Those roots lived in Holly’s past, and I planned to dig until I reached every last one.
6
Chelle Cavendish lived in a mustard-yellow bungalow a few miles off the coast. I parked and made my way to the front door, stopping a moment to look at a mosaic of broken tiles, which framed the walkway and led to a rusted lawn flamingo guarding a pot of thriving succulents.
The door swung open before I had the chance to knock, and a woman smiled at me. She was barefoot and dressed in paint-splattered jeans and a loose pastel tunic that had seen better days. Her gray hair was piled on top of her head and had two pencils stuck through it.
“I’m guessing you’re Georgiana Germaine,” she said, eyes narrowing. “I’m Chelle. Whitlock called and told me you might stop by for a visit.”
“I’m following up on Holly’s case,” I said.
“Come on in but watch out for my cat. He’s a bit feisty with strangers.”
I walked into a living room crowded with mismatched furniture and shelves packed with pottery, seashells, puzzle globes, and vintage cameras. A single mural stretched across the far wall was painted in bright swirls of color that looked like a sunset on a bright summer day.
Chelle motioned toward a couple of chairs covered in pink sheets.
As she dropped into one of them, she turned toward me. “How can I help you?”
“I’ve just learned that Holly was adopted. You told Whitlock you didn’t know anything about it, which surprises me.”
“He’s right. I didn’t know about it.”
I searched her features for a tell, any sign she was holding something back, but she offered nothing.
“Celia was one of your closest friends,” I said. “A friend you’d known for decades. It’s hard for me to believe she kept the adoption a secret from you.”
“Celia guarded some parts of her life. We all do it on occasion, don’t we?” Her jaw shifted, a small tell, and she turned, glancing out the window. “We lost touch for a time after high school when she moved away for a while. When she returned home, we picked up right where we left off.”
“Do you have any children?”
“I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“Whitlock mentioned a photo album he found in Celia’s house. You were around so much, I bet you were like a second mother to Holly.”
Chelle narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at?”
“Why did you lose touch with Celia after she moved?”
“The move, it was … well, strange. She loved living in Cambria, so when she said she’d decided to move to Sedona, I was shocked. I tried visiting, but for a while, all she gave me were excuses about why it wasn’t a good time. And then when she did invite me, I found out she had a one-year-old daughter, and she’d married a guy named Lenny.”
“Why do you think she took so long to ask you to come for a visit?”
“I’m not sure. My best guess is she thought I wouldn’t be fond of Lenny, and she was right. I didn’t care for him, and I told her as much. She thought if we all spent time together, I might change my mind, but I didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.”
“When did your friendship with Celia get back on track?”
“The day Lenny left her. She called me in a tizzy. She said he’d said he wasn’t cut out to be a husband or a father, and he wanted a divorce. I talked her into moving back here, and once she did, it was like no time had passed between us.”
I crossed one leg over the other, taking in the information she’d just given me. “There’s something you should know about me. When I’m seeking out the truth, I go to any lengths needed to get it. If I have reason to believe you’re not being honest with me, I’ll start digging up your past, talking to anyone and everyone I can. When I’m finished, I’ll know more about you than your own mother does.”
She crossed her arms, huffing, “I didn’t have to invite you into my home, but I did. The way you just spoke to me is tactless and unprofessional. I’m trying to help. Can’t you see that?”
“Lying about the past isn’t helping, and it sure won’t solve Holly’s murder. Don’t you want justice?”
“Of course, I do.”
I’d rattled her, and yet, she hadn’t broken—yet.
