Chapter 27
After Remi was kind enough to drop off her things, Cressida hauled everything to the room upstairs right next to Evelyn’s master suite.
To Cressida’s way of thinking, all the rooms in this estate were master suites.
Staying here in Driftwood Manor felt all kinds of creepy and weird, but she wouldn’t pass up this opportunity.
Never once had she been given this kind of access.
She thought back to Evelyn’s reaction to Braden’s comment . . .
“Wait. That’s not it, is it? He was on another—”
Evelyn had become flustered and upset and shut Braden down.
“I’ve said too much already,” she’d said.
About her losing her son, Caleb. What was the vessel he was on that was lost?
Since his grandfather had sent him out, that information had to be somewhere within the former Harborstone Shipping Company databases, ledgers, or manifests.
Though Evelyn appeared afraid, she was also a woman who wanted the truth to finally be discovered and for the world to know.
Or maybe that was what Cressida wanted, and she was incorporating that into Evelyn’s simple request.
Regardless, Cressida intended to make good use of her time.
Through the window on the second floor, she watched Braden unload a duffel from the back of his county vehicle.
Maybe he carried overnight basics everywhere he went.
He glanced around, taking in his surroundings, then tossed the duffel over his shoulder before heading toward the manor.
Confidence. Broad shoulders. Thick brown hair. Sharp eyes that seemed to search her until he found what he was looking for. A few days ago, he’d been a stranger, and now he was on this mission with her. He’d already told her that he liked her. That, because she’d said it first.
He suddenly glanced up to the window, almost as if searching to see if she was looking. Had he sensed her watching? If so, then he’d caught her.
In the act.
Instead of standing there and holding his gaze, she backed away from the window as if she’d been caught committing a crime. All she had to do was wave. Now she was found guilty of staring at him when she thought he wasn’t looking.
Cressida groaned, then returned to the window and opened it to feel the misting breeze. The morning had passed so fast, then the event with Evelyn, then lunch, and now the afternoon was growing late, and she hadn’t even started working.
Still, it was hard to walk away from such an incredible view.
Though the house wasn’t built quite on the edge of the cliff at the front, the back of the structure edged a cliff overhanging an expansive beach where sea stacks and rocky outcroppings could be clearly seen.
She could watch the waves crashing all day long from this view.
Evelyn had mentioned spending time watching out the window for the vessel her son had taken before she never heard from him again. Those words had nearly broken Cressida’s heart. Once this was over, she’d love to just relax and put it all behind her, watch the sunset on the beach.
With Braden.
She shook off the not-so-crazy thought. Fog was moving in from the ocean toward the shore, and fast. If she peered into it long and hard enough, would she see a ghost ship floating out there, waiting for her to find answers to what happened to the vessel and its crew?
Goose bumps crawled over her arms and not because this was some kind of ghost story told by the fire. The whole thing was getting to her because the danger factor was real. Cressida left the room and made her way down the stairs in search of the library, or study, where she would start first.
Braden followed her down the stairs. “I took the room across the hall from yours. But I’m not here to sleep.”
“I’m not either. I’m going to start in the library and look at photo albums and journals. I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for. I think this has something to do with the vessel Caleb was on.”
“Because of her reaction.”
“Yes. But I still don’t know what I’m looking for.”
“I have a feeling you’ll know when you see it.”
“That saying doesn’t really work,” she said.
“How about, I have a feeling you have the background and experience to weed out the noise?”
She shrugged. “Better. And where are you going to work?”
“My primary reason for staying is because you are, and I’m here to keep you safe. Wherever I work, it won’t be too far away.”
Braden would be close. Her heart suddenly pounded. “Well, I hope you’ll leave me alone in the library so I can focus.” Yeah, that didn’t sound right.
He stepped closer. Her throat tightened.
“Are you saying you can’t focus when I’m near?”
“Detective.” She glared at him, hoping he’d buy it. “You need to remain professional at all times while you’re here.” Her words made no dent in his expression. “Are we clear?”
“I think I read you pretty well.” He turned and walked away, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll work on things from my end, but I won’t be too far. Call if you need me. Scream if it’s an emergency. Don’t leave the house without me.”
Not even for a walk on the beach?
But no, she wouldn’t tease him with that, or rather tempt him.
Cressida shook off the emotions tumbling around inside at her exchange with Braden Sanders—he was a distraction she didn’t need but a distraction all the same.
