Chapter 33
The next morning, Cressida steered her rental car down the road to a private home on the north end of Hidden Bay. Evelyn Monroe’s doctor had cleared her for release that morning, and the resilient and resourceful woman was now staying at a safe house, where she’d agreed to meet Cressida.
In private.
Without the nice detective.
Today was Saturday, and Cressida had planned to be at the Pirates’ Bash to take pictures and learn more about the Specter’s Bounty and what the locals believed or knew.
Was anyone related to any of the crew? What cargo had it been carrying, or where and what had it gone to salvage?
Where did Evelyn’s son, Caleb, fit into all of it?
The story had been tipped over along with her world.
She better understood the term “seeing red.”
Every time she thought about Braden’s involvement with her mother, she couldn’t see straight, and the thundering started in her head all over again. She’d taken so much aspirin, she might have given herself an ulcer.
She should have known to never again trust anyone after her ex-boyfriend had turned on her—again, because of her mother.
Evelyn’s words drifted back to her. “It isn’t that he deserved my forgiveness. None of us is deserving.”
So that’s it, Lord, I just have to forgive someone even if they don’t deserve it? Cressida swallowed hard against the thickness in her throat.
Refusing to cry only meant that all her fury remained pent up inside.
But she shoved it all away as she entered through the gate—Evelyn allowed her in via a code—and then she steered toward a very contemporary looking home that literally stuck out over the ledge.
The place was the complete opposite of Driftwood Manor.
Evelyn claimed it belonged to a friend, and security was top-notch.
Why didn’t the woman hire protection after everything that had happened?
Maybe she had, and Cressida just hadn’t seen the protective detail yet.
She parked and sat in her car. Took a few long breaths.
She would learn everything she possibly could, and then she would call her mother and confront her, talk it through, whatever it took.
Braden Sanders.
Detective Braden Sanders.
What had he been to her mother? Cressida would guess that he’d worked for the Diplomatic Security Services and for her mother, who often utilized those agents for protection.
Now that she looked back over her brief time with him, it was plain to her, and it had been staring her in the face the whole time. He’d never been just a detective.
Time to focus on Evelyn now and forget about Braden.
Cressida got out of the vehicle, noting the cameras at various locations.
The place was only moderately safe, though, in her opinion, given that the woods closed in.
Driftwood Manor had cameras too, but they had been tampered with.
Cressida assumed Evelyn would be upgrading security with the repairs at Driftwood Manor.
She started toward the structure. This place might be safe, but it felt cold and lonely and creepy without all the Driftwood Manor gothic charm. As she walked to the front door, movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She turned to stare at the tree line.
Her heart leapt to her throat.
Diggins?
He stepped back into the shadows. He was here, watching Evelyn?
Or waiting for Cressida? Who was he, really?
And what did he know? What did he want? Was he .
. . dangerous? She hadn’t truly thought he’d been threatening her with his talk of walking a metaphorical plank of any kind.
But that was Cressida’s issue. She struggled to believe a nice man in his late eighties could plot such harm.
She would love to chase after him, approach and face him and get answers. Or even better, get in her car and drive away. Get on a plane and fly somewhere far away from her troubles.
The door opened before she knocked. Evelyn motioned for her to enter, then, surprising Cressida, the older woman gave her a long hug.
I should be hugging you.
She stepped back and looked her in the face, but before she could speak, Evelyn said, “Are you all right?”
“Me? I . . . you’re the one who had a heart attack. How are you? And I’m so sorry this happened.” And it felt weird, like all the walls between them—if there had been any—had suddenly come down with Evelyn’s crisis.
Her gaze still contained the wisdom of ages, and Cressida hoped she would share some of that with her.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m good.” She grabbed Cressida’s hand and dragged her through the house and into the living room. “We don’t have much time.”
“Why? What’s the urgency?” Cressida had her own reasons for feeling pressed for time, and she would love to hear Evelyn’s.
“My dear, I’m sure you suspect the danger is closing in.” She gave her a matter-of-fact look.
Sure. Okay. “Diggins is out in those woods right now, watching. Did you know that?”
“Let him watch.”
“Let him watch? Aren’t you concerned?”
“No one is getting into this house without my express permission.”
“You said you had security.”
“And I do. Now, did you bring it?”
“Yes.” Cressida pulled Evelyn’s diary out and handed it over.
“They left it. Tore pages out and left it. Why would someone do that? They could have just taken it. I didn’t get a chance to look through or read any of the other volumes.
I’m so sorry. But why didn’t they take it if they wanted it so badly? ”
“Better for it to burn up in the fire so no one can ever read it. Those who have hold the secrets.”
“But I have it now, so they made a mistake. I don’t know anything, but I haven’t finished reading it. I feel like the missing pages were important. Evelyn, please just tell me what I need to know.”
She placed the journal back in Cressida’s hands and wrapped her fingers around it. “What is it you want to know?”
“I need the truth that Diggins wants so he’ll tell me what happened to my father.”
“You’re growing impatient and that’s understandable. The truth Diggins wants, he needs to hear from me. That is between the two of us. As for your father, you don’t need Diggins to tell you what happened. I can tell you.” She moved to the sofa and sank into it.
“Then why didn’t you just tell me before? I don’t understand why you’re making me work so hard to find the truth if you’ve known all along.”
“I don’t know everything. I don’t have all the answers. But what I do know is this—there’s a cost . . . I wanted you to fully understand the cost, but now it’s too late.”
Cressida stood. Those words punched the breath from her lungs.
She could barely move, but she turned to look at the woman still sitting dignified on the sofa.
One would never guess she’d had a heart attack and her home had burned or that danger was closing in.
Maybe Evelyn Monroe had experienced this before and had practice in remaining poised at all times.
Braden was right—this woman was indomitable.
And just like that, she regretted that he’d popped into her mind. She had no idea how to get him out. But Evelyn’s words . . . Cressida moved back to the plush sofa and eased onto it next to her. “Tell me everything. Please don’t hold back.”
“I contacted your father two years ago to look into the goings on in Hidden Bay. I’d read one of his books and thought the mysteries here could be of interest to him.”
Evelyn . . . she was the reason her father had come here. “He . . . he added Specter’s Bounty to his research list just to come here . . . for you? You’re still looking for your son. To learn what happened to him.” The defiant tears burned in her throat.
Evelyn slowly nodded.
“Did you get your answers?” Cressida struggled to contain her resentment, though her father’s death certainly wasn’t Evelyn’s fault, but she had been the catalyst to bring him into danger. “Did my father know the cost?”
But Evelyn’s cell drew her attention, and she excused herself to take a private call.