Garden of Secrets

by Barbara Freethy

  He hesitated, not sure he wanted to have that conversation now. “I need to get to work, and so do you.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Then I’ll see you later—not in a police lineup, I hope.”

  He tried to smile at her attempt at a joke. Despite Charlotte’s innocence, circumstantial evidence was piling up against her. They needed to come up with another suspect and another theory that would get her off the hot seat.

  Police lineup . . . What a stupid joke, Charlotte thought as she ran home. Joe hadn’t laughed, either. He’d had his serious chief-of-police face on all morning. In fact, he’d been harsher and colder than she’d ever seen him. Did his bad mood have something to do with her abrupt departure last night? She couldn’t blame him for being pissed at her; she’d been sending him mixed signals. Things were happening too fast, so she’d slowed them down.

  Sighing, she sprinted the last block and jogged up the steps to her house. She stretched on the porch for a few minutes, then went inside to take a shower. She was looking forward to going into the office and losing herself in work. Being a doctor was one thing she did really well.

  After getting dressed, she stopped into the kitchen to fill her travel mug with coffee. Her mother was at the breakfast table, reviewing her daily planner. Despite the early hour, her mother was stylishly dressed and perfectly made-up. Involved in numerous charities at the church and within the community, she always seemed to have a busy schedule.

  “Pretty flowers,” Charlotte commented as she paused to inhale the sweet scent of pink roses in a vase on the counter. “Did Mr. Lawson give you these?”

  “Those aren’t mine,” Monica replied, pushing her reading glasses to the top of her head as she lifted her gaze. “They’re for you, from Andrew. He stopped by a half hour ago.”

  “Oh, that was sweet of him.” Roses before breakfast? Andrew had certainly learned how to romance a woman in the decade since she’d first gone out with him. She felt a little guilty, though. She hadn’t been thinking about Andrew at all when she’d been kissing Joe yesterday.

  “Andrew is worried about you,” her mother added. “And now so am I. Why didn’t you tell me you were upstairs at the time of the robbery? I didn’t realize you were on the second floor when the lights went out.”

  Her heart sank. She’d hoped to keep her mother out of it as long as possible. “It wasn’t a big deal, and I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “Not a big deal? Detective Marlow called a few minutes ago and asked me to confirm that you’d be going to the station on your lunch break.”

  “Boy, people get up early around here,” she muttered.

  Her mother’s mouth drew into its familiar disapproving line. “What on earth is going on?”

  “Nothing. I went upstairs to find the bathroom, and the lights went out. I had nothing to do with Theresa’s assault.”

  “You should have told me. I don’t like to be caught off guard by rumors around town involving my children.”

  “I’m not a child anymore. I’ll handle this.”

  “Does it ever cross your mind that I might be able to help you?” her mother asked in exasperation.

  There was a tremendous amount of irony in that question. Her mother hadn’t helped her when she was a teenager, when she had confessed the biggest secret of her life, that she was pregnant. No, she’d been criticized and condemned and made to keep the secret until her mother could figure out what to do. The miscarriage had solved her mother’s problems but not hers. And their relationship had never recovered.

  In the past few months, she’d been trying to get past the old hurts, to see her mother as she was now and not as she was then. To forgive and forget. She’d thought her mother was trying to do the same thing, but it was difficult for them to step out of the roles they’d always played with each other.

  “Charlotte,” her mother prodded. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Yes, I’m listening. Jason’s interview is just a formality,” she said. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “I can go on my own. You’ll make it a bigger deal than it is.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “No. Look, you refused to be searched or finger-printed the night of the assault. I don’t need the police to think you’re covering for me.”

  Her mother’s widened eyes reflected her shock. “They couldn’t think that. I had no idea at the time that you were in any way involved.”

  “Of course. But what if I had stolen the jewelry and handed it off to you?”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Nothing we can prove beyond a shadow of doubt. If you go with me, there’s a good chance someone will ask you questions. I’d prefer to do this on my own.”

  “You prefer to do everything on your own, which is usually the problem. Your father would turn over in his grave if you were charged with burglary or assault.” She shuddered at the thought. “One of the last things he asked me to do was look out for you. As if you’d let me.”

  She stared at her mother in amazement. “You never told me that. In fact, when I asked if Dad had had any last words before he died, you said no.”

  “Well, they weren’t his last words. They were just part of one of the many conversations we had after he got sick.”

  “I didn’t know I was on his mind,” she said, grappling with that fact. She’d often felt invisible where her father was concerned. She couldn’t remember having any deep, personal conversations with him growing up. She’d always felt on the outside of the circle. It was partly why she hadn’t rushed back when he was sick; she’d been unsure of what to say to him or if he even really wanted her there.

  “Of course you were on his mind. This family was everything to him.”

  It certainly hadn’t felt that way. But sharing that thought with her mother wasn’t a good idea, so she grabbed an apple out of the fruit basket and turned toward the door. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Don’t forget the fund-raising meeting at the church—seven o’clock.”