Tough being in this position—wanting help and protection from the “nice detective” and needing to steer clear of this guy who knew she liked him.
The library called to her from down the hallway, and she entered to find a desk inside.
So it was a combination library-study. Just like she’d expect—floor-to-ceiling shelves covered every wall but were interrupted by a tall window draped in heavy velvet curtains.
The shelves were covered with the usual leather-bound volumes one would expect in addition to just regular old books, even some paperbacks.
She moseyed over to look at the paperbacks because they seemed so out of place.
“Well, what have we here? What kind of reading do you do, Mrs. Evelyn Monroe? Looks like thrillers and mysteries.” She ran her finger over the spines of what appeared to be well-worn novels by Tom Clancy.
She pulled off the shelf The Hunt for Red October, which looked to have been read multiple times.
Well, that answered one question—what Evelyn did in her free time, living in such a spacious place all alone.
After returning the book, Cressida moved to the vintage globe on a stand placed at the corner of the massive oak desk, free of clutter or papers.
On the desk was an old brass lamp with a Tiffany shade.
Cressida sat in the high-backed leather chair at the desk.
If she were Evelyn sitting at this desk, what would she think?
What would she feel? What would she see?
The window offered a great view of the front and the gate.
To her left, the bookshelves filled with gold-flecked classics and at the bottom, older volumes.
Aha.
Journals and photo albums could give her the deep dive into Evelyn’s background and son that Cressida needed.
Her reading material for the rest of her stay.
She leaned down and pulled out the first journal—blew off unexpected dust. Then sneezed.
Maybe she should have expected it, but Evelyn appeared so well put together that, no, she hadn’t expected a dusty book, even in this massive library.
This was going to be a long night.
After skimming through at least two volumes of old photographs, Cressida opened a journal with stylish cursive writing that looked like calligraphy by Cressida’s standard, which wasn’t saying much.
At least she could read it. Was it a diary?
If so, she felt uncomfortable reading such a personal book.
Still, she’d been invited to explore everything.
The cursive, at times, made it difficult to read and slowed her down, but after a couple of pages, she was pulled into the voice and world of Evelyn Monroe.
Her eyes were burning, aching, and dry when she finally noticed Braden leaning against the doorframe.
“Oh.” She marked her place at about the halfway point and set the book on the desk. Blew out a breath. “How long have you been standing there?” Watching. Because he had the look of a man who had definitely been watching.
And it was dark outside.
Shoot.
I missed the sunset.
But the clouds could have prevented her from seeing it anyway. She looked at the journal, feeling the emotion and angst sweeping through her again.
“What is it? What did you learn?” He entered the room and took the seat across from the desk.
“It’s a lot, really, and I’m not sure what it means for my research. But it sounds like her family’s shipping operations were involved in smuggling during World War II.”
He tilted his head. “Smuggling. What kind?”
“Not the good kind. Her grandfather, at least, supposedly was involved in transporting questionable cargo—though she didn’t say what—during World War II.
He wasn’t charged because no one knew, but her father took over and built the company into an important player in maritime trade.
The cargo ships transported raw materials, machinery, and even medical supplies out of Boston. Then . . .”
“What is it? What did you read?”
“I’m not sure what to make of what I read.
Evelyn learned the truth about the company’s nefarious legacy turned good.
But for some reason, she wanted to get away from her father, except he held too much power.
His reach went far and wide, and she even goes as far as to say she believed he killed her husband.
” Tension built in Cressida’s shoulders.
“Which, I mean, she kind of told us that already.”
“Anything at all about her son after he was sent away? Anything about what he got involved in?”
“I have to keep reading, and my eyes are crossing. I should take a break and come back. I wish I could just take the journal with me, but I’m not going to ask her if I can have her diary. So, your turn. Did you learn anything new? Anything that helps us to figure this out?”
“I’m not sure. I went up to the room and looked around.”
“What room?”
“The one that someone was searching earlier today. I looked at everything. Dug in the drawers. I wore gloves. I tell you, Cressida, there’s nothing in that room.
I believe whatever someone was looking for, they found.
I believe that might be why Evelyn was so upset she had a mild heart attack, why she gave you the right to look through everything. ”
“Oh.” Now, she hated hearing that. “What could someone have wanted in her room?”
“And there’s something else. Thatcher called. Madeline Chase was apprehended by the state police, but she lawyered up and told us nothing.” His eyes darkened.
“What else? You’re holding back.”
“Tonight, her lawyer went to see her, and she died a few hours later.”