Chapter 8
Morning sunlight filtered through a thin veil of mist that was spreading its way across town. I pulled my car to the side of a narrow road and looked around. The neighborhood was quiet, the kind of stillness that came before the day was off and running.
Talia’s parents’ cabin sat at the end of the lane, a modest cedar-sided place with a pitched green roof and a single step leading to the front door. Smoke drifted out of the top of the chimney, carrying the scent of burnt oak through the cool air.
I killed the engine and sat for a moment, listening to the birds chirping overhead, and I wished I’d brought my binoculars. But today, birdwatching wasn’t on the agenda.
Sliding out of the car, the gravel in the driveway crunched under my boots as I started for the house, noting the front curtains were closed. I hoped I wasn’t too early and that Talia would be in the mood to talk.
I stood on the front porch and knocked, unsure what kind of welcome I’d find.
The door creaked open, and a man came into view.
He was broad-shouldered, middle-aged, and had silver streaks running through his thick, dark hair.
His flannel shirt looked well worn, the kind that had seen more than a few winters, and he was wearing jeans that were faded at the knees.
He gave me a polite nod and said, “Hi, can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m Georgiana Germaine. I’m a private investigator, and I’ve been hired by Audrey’s mother to help solve her murder.”
“I see. It’s good to meet you. I’m Gabriel.”
“I was hoping I could speak with Talia.”
He crossed his arms, tipping his head to the side. “You can try, but she hasn’t been in much of a talking mood these past few weeks.”
“I get it. She lost a good friend.”
“A great friend. The two of them had been attached at the hip since elementary school.”
I nodded, and for a moment, the silence between us felt heavy until it was broken by the tick of a clock somewhere deeper in the cabin. Gabriel stepped back, motioning me inside, his eyes shifting toward the hallway before returning to me.
Voice lowered, he said, “Talia hasn’t been herself since Audrey died. I wish we could find a way to get through to her, but so far, nothing we’ve tried seems to be working.”
“You’ll find a way. She just needs time.”
I followed Gabriel down a short hallway that opened into a kitchen. The scent of coffee and butter hung thick in the air, and at the stove I saw a woman with soft curls of blond hair and an apron tied over a gray tracksuit.
Upon hearing us enter the room, she turned, spatula in hand.
“Oh, hello,” she said, her eyes darting from Gabriel to me.
“This is Georgiana Germaine,” Gabriel said. “She’s a private investigator.”
The woman’s expression faded to sadness.
“Of course. Rosemary told me all about you.” She wiped her hands on her apron and came around the counter. “I’m Brianne. Audrey was like family to us. Talia adored her. We all did.”
“I was sorry to hear what happened,” I said. “I know how close they were.”
Brianne pressed her lips together and nodded, blinking back the emotion welling in her eyes.
“It doesn’t seem real, you know? Last month she was here, sitting right at that table, talking to me about how she wanted to surprise Talia with something for her birthday.
But she died before she could … before it ever … ”
Gabriel approached his wife, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, honey.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She turned, shifting her focus back to the breakfast she was cooking—scrambled eggs, potatoes, bacon. Switching the burner off, she faced me. “You should stay for breakfast, Georgiana. There’s plenty.”
“I appreciate the offer,” I said. “It looks delicious. I’ve already eaten breakfast, but if it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate a cup of coffee.”
“Of course.”
Gabriel gave his wife a squeeze, then said, “Let me see if Talia’s up for company, or if she’s up at all today.”
He left the room, his footsteps fading down the hall as Brianne handed me a cup of coffee. She dished up three plates of food and said, “Talia hasn’t been coming down for breakfast. Every day I wake up and think, Maybe today will be different.”
“Your husband says she’s been spending a lot of time in her room.”
“She has, just listening to music and watching television most of the day. We’ve been trying to get through to her, to help her during this difficult time, but as a parent, it’s hard to know what the right thing to do is in this unthinkable situation.”
My thoughts drifted back to months earlier when I’d lost my best friend, and then further still, to the day I lost my daughter.
I understood better than most what it meant to want nothing more than to disappear from the world.
I’d done it myself—vanished without a trace after my daughter died, living off the grid for two years because I couldn’t bear to face anyone or anything that reminded me of what I’d lost.
Grief changed people.
And for some, it was harder to bounce back than others.
“Everyone grieves in their own time,” I said. “It isn’t easy, but you take it one day at a time until you reach a point where the pain eases, even if only a little.”
“You say it like you know a little something about it.”
“I do, and if there’s one piece of advice I could give you, it would be to say that your daughter is aware of the support you and your husband are trying to give her. I have no doubt she’ll come through this when she’s ready.”
