Chapter 20
On his motorcycle, Braden raced to Driftwood Manor. He hadn’t wanted to leave Cressida behind, especially after what she’d learned from Diggins. The man had a lot to answer for, but one thing at a time.
Braden had left Cressida in good hands.
Since taking on the position in the county offices as detective a few months ago, Braden had worked with Hawk and Cole on an investigation surrounding Jo, and he could trust them to watch out for Cressida.
He’d had the bright idea a couple of months ago to enlist them as reserve deputies, so they essentially worked for the county sheriff’s department when needed, holding full arrest powers.
The beautiful night had turned stormy, fitting for his mood.
He put all his focus on the slick, curvy two-lane road that wound through a black forest, finally steering up to Evelyn Monroe’s mansion on the cliff.
An ambulance along with two county sheriff’s department vehicles were parked on the circular drive at the front of the house.
Braden arrived just in time and bounded up the steps.
No crime-scene tape to secure the area or official log-in system to slow his entry, but this wasn’t exactly a busy intersection.
He stepped inside and took in the immaculate foyer, and beyond that, a sweeping staircase.
He was curious to know more about someone who would choose to live alone in this gothic fortress overlooking the ocean.
The voice of an older woman speaking in both an authoritative and strained tone drifted to him as he continued into the living room to the left, where a stone fireplace made a grand statement.
The silver-haired woman sat in a deep-blue velvet chair.
And his gut clenched. Evelyn Monroe. Had to be.
He’d never met her, but this was her home. And now part of it was a crime scene.
Braden hung back at the edge of the Persian rug, surprised as Trent spoke with her. Trent? Thatcher approached from behind and touched his shoulder, then motioned for him to follow him back into the foyer.
“Where are we?” Braden asked.
“Waiting on the coroner to give me the time of death to make sure everything works in the timeline.”
“What happened?” Braden leaned in to say the words under his breath. He’d withheld from Cressida that someone had died tonight.
“Monroe returned from her trip earlier than expected and overheard Madeline arguing with a stranger in a room Monroe told her was off-limits. When Madeline exited the room, Monroe was standing at the top of the stairs and confronted her. Madeline pushed her, but Monroe was able to catch herself and didn’t topple down the stairwell, which could have killed her.
Madeline had wanted her dead, based on the conversation she overheard. ”
“And what was the conversation?”
“She hasn’t told us yet,” Thatcher said. “That’s for you to find out.”
“Then why is Trent talking to her?”
“He was already taking her statement when I arrived.”
“So what happened next, after Madeline pushed her?”
“Madeline ran past Monroe and exited the premises. Monroe grabbed a shotgun from the gun closet and opened the door to the room where Madeline had been arguing to find a man standing there. He then lifted a handgun, aimed it at her, but she shot first.”
“She killed him?”
Sheriff Thatcher nodded. “She’s an eighty-one-year-old dynamo, and it goes without saying that she’s upset.”
Anguish weighed on Braden that Evelyn Monroe had been put through this.
“An APB has been put out on Madeline Chase.”
“Do we know who the man was?”
“I think we do. Follow me upstairs.”
Evelyn continued talking to Trent in her living room, even though Thatcher had already provided Braden with what sounded like her statement. A paramedic was taking her blood pressure. Maybe Trent was there providing additional support.
Braden caught a glimpse of her as he followed the sheriff upstairs and down a long hall, past several closed doors. The coroner was in the room at the end of the hall, where he stood over a body.
Braden instantly recognized the man. Jo had sketched his face after her session with Cressida.
“Got ID on him so we finally know who he is?”
Sheriff nodded. “Gordon Collins. I’m running the information to confirm his identity and see if he has a record.”
Two deputies from the coroner’s office arrived to bag the body.
“Let’s talk outside,” Thatcher said.
Braden preferred to stay inside and take it all in.
His background included protection detail and threat assessment and prevention, but as a DSS agent, he also investigated crimes against State Department personnel.
Working for Thatcher, he’d solved a couple of complex investigations and believed Thatcher trusted him to solve this one.
Braden might have taken the job under a ruse, but now all of it was colliding, and he suspected that Octavia had fully known Braden would need to be in a position of investigative authority.
Bile rose in his throat at the thought, and he shoved it down, pushed away the violent thoughts to focus on this investigation that was growing in complexity. The crimes suddenly occurring with Cressida’s arrival were loosely connected, if not completely.
He followed Thatcher out of the house, and they walked into the misty weather.
Then Thatcher kept walking away from the mansion as if he intended to lead Braden well out of earshot until, finally, they stood over the ledge and watched a sliver of moon peek through the clouds rolling in.
Below them, waves raced against rocks, flaring briefly with the faint blue-green glow of bioluminescence.
Stunning. Braden wished this was a moment to take in that phenomenon. But it wasn’t. He waited for Thatcher to speak first.
