Chapter 4
I dropped Luka off at home and drove to the San Luis Obispo Police Department to talk to Foley and Whitlock. Stepping inside, I noted the faint smell of old coffee in the air. A young officer behind the front desk straightened when he saw me and smiled.
“I’m assuming you’re here for Foley and Whitlock,” he said.
“I am.”
He pointed toward the hallway. “They’re in Foley’s office.”
I thanked him and stepped into the hallway. Voices drifted through the cracked door as I approached, Foley in his usual deep, clipped tone, and Whitlock’s mellower voice beneath it.
I stepped in and both men looked up.
Chief Foley leaned his weight on the edge of his desk, looking like a man who liked order and ran his department with the kind of discipline that made rookies sweat. His hazel eyes landed on me and he said, “Georgiana, what brings you in today?”
I closed the door behind me. “Wren Fairfax came to my office this morning. She’s hired me to investigate Holly Honeywell’s murder.”
Foley mumbled something under his breath, then pushed off the desk. “We have a full team working the case, as you’re aware.”
“I am, but it’s like I always say on cases like this one, it doesn’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes.”
Whitlock, who was leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed, smiled at me and then gave Foley a brief look that said: let’s hear her out, even if you hate it.
“What did Wren tell you?” Whitlock asked.
I removed my notebook from my bag and opened it. “She told me about Holly’s relationship with her mother, the adoption papers she found, and about Holly feeling like she was being watched in the week before she died.”
“Followed?” Foley asked. “Did she see someone?”
“It was more of a feeling, but she had it more than once.”
Whitlock’s jaw tightened the way it always did when he was concerned about something. He walked over to the desk, took a seat, and motioned me to join him.
“This is the first time we’re hearing that Holly thought someone was watching her,” Whitlock said. “Makes me wonder why Wren didn’t tell me when I spoke to her.”
“Thought Georgiana nicknamed you The Teenage Whisperer,” Foley joked.
“That she did,” Whitlock responded. “Maybe I’m losing my touch.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “I just think she was nervous when she talked to you, and in shock about losing her friend.”
“I tried to put her at ease,” Whitlock said.
“I’m sure you did,” I said. “She said you were a nice guy.”
“That I am. When I spoke with Wren, she told me she dropped by the adoption agency to get some information. When she got there, she found out it had been closed for some time.”
“Who else knew about those papers she found?” Foley asked.
“She talked to a couple of her mother’s close friends, but Wren only knew their first names—Roxy and another named Chelle,” I said. “They claimed they had no knowledge of the adoption, which seems a bit odd to me, given Chelle has known Celia since high school.”
Foley paced the room. “It’s possible she was killed because she started digging into her adoption. Someone may have heard about it, and they didn’t want the truth to be exposed.”
“I agree,” I said.
“We investigated the adoption angle already. The agency closed fifteen years ago after the owner died. And before you ask, the owner’s death wasn’t suspicious. Her name was Betty Parrish, and she had cancer.”
“Wonder what happened to the records.”
“We tracked down the secretary. She told us that right before Betty died, the records disappeared. One night they were there. The next, they were gone.”
“Someone knows something. Have you spoken to Celia’s friends?”
Whitlock nodded. “The ladies you just referred to are Roxy Sterling and Chelle Cavendish. They gave us the same story Wren gave you. They had no knowledge of Holly’s adoption.”
“Do you believe them?” I asked.
Whitlock rested his elbows on the desk. “Seemed believable, but who knows? I will say this—I found a photo album in Celia’s house. It was filled with pictures she’d taken over the years. Chelle was in a lot of them, which tells me she was a big part of their lives.”
I tapped a finger to my lips, thinking.
“Maybe I should question Chelle and Roxy and see what I can find out,” I said, turning toward Foley. “What do you think?”
“If I say no, you’ll do it anyway. I’m not even sure why you still come in when something like this lands on your desk. Even if I believed we could handle it without you, and we can, you’d still take the case.”
“I believe it’s best to be upfront and respectful.”
Foley raised a brow. “Respectful, eh?”
“Wren asked for my help, and I’m going to give it to her,” I said. “Unless you want to collaborate with me, I’ll stay out of your way.”
“Oh, I doubt that. You have a knack for pushing things into motion before we’re prepared for the impact. But since you’re here, is there anything else we should know?”
“I can’t think of anything, but I did want to ask you both about Holly’s neighbor, the one who found her. She told Wren she heard a loud sound. She walked over to check on Holly, and she found her on the floor near the front door.”
Whitlock nodded. “She did, and when she realized Holly had been shot, she called us.”
“You find any suspicious fingerprints in the house?” I asked.
“None so far,” Whitlock said.
“What about Lenny Cutler, Celia’s ex-husband? Have you spoken to him?”
“We’re still trying to locate the guy. No luck so far.”
I stood and headed for the door. “I appreciate you taking the time to discuss the case with me.”
“Oh, and Georgiana,” Foley called.
I turned.
“If you learn anything new,” he said, “I expect you’ll be in touch.”
“I will,” I said.
And I meant it.
The more I uncovered about Holly and the secrecy tied to her adoption, the clearer it became that her murder may have hinged on something her adoptive mother had tried to keep buried.
But what?
The truth of Holly’s past had been guarded with intent, tucked deep in the shadows where someone believed it would never surface. I planned to find that person and force their secrets into the light.