“How long did it take you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Longer than it should have, but I’m in a different place now. I’d like to believe that, one day, your daughter will be too.”
Gabriel reappeared in the doorway, his expression grim.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “She’s not up for visitors today.”
“Well, I guess we ought to take her breakfast up to her then, before it gets cold,” Brianne said. “Georgiana, you’re welcome to join us at the table. Our daughter may not be up for a conversation, but perhaps we could be of some help.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “But first, would you mind if I took the plate of food up to Talia? I give you my word I won’t press her with questions or do anything to make her uncomfortable.”
They exchanged glances and though reluctant, Gabriel nodded, handing the plate of food over to me.
“Upstairs, first door on the left,” Gabriel said.
I climbed the stairs, the old wood creaking underfoot as I went.
I reached Talia’s bedroom door and paused, thinking about what to say when I saw her.
As I mulled things over, I found myself staring at her bedroom door.
The paint around the frame was chipped, and a faint trace of old stickers was still visible beneath a layer of dull white.
I knocked once, and the door eased open on its own, creaking just enough to let her know I was there. Inside, Talia sat cross-legged on her bed, lost in whatever world poured through her earbuds, as her head bobbed to its rhythm.
Her black plaid skirt was frayed at the hem and layered over torn fishnets, and she wore a blue shirt, which matched the color of her hair. She didn’t seem to see me in the doorway, so I stepped inside, the faint scent of incense and nail polish drifting through the air as I entered.
Talia flinched, her head snapping up in surprise, and I lifted the plate toward her, hoping it would be enough to keep me from being thrown out before I even had the chance to speak.
She jerked the earbuds out of her ears, grabbed the plate, and said, “I told my dad I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”
“I know. I’m just here to bring you this plate of food.”
She raised a brow, looking at me as if she wasn’t buying it.
Glancing around, my eyes fell upon her record collection.
“I collect records too,” I said.
This seemed to interest her.
“Oh, yeah?” she said. “What are you into?”
“Depends on the mood I’m in, I guess. One day it’s Duran Duran, and the next it’s Louis Armstrong. Louis was a famous—”
She lifted a finger, stopping me, set the plate on the nightstand, and hopped off the bed. She bent down and flipped through her record collection. She found the one she wanted and pulled it out, turning it over to show me.
“Wonderful World, The Best of Louis Armstrong,” I said. “I own it.”
“This is an original.”
“So’s mine. I much prefer the original to a copy.”
“Me too.”
“My grandfather used to sing Louis Armstrong songs to me when I was little. I suppose it’s how my love for jazz music got started.”
She nodded, slipped the record into place on the turntable.
The needle dropped, and the room filled with the warm crackle of vinyl as the sound of Louis’ trumpet came in, bright and brassy, his voice rough with heart.
Talia plopped back on the bed, eyeing me like she wondered why I was still standing there.
“Well, I’ll leave you to eat your breakfast,” I said.
“I doubt I’ll eat any of it. My stomach’s not good most days.”
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
“Sorry won’t change anything. But hey, thanks.”
On my way out, I turned. “I lost my best friend several months ago.”
Talia folded her arms, leaning against the headrest as she said, “Oh, yeah? What happened?”
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to give it to you straight. She was murdered on my wedding day.”
“Are you serious?”
I nodded. “I wish I wasn’t. I caught the guy who did it, and though he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison, it doesn’t seem like it’s enough. She died, and he’s still living, even if the life he’s living is behind bars. It’s still a life or some semblance of one. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
She reached for a piece of toast and took a bite, surprising me. “If I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer?”
“Try me.”
“If you could have killed the guy who murdered your friend and you were able to get away with it, would you have?”
The answer came right to me, though I hesitated before giving it.
“I have been put into positions many times when I’ve had to make a choice, and this one was one of the hardest. But yeah, I think some people deserve to die.”
“Wow, that’s dark. I like it.”
“Listen, your father said you didn’t feel up to talking to me about what happened, and I get it. All I ask is that when you are ready, you’ll reach out to me, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
I closed her bedroom door behind me and made my way downstairs.
In the kitchen, the smell of coffee lingered as I joined Talia’s parents at the table.
Brianne sat with her hands wrapped around a mug, staring into it as though lost in thought, while Gabriel tried to fill the silence with polite conversation about the weather, the neighborhood, anything but the obvious.
We talked for a few minutes, and then a soft creak came from the stairwell.
I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of Talia standing on the bottom step, one hand gripping the banister.
Her bright blue hair fell forward, shadowing her face as she hovered there, hesitant but listening to our conversation.
Gabriel noticed her standing there and said, “Hey, honey, do you want to join us?”
“I … no.” Then she looked at me. “Hey, Georgiana, do you want to go for a walk?”