  She paused at the door. “I’ll be there if I don’t have to work late.”

  Her mother frowned. “This is important, Charlotte. We’re discussing plans for the new children’s classroom. It was an important project for your father, and Andrew has decided to continue efforts in that direction.”

  “I said I’d be there.”

  “I just want you to know that I’m carrying out your father’s wishes.”

  There was something odd about her mother’s words. “Why would I think anything else?”

  A frown crossed Monica’s lips. “Because of Peter.”

  “Mr. Lawson?” she echoed in surprise.

  “You don’t like that I’m seeing him.”

  “That’s not exactly true,” she said slowly. “I’ll admit it’s a little strange to see you with another man. But I’m not against it.”

  “You’re not?” her mother asked, a hopeful look in her eyes, as if her answer was important.

  That thought threw Charlotte. Her mother didn’t ask for her opinion ever. “If you like him and he treats you well, then I have nothing to say.”

  “He does treat me well, with the exception of deserting me at the party. Other than that, he’s been very attentive.” She sighed. “It’s just that our friendship feels a little ...wrong.”

  The uncertainty in her mother’s eyes also surprised Charlotte. Monica Adams was the epitome of confidence. She was always sure of what was right and what was wrong. Now she was looking to Charlotte for some sort of confirmation.

  She chose her words carefully. “Dad’s main goal in life was to make you happy. That was the most important thing to him. I’m certain he’d want you to be happy now.”

  “With another man?” her mother asked doubtfully.

  “The wedding vows are only till death.”

  “But I never imagined a time when your father and I wouldn’t be together.” Her mother blinked quic
kly, as if fighting tears. “He died too young. He had so much more to offer—not just me but everyone. The world was a better place with your father in it.”

  “He was a good man,” she agreed.

  “He’s missing so much,” Monica said, her voice thick with emotion. “So many important moments in our family.”

  Charlotte swallowed hard, wishing her mother wasn’t going down this road. She’d had her own sad thoughts on the subject, and she tried not to think about it.

  “He’s not going to see our grandchildren grow up or celebrate another birthday, another holiday,” her mother said. “He’s not going to walk you down the aisle, see you get married or have a baby of your own.’ ”

  Charlotte sucked in a painful breath, her moth-er’s words conjuring up a dream that she wasn’t sure would ever happen.

  Monica gave a helpless shake of her head. “I know death is final, but feeling it, living with loss every day, is so different. I wake up and think he’s in the next room. Sometimes I hear his footsteps in the hall. They’re so familiar. I look up and expect to see him in the doorway.”

  “I know, Mom,” she got out, tears blurring her vision. Not having had the chance to say good-bye to her father had left her with a hole in her heart that might never be repaired. Because he wasn’t coming back. She would never be able to talk to him again.

  Her mother met her gaze. “I want you to have the kind of love I had, Charlotte. A man in your life who will stand by you, love you, and take care of you. A career won’t keep you warm at night, won’t comfort you through hard times, won’t be enough to fill your heart. You think I don’t know you, but I know you want more than you have.”

  “Maybe I don’t know how to get more.”

  “Maybe you don’t try.”

  Her mother had a point; she’d never made getting a man a priority. Love was always put off for another day, down the road, far into the future.

  “Start by opening your mind to the possibilities,” her mother continued. “Like Andrew.”

  She sighed. “I’ll think about my future, but how did we get onto me? We were talking about you and your relationship. Is it serious with Peter?”

  “I don’t know,” her mother said with a vague gesture. “He’s not your father.”

  “No one could be. You can’t replace Dad.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “But you like Peter.”

  “He’s intelligent, interesting, and well read.”

  “And he’s not bad to look at it,” Charlotte interjected with a mischievous smile.

  “That’s beside the point,” her mother said sharply.

  “Actually, it’s a big part of the point. If Mr. Lawson makes you happy, then you should feel free to do whatever you like.”

  “I’m not sure some ladies of the congregation would agree with you.”

  “Well, who cares what they think?”

  “I do.”

  “But it’s your life, Mom. You need to live it.”

  Her mother stared at her for a moment, weighing her words. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Her mother adjusted her glasses and returned her attention to her paperwork.

  Sharing time was over. Their relationship would always be on her mother’s terms. But at least she was starting to feel as if they had a relationship. That was something.

  EIGHT

  One thing Joe didn’t like about his job was the amount of paperwork and administrative duties. Sometimes he felt more like an office manager than a cop. On the other hand, he enjoyed the power to get things done. No more bucking against the top brass, because that was him now. He did have a city manager and a mayor to answer to, both of whom were breathing down his neck at the moment. But he could take the heat. His focus wasn’t on pleasing them but on getting to the truth and arresting the right person. That wasn’t going to be Charlotte.

  He got up as a knock came at his door. Fiona Murray had asked to see him, and he was curious. In her mid-eighties, with a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, Fiona was the matriarch of Angel’s Bay. She was descended from one of the shipwreck survivors and ran the Angel’s Heart Quilt Shop, along with just about everything else in town. She didn’t mince words, worry about feelings, or apologize for her beliefs, however crazy they might be. He liked that about her.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Chief,” Fiona said as she entered.

