Page 41 of Little Hidden Fears

“After all these years, do you think Gabe could be responsible for Noelle’s murder?” I asked.

“As much as it pains me to think about what he did to Noelle, I do not. What purpose would he have in doing so?”

I wasn’t sure of the purpose myself.

It didn’t mean he didn’t have one.

If he did, I was about to find out.

CHAPTER 16

During my visit with Noelle’s mother, Hunter had messaged me with Gabe’s address. He lived in Arroyo Grande, a sleepy little village steeped in rich history. With a population of less than twenty thousand, it was known for its coastal views and historic swinging bridge. And, of course, its roosters, which could often be seen roaming the village streets.

Gabe’s current residence was a bright-blue, double-wide mobile home. After I parked on a patch of loose gravel, I walked up the front steps, leading me to a porch with a metal overhang spanning the width of the home. The front door was ajar, with the exception of several strands of long, wooden beads dangling across its opening.

Inside the home, guided meditation streamed through speakers, the woman speaking about mindfulness and remembering to be in the present moment.

I cupped a hand to the side of my mouth and shouted, “Hello? Gabe?”

When no response came, I pushed the beads to the side, poking my head through the doorway, my eyes coming to rest on Gabe. He was dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, sitting on the floor in front of a worn leather sofa, his eyes closed, legs crossed.

He was a lot smaller than I imagined he’d be, about half the weight of the teenager I’d seen in the pictures. His slender frame was bony in areas, almost to the point of malnourishment.

I raised my voice and tried getting his attention a second time, which proved successful.

His eyes flashed open, and he reached for a remote control sitting beside him, silencing the meditation session.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I hope so. My name is Georgiana Germaine. I am a private detective, and I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“I don’t mind answering your questions, but why have you come to speak with me?”

“I’ve been hired to look into the death of Noelle Winters.”

Eyes wide, he ran a hand across his mouth, his expression shifting to sadness. “Noelle Alldredge, do you mean?”

“Alldredge was her maiden name, yes.”

He pushed himself off the floor, coming to a standing position. “Please ... please, come in.”

I nodded and stepped inside.

He took a seat on the sofa and offered for me to do the same.

I remained standing, close to the door, for a variety of reasons—one being my fear that the ’40s color block, collared dress I was wearing would fall victim to one of the plethora of visible couch stains.

“Are you aware Noelle died?” I asked.

“Not at all. When did she pass away?”

“A couple of weeks ago.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I do not. She was murdered.”

His jaw dropped open. “She wasmurdered?”