Chapter 23
Cressida was up bright and early on Friday morning, planning to meet with Evelyn Monroe at her home.
Only one room had been deemed a crime scene, and it had already been released.
Her palms were sweating and her limbs a little shaky.
Totally unusual for her, but with so much at stake, and danger closing in on all sides, this interview could mean everything.
It could get her the answer Diggins needed.
Still, with thoughts of Braden pressing in on her, memories of that almost kiss, she struggled to focus.
She’d wanted that kiss too. Had he seen her reaction? Heat washed through her, flushing her with embarrassment. The two of them were a bad combination. He was an unlikely detective and she an unlikely journalist writing a shipwreck book.
Straightening her blouse, she refocused on the upcoming interview.
Mrs. Monroe had shot and killed the man who’d attacked Cressida on the beach. The fact that the woman had asked to see Cressida afterward terrified her.
Cressida had come here to Hidden Bay for many reasons, but a priority had been to interview Mrs. Monroe.
Instead, it felt like Cressida had been summoned by the woman.
Still, this could be the best outcome because maybe Mrs. Monroe could tell her more about why she was here.
She could offer detailed answers regarding the Specter’s Bounty that Cressida hadn’t learned at the museum or through Diggins.
Had Mrs. Monroe met with her father, and if so, could she tell her more about what he’d learned?
And vitally important, Cressida could ask her about the truth that Diggins wanted.
The pressure built up in her head. So much was riding on this interview, and she had to be on top of her game.
Cressida tried to look as professional as possible, donning black business slacks and a conservative pale-blue blouse.
She’d hung them both in the bathroom to steam out the wrinkles.
But steaming had the exact opposite effect on her hair, and it was a frizzy mess this morning.
The salty ocean breeze and misty fog turned her red curls into every woman’s nightmare.
Cressida pulled the red mess into a tight bun, but she looked severe rather than confident.
I’m overthinking.
She’d always been confident in her work until her career had been destroyed.
The anger rose up again, and she shoved it away.
No time to think about that. She’d gotten herself together mentally and emotionally by focusing on Dad’s book, and through his work she’d become confident once again.
That is, until she’d arrived in Hidden Bay, and now her mission had shifted and was about more than finishing Dad’s book.
I promise I’ll finish it, Dad. That book was all she had at the moment.
In spite of her resolve, she couldn’t shake the sense of dread, the foreboding that she was walking into a dark and treacherous alley and that once again she stood on shaky ground.
One last look in the mirror and she grabbed her computer bag and duffel, then headed down to the lobby.
Braden waited to escort her to the manor. He brought stability to this situation, and at the same time, the man shook her up inside for entirely different reasons. She needed calm right now, and she was glad he kept their conversation light this morning on the short drive to Mrs. Monroe’s.
Finally they arrived, and he steered around the circular drive and parked in front. She took a deep breath. This was it.
She’d never been nervous about an interview in her life. “What do you know about her? Is there anything you can tell me?” She’d wanted to form her own opinion, but now she wished she knew at least something in addition to the limited information she’d already learned.
He turned to her. “I don’t know a lot, really. But I get the feeling that she’s the heart of the Hidden Bay community. She helps people who are desperate.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe just talk to her, Cressida, and see what you think.”
He was right. She would do better going into this interview to learn from Mrs. Monroe herself about who she was. “Please, just wait in the car,” she said. “Let me talk to her alone.”
He nodded. She got out and walked up to the door. When she turned around to glance at him, he leaned against the car, arms crossed.
Now Cressida needed to ring the doorbell. Knock the knocker. Something. She just never imagined her knees would shake at the thought of finally meeting Evelyn Monroe.
Braden cleared his throat. Nudging her? Yeah, I know. I know.
Before she could knock, the door swung open.
Cressida had half expected to face a new assistant—someone to replace Madeline.
Unless Mrs. Monroe had hired another assistant, the silver-haired woman with a sharp gaze, a soft gray cardigan to match her eyes, tailored slacks, white pearls, and soft red lipstick—a woman who was the definition of quiet elegance—was Evelyn Monroe.
Cressida stood speechless and unprofessional by her own standards.
