A mother with a possible secret.
And Chelle, who’d just cracked the case wide open.
7
Roxy Sterling lived in a gated community perched on a hillside with enough elevation to make the ocean look like a sheet of hammered silver. I drove up a road lined with jacaranda trees until I reached her home. Pulling to a stop out front, I noticed the exterior was decked out in holiday décor, a vast difference from Chelle’s place.
Roxy answered the door in a fitted navy dress, her dark hair falling in a glossy wave over one shoulder. She offered me a slight smile, though I detected sadness in her eyes, like a person struggling to keep themselves composed.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“My name is Georgiana Germaine, and I’m a private investigator. I was hired to look into the murder of Holly Honeywell. I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course. Please, come inside.”
As we made our way to the living room, I glanced around, noting high ceilings, polished floors, and a staircase that curved around like a ribbon.
A man stepped out from a side room, and Roxy introduced him as her husband, Wyatt. He was clean-shaven and dressed as well as she was in a charcoal suit.
We stepped into a living room filled with white furniture and a low table carved from dark wood. The spotless sofa and armchairs gave the impression that they didn’t have pets or children. Or if they did, they weren’t allowed on the furniture.
“Can I offer you anything?” Roxy asked. “Tea, coffee, or soda?”
“Water would be fine,” I said.
She nodded and stepped out, returning with a tall glass of water for me, red wine for herself, and what looked like whisky on the rocks for her husband. She settled into a chair across from me, folded her hands in her lap, and Wyatt sat beside her.
“I just came from Chelle Cavendish’s house,” I said. “Do you know her?”
“We do,” Roxy said, “but we’re not close.”
“I figured since she knew Celia well, the three of you may have spent time together.”
“I saw her now and then at Celia’s house parties, but not much otherwise.”
She said it with a smile, yet something in her eyes shifted, as if indicating she disliked Chelle, even if she refused to say it aloud.
“How’s your investigation going?” Wyatt asked.
“I’m just getting started.”
“We’re still in shock, to be honest. Losing Celia was hard enough, and now Holly, and the way it happened … it’s been a lot to take in. I’m guessing someone isn’t happy with the way the police are handling the investigation. Is that why you were hired?”
“Something like that.”
“What can we do to help?”
I dug right in. “I’m piecing together Holly’s life and her movements during the final weeks she was alive.”
Roxy hung her head, pressing a hand to her lips as the tears came. Wyatt offered some words of support, then reached into his suit pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, which he handed to her.
“We loved Celia and Holly,” she said. “I’m devastated that they’re both gone.”
“How long did you know them?” I asked.
Roxy turned toward Wyatt, sniffling as she said, “We moved here, what, twenty years ago?”
He gave the question some thought, then nodded. “I opened a law firm in San Luis Obispo with a couple of friends from law school, and Roxy and Celia worked there as our office assistants.”
