Chapter 7 #2
Cressida pressed the number for Detective Sanders. Of course, he didn’t answer. He could also be in a place without cell service. She didn’t have a radio to reach him.
Should I leave a message? Not like he could help me right now if I did.
Then again, if she ended up going missing, someone needed to know where she’d been last, so she left Braden a quick voicemail. “Listen, I’m at the Monroe place—Driftwood Manor? I climbed the steps from the shore. Someone’s sneaking around the house. Can you get here fast?”
Her gun easily accessible, she rushed forward, keeping her eyes on the area around her.
The shadowed figure—a man, if she was going by height and build—had gone to the back of the mansion, closer to the cliffside.
She could bang on the front door. Two old classics—a Mercedes and a Jag—sat in the drive. Somebody was home.
Cressida approached the double door with the lion’s-head knocker.
Another classic. She would love a picture of that and to document this entire experience from a journalist’s point of view, but later.
Grabbing the lion knocker, she banged on the door, and she also pressed the doorbell many times as she stared at the doorbell camera.
Bang.
Bell.
Bang.
Bell.
Nothing. Nada.
Her palms grew slick. Had someone already gained access to the house and started wreaking havoc? Causing harm took mere seconds.
She banged again and spoke into the camera. “This is Cressida Valentine. Please open up. It’s an emergency.”
The door creaked open, and a tall, trim woman literally looked down her nose. Or maybe that was Cressida’s perception.
“May I help you?”
“Hi, I apologize for the interruption. I saw an intruder. Someone creeping around the house.”
“Are you referring to yourself?”
“Me? No. I . . . I was walking the trail and approaching when I saw someone.”
“We have security cameras. I saw you approaching and no one else.”
“Whoever crept to the back of the house probably knows how to avoid the cameras.” Cressida frowned and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Madeline Chase.”
Oh! “My name is Cressida Valentine, and we spoke recently. I’m hoping to interview Mrs. Monroe.
” And now might be a great time to use the fact that her mother was Octavia Dane, but really, no one outside of political circles knew that name.
And if they did, she’d embarrass her mother with this intrusion.
Besides, Cressida would never use her mother to help her. Ever. Again.
Madeline huffed like a pro. “I told you that Mrs. Monroe wasn’t available, and now you show up here using an imaginary intruder as an excuse. I’m calling the police.”
“Please, call the police,” Cressida said. “Someone is creeping around your house. Sneaking in the shadows.”
The woman started to swing the door closed, then the sound of glass shattering came from inside. Madeline hesitated, her eyes wide as she looked back at Cressida, failing to keep her composure.
Before Madeline could shut her out, she stepped into the house, weapon drawn. “We need to protect Mrs. Monroe.”
“She isn’t even here. She isn’t due back until later this month.”
Despite the weird situation, a little hope danced around inside.
Maybe that was the sole reason that Mrs. Monroe couldn’t see her for an interview.
Mrs. Monroe wasn’t even here. But Madeline had failed to communicate that information.
She was a protective assistant, and Mrs. Monroe probably chose her for that reason.
Gripping her gun, Cressida eyed Madeline. “Then let’s get out of the house and call the police, just like you said.”
“Is that necessary?” She gestured at the gun. “Do you even know what you’re doing? You said nothing about being law enforcement.”
“Shh.” Cressida took some joy from shushing Miss Smug. She opened the door for their escape. “Let’s go. We can call the police to check the house. Going back in isn’t safe.”
“You’re wasting my time. It’s probably nothing.” Madeline held the door for Cressida to leave.
“I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.” Was this one of those too-stupid-to-live moments? Well, if this woman was too stubborn to listen to her about an intruder, she couldn’t leave without doing what she could. “Do you have a safe room where we could hide?”
“No. You’re leaving right now. I insist.”
Cressida ground her teeth, but she had an idea. “I can’t force you into safety. But instead of waiting in the house, can you please give me a ride to Cedar Trails?”
“Call a cab.”
The door slammed in her face. Cressida stared at the lion knocker. How could anyone be so callous, so rude? Then again, Madeline could see Cressida as an obnoxious gun-wielding trespasser, and she’d just blown any chance she had with Madeline of coordinating an interview with Evelyn Monroe.
She’d had her self-justifications for taking those steps, and now here she was on the porch of a house where an intruder had entered. She let panic take over and checked her cell again. Cressida was ecstatic to have three bars at the house and called 911 to report the intruder and her location.
The dispatcher was reassuring. “Is the intruder still in the house?”
“Um . . . I’m not sure.”
“Find a safe place to wait.”
Okay. “I’m actually outside.” She cringed. “This isn’t my house. I saw someone break in. I tried to—” Cressida stepped out from under the eave, and her connection immediately dropped.
What? Of course. Just as well, or she would have gone on to detail that she’d been kicked out of the house.
She kept her gun at her side. Just in case.
She had no plans to hike along the trail through those dark woods, then down the steps at night.
Getting a bar again near the porch, Cressida called the Cedar Trails main number to ask Remi for help.
Bright white lights from an approaching vehicle lit up the drive, and emergency lights suddenly flashed as well. She hadn’t expected such a fast response in this large county that was only covered by a sheriff’s department almost an hour away.
The vehicle screeched to a halt on the circular drive, and someone jumped out and rushed forward, his familiar protective demeanor flooding her with relief and warmth.
“Cressida! What on earth? Are you okay?”
I am now.
Braden Sanders to the rescue.