve driven quite a distance to talk to me,” Renee said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
She motioned toward the living room. “We can talk in here.”
We sat, and she folded her hands in her lap. Her gaze dropped for a moment, and when she looked back at me, the sadness in her eyes had returned.
“Wren’s death has been hard to process,” she said. “We were close once.”
“Tell me about that.”
“When we were younger, we spent many summers at our grandfather’s house, having sleepovers and swimming in the pool.”
“Did you have the same relationship with Mia?”
She looked away for a moment, then said, “Mia has always kept to herself. She isn’t unkind, just hard to connect with, I guess, even back then.”
“And now?”
“She hasn’t changed much. I’ve tried connecting with her. I even reached out after she told me Wren had died, and we talked for a few minutes at the funeral. I suppose she’s still bitter about—”
“The fact that you contested your grandfather’s will.”
She crossed one leg over the other and leaned back.
“It was a mistake. I see that now. My grandfather told me before he died that he was going to make a change to his will. He’d decided the house in Santa Monica would go to me.
And listen, I know I have no way of proving that conversation ever happened, but it did. ”
“Did he give you a reason for his change of heart?”
“I’m the only one with children. He wanted the house to remain in the family, something future generations could grow up with and remember. He’d started to wonder if Wren or Mia would ever have children of their own. When I told him I wanted to raise my kids there, it meant a lot to him.”
“But he never got around to changing his will.”
“He didn’t.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “I guess he thought he had more time.”
I found myself wondering who was telling the truth, or maybe they were both telling me a version of it. There had been no hesitation in her answers, nothing to indicate she was lying.
“When you decided to contest the will, did you stop to think about how it would make Mia and Wren feel?” I asked.
“All the time. I just felt it was the right thing to do.”
“The letter you claimed your grandfather wrote, was it forged?”
She bit down on her lip. “I don’t think I should answer that.”
“The judge sided with Mia and Wren,” I said. “How did you feel when that happened?”
“Sad, I guess. If the house had gone to me, I planned to put Mia and Wren on the deed as well. I would have loved to raise my children there, but at the same time, I didn’t see why the house couldn’t belong to all of us.”
Her admission was unexpected.
“Did you tell Mia and Wren about your plan?” I asked.
“I didn’t because the house isn’t mine.” She pressed her lips together. “I know why you’re here and what you must think of me. What kind of person takes the cousins she cares so much about to court? And what must it have felt like for me to walk away with nothing?”
“They’re solid questions.”
“If you think I had anything to do with the murder, I didn’t.”
I shifted in my seat. “You mentioned that you and Wren were close when you were younger. What about in recent years?”
“We talked, but not as often as we once did. Life gets busy with children, relationships, and responsibilities. Still, we always shared a connection, even during the times we didn’t speak much.”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Wren’s birthday was a couple of months back. I sent her a card.”
“Did you hear back from her?”
Renee nodded. “She messaged me to say thank you, and she said we should catch up soon.”
“And Mia? What’s your relationship like with her now?”
“She invited us to the funeral, and we went, of course. When we were there, I offered my support. She said she’d let me know if she needed anything, but so far, I guess she hasn’t.”
“Does it bother you that she’s kept you at a distance all these years?”
She gave the question some thought. “Sometimes. At the funeral, we did share a tender moment, which meant a lot to me. I told her how sorry I was to hear about what happened to Wren. She said she was too, and she hugged me. If you know Mia, you know she’s not a hugger.”
Having Mia’s attention seemed important to Renee, like having a relationship with her was all she’d ever wanted.
Renee flicked a few tears away and said, “Wren was a kind person, a good person. A person everyone liked. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
I stared at her, taking in what she’d just said.
Was her grief real or practiced?
I wasn’t sure.
“Renee,” I said, “there’s something else I need to ask you.”
“Of course.”
“Where were you the night Wren was killed?”
“At home.”
“Is there anyone who can confirm that?”
“Helen, my neighbor, stopped by that evening to return a dish.”
“What time?”
“Around eight, maybe a little after.”
If the neighbor corroborated her story, there was no way Renee could have committed the murder.
“Did you leave the house at any point that night?”
“No. Not at all.” There was a pause, then she narrowed her eyes, cocking her head to the side. “I can’t help but feel like this is turning into an interrogation.”
“If by interrogation you mean I’m trying to accuse you of something, I’m not. I’m just trying to cover all the angles.”
And I meant it, for the most part.
“The investigation has taken a turn,” I said. “And there’s something you should know.”
“What is it?”
“I believe Wren wasn’t the killer’s intended target.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m still trying to figure things out,” I said. “But I suspect Wren died because someone mistook her for Mia.”