“You and I never talked about this. We’re not talking about this now. Are we clear?”
What is this? “Crystal.”
“Why are you here?” Thatcher asked.
“It’s my job.” What was he really asking? Braden suspected he knew.
“No, I mean, why are you here in Hidden Bay?”
“You know why. I needed a job. It’s stunning. Who wouldn’t want to work here?”
Thatcher raked a hand over his head. “Give me a break. You have a top-notch résumé. You could have gone anywhere.”
“Exactly. So I came here.”
“Months ago, I got a call from Octavia Dane, offering up her reference. I didn’t ask for one. But she offered.”
Braden suspected he knew what was coming next. “You hired me because of her?”
“Of course. I liked you already, but I admit I considered passing. The reasons are many. You didn’t fit this way of life. You’re overqualified. Then I got a call from someone from the State Department, and that meant she wanted you here. I’ve been wondering why for months.”
“And?” Braden hoped the sheriff had stumbled across an answer for which Braden still searched.
“You tell me.”
“I didn’t know until her daughter showed up,” Braden said. “And honestly, I still don’t know.” He gestured at the mansion behind them.
“You think what happened here tonight is related to the reasons Dane sent you?” Thatcher asked.
“Without knowing more, I can’t say for certain.
” But yes, he suspected as much. “This could be a coincidence. Collins was attacking women who are alone.” Braden shrugged.
That wasn’t uncommon. “On the other hand, Octavia sent me here to protect her daughter, who needs to interview Mrs. Monroe. She’s attacked upon her arrival, and Monroe is also attacked when she returns, and the same man is involved, so yes, I’m leaning heavily on the connection.
One more thing, tonight I took Cressida to the Sea Reaper to meet with Diggins.
He’d been attacked earlier, mere moments before we arrived, and the assailants returned.
They almost got the best of me but got away.
” With the words, the pain suddenly throbbed again, as if he could forget.
“I’ll write up a full report tonight. Unfortunately, the incident involved me firing my gun.
” Braden didn’t have time to be put on administrative leave and held his breath.
“I’ll review the report. Now, what else?”
“Diggins claims he doesn’t know who, what, or why, but I think he’s hiding something. He mentioned that Cressida’s father could have been murdered.”
Thatcher rubbed the back of his neck. “What more can you tell me? Why did Mrs. Dane want you here?”
“That, I’m still trying to pry out of her.” And unfortunately, Octavia Dane was never involved in anything that wasn’t high-stakes drama all kept under wraps—that seemed to be her expertise.
“Keep me in the loop on your investigation. All of it. Especially the part where you learn more about how this is related to Ms. Dane.”
“She prefers Valentine.”
“Ms. Valentine. My point is that she’s your priority.”
“I’m the county investigator, not a personal security detail.” Braden pushed back to find out where Thatcher really stood.
“Your experience is in protective detail, and I want you to lean in that direction. Can’t have the daughter of a bigwig getting hurt on my watch.
The truth of the matter is that we both know that you’re here for one reason—Cressida Valentine Dane.
Anything happens to her, and we’ll both pay for the rest of our lives. ”
“So, we understand each other,” Braden said.
“You keep your fingers on the pulse of everything but do it all from close personal contact with Cressida Dane. You have my full support.”
“She’s going to ask me why.”
“And you’re free to tell her.”
“I’m not, actually. Part of the assignment was that she cannot know her mother is involved. They’re estranged.”
“That’s a nasty predicament, and you’re a smart man. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
The coroner stepped onto the porch and drew the sheriff’s attention. Braden and Thatcher hiked toward the house.
“I’ll do my duty here tonight, gather all the information, write up my report,” Braden said. “I’ll do it from my new location—the Cedar Trails Lodge.”
“I could put you on leave. Make you take vacation. But then I’d lose my investigator.”
“And I have a feeling Cressida would become suspicious. I’ll come up with a plan and keep you informed. The best thing we can do is solve this quickly and help Cressida finish her business here.”
“Agreed.” Thatcher stepped up to speak with the coroner, and Braden followed. Got the information.
Then he headed inside to talk in person with Evelyn Monroe—a well-respected but reclusive elderly woman with a good heart who held tight reins on the Hidden Bay region. She’d only ever done good and assisted those in need.
And tonight, she’d shot and killed a man.
She didn’t deserve to walk into her home to this violence. They’d need her to stay elsewhere for tonight at least. Worst case, a day or two, until he could release the scene. He walked into the living room where Trent was waiting with her.
“Mrs. Monroe,” he said. “I’m Detective Braden Sanders.”
“Detective. I’ve been waiting for the moment when we would talk about our shared interests but never imagined it would be under these circumstances.”
Our shared interests?
Did she, too, have an interest in Cressida Dane?