Mrs. Monroe’s eyes held the wisdom of ages, and for a moment, Cressida thought the woman might look into her soul and discover dark secrets Cressida hadn’t even known she was hiding. Then her eyes brightened, lines crinkling around them with her warm smile.
“Ms. Valentine, I presume?”
Cressida shook off whatever had gripped her and smiled. She thrust out her hand. “Yes. And you must be Mrs. Monroe.”
“Call me Evelyn. My friends always do.”
I’m your friend? “Thank you, and please, call me Cressida.”
“Please come in.” Evelyn looked beyond Cressida. “And your friend can come too.”
“Oh no. He’s not my friend. He’s just . . .”
“Detective Sanders,” she called out with a strong, loud voice. “Please join us inside.”
“I don’t want to intrude,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Evelyn looked at Cressida, a question in her eyes. “Unless you object.”
“No, it’s fine.” She’d just ignore his presence and ask the questions she wanted to ask. Cressida stepped inside, and Braden joined her.
They hung their coats in the coat closet.
“Join me in the sitting room.” Mrs. Monroe led them through the foyer to a spacious room with a view of the ocean.
Though Evelyn’s smile was genuine, Cressida easily saw the sadness in her eyes, in every line of her face.
A trim, neatly dressed woman in her forties brought a tray with coffee, tea, and treats. “Will there be anything else, Mrs. Monroe? I have that appointment we discussed.”
“No, nothing else, thank you.”
Cressida shrugged off the feeling she had stepped back into her mother’s world.
Focus on the interview. Or, more importantly, why Evelyn had asked to see her. Everything hinged on what Evelyn would tell her, and then she would need to convince this woman to share whatever truth Diggins needed so she could pass it on. The pressure moved from her head and built in her chest.
Evelyn poured Cressida and Braden coffee and took tea herself. She was completely poised and self-possessed, willing to serve as well, even after what she’d been through the day before. All Cressida could think was that Mrs. Monroe—Evelyn—sensed time was running out too.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I’ve been trying to arrange this . . .” Oh, could she be any more insensitive? “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned that, well, considering . . .” Cressida was a bungling mess, and Braden would be less than impressed. Had she ever been a journalist?
“Please don’t apologize. I’m glad we’re here. Now’s the moment. Please ask your questions. I think I might have been waiting too many years for someone to finally come to my door and ask.”
No pressure there. God, please let me do this justice. Please let me ask the right questions. But Mrs. Monroe insisting that Cressida ask her questions first made her wonder why the woman had requested to see her. Cressida had assumed she had something to talk to her about, even something pressing.
“I was told that you asked to see me,” Cressida said.
“Yes. And here you are.” Evelyn smiled and took a sip from her teacup. Behind her, rolling white clouds blew through a bright-blue day, and Cressida almost felt like she was in a dream.
“Is it all right if I take notes?”
“Certainly. I’d prefer you didn’t record our conversation, though.”
“Of course.” Cressida retrieved her notebook from her bag and opened it, holding her pen, ready to take her notes. She would need to focus on every word the woman said and was glad that Braden would listen in too, since she couldn’t refer back to a recording. But first, she would explain herself.
“My father died just over a year ago, and I’ve decided to finish his book.
He was a maritime historian working on a book about shipwrecks and ghost ships.
I’m here in Hidden Bay to focus on the Specter’s Bounty.
Your name was in his journal as someone he meant to interview, but he didn’t supply the reasons why.
He ended the trip abruptly and didn’t leave more notes.
I’m not even sure if he talked to you already.
Either way, I’d love to hear your story.
” As it relates to the ghost ship. But the woman had a charisma about her, an intrigue, that left Cressida wanting to know everything about her.
Braden’s information—that she helped those who were desperate—added to the mystery.
Evelyn set her teacup down with a gentle clank, then sat back. “At the core, the story is simple. My family owned and ran a shipping line back East. My father didn’t like the man I loved, and so he sent him off to work on the other side of the world, and then informed me he’d been killed.”
Cressida’s throat tightened. Though her circumstances were different, she could completely relate to the crushing blow of a parent’s controlling actions. “I’m so sorry.”
She wrote in her notebook.
“I was devastated, of course, and I did the only thing any proper woman could do.”
Cressida waited for more.