Garden of Secrets

by Barbara Freethy

  Fiona’s gaze sharpened. “I’m sure the police have spoken to her.”

  “Yes, they have, but I need more information.”

  “Are you sure you want to get involved in this, Charlotte?”

  “I’m already involved, because I was upstairs the night of the robbery.”

  “You should talk to Lottie at Delilah’s Hair Salon. You know her, don’t you? She’s Andrew Schilling’s aunt.”

  “Yes, Lottie cut my hair a few times back in high school. Why would she have information on the Worthingtons?”

  “She used to go up to the manor to cut Edward Worthington’s hair. Lottie thought the man had a crush on her—but then, she has a big imagination, almost as big as her mouth. If you need someone to talk to, she’s probably your best bet.”

  Charlotte smiled, excited about the new lead. “I’ll go over there later this afternoon. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” Fiona pushed an old journal across the table. “This diary belonged to Rosalyn Murray. You should read it. Sometimes the past holds more answers than we realize.”

  Joe had questioned many witnesses over the years of his career, and he’d learned how to read between the lines and pick up on nonverbal tells. Constance Garcia was one big mass of quivering nervous tension, from her eyes constantly darting to the door behind him, as if seeking escape or rescue, to her fingers sliding a cross along a gold chain hanging around her neck, to her shifting feet. There was no reason for her to be nervous of him, which meant he was missing something. She was afraid, and he needed to find out why.

  “I have nothing more to say,” she told him, not inviting him inside the manor.

  “Well, I have something to say,” he continued. “We went over the list of people who were working here the night of the party.” He held up the photograph. “This woman, Michaela Gomez, was seen running down the stairs minutes before you screamed for help. Do you know her?”

  She glanced at the photograph. “She was working here that night.”

  “We can’t locate her. Any idea where she might be?”

  Constance shook her head.

  “Did you speak to her the night of the party?”

  “I spoke to everyone,” she said. “It was busy. We were working hard. She was serving the guests and cleaning up the used glasses and plates. Maybe she went upstairs to see if there were any up there.”

  He found it curious that she was making up an excuse for a woman she claimed not to know. “Anything else?”

  “Why don’t you ask the caterer about her? He hired her.”

  “He said she was a recent addition to their serving staff.”

  When Mrs. Garcia didn’t comment, he changed course. “What can you tell me about the necklace that was stolen? I understand it belonged to the previous owner?”

  “Sí. Yes,” she said with a nod.

  “Were there other pieces of jewelry that Mrs. Monroe acquired with the estate?”

  “Señor Worthington kept many things in a safe. After he died, the lawyer came and locked up the house until he could sell it.”

  “Where did you go during that time?” he asked curiously.

  “I stayed with my cousin Rita in Monterey, until I knew if the new owner would want to hire me back on.” She shifted her feet again. “I think it was the doctor who did it. I told her I was sorry, but I had to say the truth. She was upstairs. It had to be her.”

  His gut tightened. “When did you tell Dr. Adams you were sorry?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Where did you have this conversation?” he asked, wondering why Charlotte hadn’t told him about it.

  “In her office. She came in while I was waiting for Dr. Shaw. I don’t want to talk to her again,” she added worriedly.

  “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” he assured her.

  “I have to go to work now.”

  “One second. You’ve obviously heard stories about gold being buried somewhere in this house. Did Mr. Worthington ever talk to you about that?”

  She immediately shook her head. “There’s no gold here. I’ve cleaned every inch of this place.”

  He paused. “Mrs. Monroe had several private sessions with a fitness trainer here at the house. Did you meet him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think they were having a more personal relationship?”

  Her eyes widened, and she started shaking her head again. “I don’t see anything. I just do my work. That’s all. Please, no more questions.”

  As Joe headed to his car, he had a feeling that Constance made it a habit not to see anything. He couldn’t blame her for being loyal to her employer. But was there more than just loyalty involved? It bothered him that so many people were unreachable: Michaela, the trainer’s girlfriend, and Peter Lawson. The three people had no connection to one another, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that one of them was involved.

  After lunch with Fiona, Charlotte finished up work earlier than expected, since two of her appointments called to reschedule. She debated diving into Rosalyn Murray’s diary but didn’t feel quite ready to deal with the distant past. Instead, she decided to go to Delilah’s Hair Salon; maybe Lottie could tell her something new about Constance Garcia or Edward Worthington.

  Turning the corner by Lauren’s bakery, she saw a crowd of people inside. Good—she wouldn’t be tempted to get a sweet treat. Moving on, she checked out the window displays at the local antique shops, thinking how fun it would be to decorate her own house someday. Another decision she needed to make soon, but not today.

  Then Joe called her name. She stopped as he got out of the dark police sedan and walked briskly toward her. Her heart skipped a beat at his approach, but the expression on his face said that he was in chief-of-police mode.

  “What did I do now?” she asked warily.

  “Mrs. Garcia,” he bit out. He cast a quick glance around, then pulled her toward the wall of the bank so they weren’t standing in the middle of the sidewalk. “You forgot to mention that you spoke to her yesterday.”