  “No problem.”

  Fiona had a strong grip for an elderly woman, and her eyes were bright, her hair a fiery shade of red that reminded him of her granddaughter, Kara. But Kara was a lot softer and warmer than her grandmother. With Fiona, he needed to stay on his toes.

  “Can I get you some coffee or something else to drink?” he offered.

  “No. I won’t take up much of your time. I’m concerned about the robbery at Sandstone Manor.”

  “What concerns you, exactly?” he said as they both sat down.

  “That the thief was after more than jewelry.”

  “Like what?”

  “Gold.” She clasped her hands together as she sat up straight. “Ingots, gold bars from the San Francisco gold rush, worth millions in today’s market.”

  “Go on,” he said with interest.

  “When the Gabriella went down in the 1850s, it was laden with gold. Most people believe that gold is lying on the bottom of the ocean in a wreck that no diver has been able to find. However, others think that some of the gold was brought ashore by George Worthington. He built half the town, and rumor has it that he had a stash of gold hidden away somewhere.” She took a breath, then continued her story.

  “George and his teenage son, Grant, survived the shipwreck while his wife and daughter perished. It was supposed to be women and children first, yet somehow George and his son managed to survive while the females in the family did not. Some think he sacrificed them to get the gold.”

  “Sounds like a hell of a guy.”

  “To pay penance, he built the church, which was one of the first buildings in town. He also built a number of other structures over the years, including Sandstone Manor. He remarried about six years after the wreck, but he still couldn’t find happiness, and ten years to the day after the wreck, he killed himself. He left a note for his son, apologizing for not saving his mother and sister and for letting his greed destroy their family. He said he was sorry for leaving Grant behind but that he hadn’t left him without anything—there was more gold than anyone had imagined.”

  “There’s an actual suicide letter?” Joe asked in surprise.

  “It was written about in one my ancestor’s journals.”

  “Did the letter say where this gold was?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “That would have been too easy.”

  “Life was never easy for the Worthingtons. Grant fell off a horse and died before he was forty. His son came down with pneumonia and died just after his marriage in his twenties. The males in the family seemed to be cursed, including Edward Worthington, the most recent owner of the manor.”

  “He lived to be an old man, from what I understand.”

  “Yes, but he lost his wife and child in a car accident. He became a hermit after that.”

  “Let’s go back to the gold. Why wouldn’t the Worthingtons have put it in a bank?”

  “Because the ingots were stolen.”

  “And these bars were valuable?”

  “Yes. During the gold rush, the miners would take their gold to the assayer’s office, and it would be melted into a bar, stamped with the date and the assay office, and then it could be used as money. A few years ago, such a bar was discovered in a shipwreck off the coast of Mexico, and it was valued at eight million dollars.”

  She’d finally said something that he could wrap his mind around. A rare gold bar worth millions of dollars would be quite a prize. “What I don’t understand,” Joe said, “is why anyone would believe the gold bars still exist and weren’t sold off decades a
go and why they would still be the house. Surely the last Worthington would have made certain that the gold was willed to someone in the family. Are there any other Worthingtons?”

  “No. Edward was the last, which is why the house was put up for sale by his attorneys. Very few people were allowed into the manor for the last thirty years. It’s interesting that once the house changed hands and was opened up for a big party, there was suddenly a robbery. And the fact that the necklace Theresa was wearing was from the Worthington estate . . . well, there seems to be a connection.”

  “While you present a good motivation for robbery, it’s difficult to believe there would still be gold hidden somewhere in the house or on the property. The mayor and Theresa did some renovation work; wouldn’t they have looked for the gold?”

  “Maybe they already found it,” Fiona said with a sharp smile.

  “If they did, they haven’t mentioned it to me.”

  “I’m sure they searched. Theresa was always looking for some connection between her family and the shipwreck. She couldn’t find one, so she bought one. That’s why she purchased a lot of the furnishings and pieces of jewelry from the estate. Here in Angel’s Bay, people who are related to descendants of the wreck are part of a special group.”

  “A group Theresa wanted to get into.”

  “Yes. I know it’s not important to you that your blood goes back to the shipwreck survivors, but others value the connection to the past. And there’s enough truth in our town legends to take them seriously. Think about it.”

  “I will. And as long as all of the angel and shipwreck stories don’t get in the way of good police work, I’m fine with them,” he said with a smile.

  She got to her feet. “You’re a very polite young man. I appreciate that. One of these days, you’re going to understand what it means to have faith in things you can’t see or touch.”

  “You don’t think I have faith?” he asked curiously.

  She gave him a long look. “Isn’t that why you came here—to get your faith back? Many people come here because they’ve lost their way, and this town heals them. There’s magic here. Maybe it’s goodness, faith, hope . . . or the angels. But whatever it is, it works.”