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 beensummonedby 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 theSpecter’s Bountythat 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. Iknow.
Before she could knock, the door swung open. Cressidahad 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.”