  “Right,” she said, giving him an apologetic smile. “I had a brief conversation with her while she was waiting for my partner to do her examination.”

  “Did you threaten her?”

  “Of course not,” she said, surprised by his question. “How could you ask me that?”

  “Because she asked me to make sure you didn’t try to talk to her again. Do you realize that your brief conversation could be seen as intimidation of a witness against you?”

  She was blown away by the spin. “It wasn’t like that. It was a simple five-minute conversation. She said I seemed nice. She wasn’t at all scared of me, Joe.”

  “That’s not the story she’s telling now.” He planted his hands on his hips. “I told you to stay out of this.”

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

  His jaw tightened. “It was a mistake.”

  “Well, then it was a mistake,” she said, unwilling to give in completely. “I can’t stand by and do nothing. And if you weren’t a cop, you’d do the same thing in my situation. You know you would.”

  He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “But I am a cop, and we’re working this case. Your getting in the middle of things doesn’t help.”

  “Are you sure?” she challenged. “Maybe my talking to Constance shook her up a little, made her doubt what she saw. Because you know what? I’m not convinced she saw me at all. In fact, I’m wondering if she might be involved. And there’s another thing. She said that ‘they told her not to talk to me.’ Who do you think she was referring to?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “I think she slipped up, Joe.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “And what about the fact that she knows the house better than anyone? She’d know how to cut the lights. And she’d be able to move quickly through the house in the dark. Maybe she’s the one who brushed by me in the hallway.”

>   “Why would she wait until the middle of a party to steal Theresa’s jewelry when she probably had access to it anytime?” he countered.

  “Perhaps Theresa kept it in a safe.”

  “There wasn’t a safe at the house. They had an alarm system, but it was turned off for the party.”

  “What about the other maid, the one you showed me a picture of? She was upstairs. Have you found her yet?”

  “No. Look, I know you’re frustrated, but you need to back off.”

  “I’ll try to stay out of things, but I won’t promise not to follow leads that come my way.”

  His gaze narrowed suspiciously. “What lead has come your way that hasn’t come mine?” He looked around. “In fact, what are you doing right now?”

  “Talking to you,” she prevaricated.

  “Where are you going? Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I had a short day, and I’m going to Delilah’s Hair Salon.”

  “Really? What are you having done?”

  “Do you care?”

  “I care about everything that concerns you. I like your hair long. You’re not cutting it, are you?”

  “No, not today.”

  He glanced down the street. “I’ll walk with you. Maybe wait until you’re done, and then I’ll buy you a coffee—latte with hazelnut sprinkles, right?”

  She was impressed that he knew her favorite coffee but not excited about him hanging around the salon while she talked to Lottie. “I don’t have an appointment. I’m just stopping in to say hello to Lottie.”

  “I hear she’s a character. I didn’t realize you were friends.”

  “She’s Andrew’s aunt.”

  “No kidding? I’ll be glad to meet her.”

  He wasn’t giving an inch. “You’re determined to come along, aren’t you?”

  “You bet. Because you’re up to something, and I want to know what it is.”

  Their gazes clashed and held for a moment. “Fine. Lottie used to cut Edward Worthington’s hair. Fiona suggested she might be a good person to talk to. Now you know.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “You’ll scare Lottie with your official presence, and she won’t tell me a thing.”

  “From what I know of Lottie, she doesn’t scare easily.”

  Charlotte headed down the street, Joe dogging her steps. When she opened the door to the salon, she saw Lottie behind the counter. The big-haired blonde with the long fake eyelashes and overdone makeup was nothing like Andrew’s mother, Gwen, who had always struck Charlotte as a prissy, uptight woman.

  “Charlotte Adams,” Lottie said in a loud, cheery voice. “I wondered when you’d finally come in and say hello.” She moved around the counter and gave Charlotte a bear hug. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. I’m sorry I haven’t come by until now.”

  “Well, you’ve been busy, from what I hear. What can I do for you today? Your hair is too pretty to cut.”

  “No, I don’t need a cut.”

  “Then it’s you that needs a cut,” Lottie said, turning to Joe. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on that thick head of hair of yours. I can do a much better job than Bernie at the barbershop.”

  “I don’t need a cut, either,” Joe said quickly.

  “No, he just wants a trim,” Charlotte said, deciding to make Joe pay for hounding her steps. “He’s a little nervous about having it done in a women’s salon, so I said I’d come with him.”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” Lottie said. “Well, only sometimes,” she added with a laugh. “But not when I’m cutting hair.”

  Joe turned red.

  “Don’t be shy,” Charlotte said, putting a hand on his back and nudging him forward. “Lottie is great.”

  Lottie led him over to her chair. There was one other stylist sweeping up hair, but there were no other customers. “You’re lucky. You hit us at a slow time,” she said. “How about a shampoo?”

  “No thanks,” Joe said, sitting in the chair. He glared at Charlotte in the mirror as Lottie draped a plastic cover over him and spritzed his hair with water. “And don’t cut very much off.”

  “Men are always afraid to lose their hair,” Lottie told Charlotte. “But this one doesn’t look like he’s in any danger of that.”

  Joe’s hair was thick, wavy, and a rich shade of brown. Charlotte had loved the feel of it in her fingers. “Don’t cut too much off,” she echoed. “I like his hair a little on the long side.”

  “And is it important what she likes?” Lottie asked Joe with a mischievous twinkle. “Funny, I haven’t heard any gossip about you two. I hope I’m the first. I love to break news in this town.” She glanced back at Charlotte as she reached for her comb. “I thought you and Andrew were getting together.”

  Charlotte should have seen that coming. She quickly changed the subject. “I wanted to talk to you about Edward Worthington. Fiona told me you used to go to Sandstone Manor to cut his hair.”

  “I did. We had some interesting conversations. But if you’re asking if he told me where the gold was hidden, I’d have to say no,” she said with a wink. “Don’t look so surprised, honey. Everyone in town is wondering if that’s what the thief was really looking for. Edward told me if there was any gold, he sure couldn’t find it. He was a hard man—cynical, bitter, and quiet. It was tough to get much out of him. The only person he seemed to warm to was his housekeeper.”

  “Constance?” Charlotte asked, anticipation snaking down her spine. “Did they have a more personal relationship than employer-employee?”

  “I never caught them doing anything personal, but she mothered him. She was always bringing him tea, checking up to make sure I wasn’t bothering him. She was protective, and he seemed to like that.” Lottie paused. “He mentioned that it was the curse of the Worthington men to lose the women and children who loved them. He’d decided to live the rest of his life alone, so as not to put anyone else in danger.” Lottie pulled a comb through Joe’s hair and snipped off the ends. “I was a little surprised that he didn’t leave Constance anything in his will. Everything from his estate went to charity. Rich people may get close to their servants, but they don’t usually forget that that’s exactly what they are—servants.”

  Which gave Constance a good motive to try to get something from the estate for herself. “Do you know anything about the necklace that was stolen?”

  “I heard it belonged to the Worthington woman who died on the ship. But who knows if that’s true? Lots of rumors going around, including you being near Theresa’s room when she got knocked out. Such nonsense, and that’s what I tell everyone. You were always a good girl. I knew you’d do well for yourself, and here you are, a doctor. It’s very impressive. My nephew never should have let you slip through his fingers.”

  “That was a long time ago, Lottie.”

  “Kid stuff, I know,” she said with a wave of her hand. “But you two made a cute couple. I remember one time sitting on Gwen’s porch, and you both came back from the beach, all golden blond, sunburned, and wind in your hair. You looked happy, the picture of young love. Then you whistled, and this scraggy, muddy mutt came running. You said your mother wouldn’t let you bring home any more strays, so you needed someone to take the dog until you could find the owner.”

  “Andrew’s mother was horrified,” Charlotte said, smiling at Lottie.

  “Which is why she made me take the dog. He was my loyal companion for seven years. I called him Bartholomew. He needed a royal name to make up for his not-so-royal lineage.”

  “I’m glad he had a good home.” She cleared her throat, realizing that Joe was watching her in the mirror with a thoughtful look.

  “Anyway,” Lottie said, “I know love doesn’t always last. Lord knows I’ve fallen in love a dozen times—and I enjoy it every single time.” She gave Charlotte a mischievous grin. “Nothing wrong with being single. You can do whatever you want whenever you want, although it can be a little lonely, too. But there’s always so
me bad that comes with the good.”

  “Yes.” They’d drifted way off track. “Lottie, I need to clear my name. If you can think of anything else that might help me find the thief, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Isn’t finding the thief your job?” Lottie asked Joe.

  “I like to think so,” he said dryly.

  Lottie nodded. “Charlotte always had a mind of her own. Did she tell you about the time she organized a strike against Buck’s Burgers?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “No, she didn’t. What did you do, Norma Rae?”

  “You don’t want to hear that story,” Charlotte replied quickly, but there was no stopping Lottie when she was on a roll.

  “One summer, old Buck decided to hire nothing but busty girls to wait tables. Well, one of Charlotte’s friends couldn’t get hired because she didn’t have a lot in that department. So Charlotte organized a strike. She got all the pretty girls in town to picket, and none of their boyfriends would cross the line. Buck lost money and finally had to cave in.”

  “He really went in the other direction,” Joe said. “The last time I was in his place, there wasn’t a waitress under forty.”

  “Besides being a chauvinist, Buck is also cheap. There are far better gigs in town for good-looking young girls.” Lottie measured the ends of his hair, then looked in the mirror. “What do you think, Chief? Short enough?”

  “It’s good,” he said. “Charlotte?” He met her gaze in the mirror.

  Sexy as hell, she thought. But Lottie had big ears and no censor on her mouth. “Not bad.”

  “Not bad.” Lottie sniffed. “Own up, girl, he looks hot.”

  She gave up. “Okay, he looks hot.”

  “That’s right. You’ve been a good sport, Chief. I know you didn’t really want a haircut. You wanted information. But we all got something out of it, didn’t we?” Lottie said cheerfully.

  Joe got up and dug out his wallet, then handed Lottie two twenties. “Will this cover it?”

  “I barely did anything. I’ll get you some change.”

  “Keep it,” he said. “You’ve been a good sport, too.”