Page 14

“Forgive me for stopping by without calling first,” I said. “I was in the neighborhood, and I just wanted to offer my condolences for your daughter and son-in-law.”

The woman narrowed her eyes and said, “It’s clear you know who I am, but who are you?”

In my anxiousness, I’d managed to skip formal introductions.

I took in a deep breath and tried again.

“I’m sorry if I got ahead of myself just now,” I said. “My name is Georgiana Germaine. I was hired by Zoey Morgan to investigate the death of your daughter.”

“Ah, yes. Zoey stopped by yesterday. She told me she’d hired someone, but she failed to give me your name.”

Noelle’s mother looked to be in her late sixties, and she was on the slender side, with long, frizzy, silver hair that cascaded halfway down her back.

I found her stunning.

“I appreciate you taking the time to stop by, but now isn’t the best time for a conversation,” she said.

I removed a business card from my wallet and handed it to her. “Before I go, I’d like to leave you my card, so you have my contact information. Call me anytime.”

She nodded, and just as she was about to slide the card into her pocket, she hesitated, muttering “Germaine” under her breath.

I wasn’t sure why, but I respected her wishes about cutting our visit short, and I nodded and walked away. I was halfway back to my car, when she called out to me, saying, “Miss Germaine, a moment of your time if you don’t mind.”

I turned back.

“I’m aware you have just taken the case,” she said. “Even so, I’d like to know whether you have any leads yet.”

“A few.”

She glanced at the gold watch on her wrist. “Why don’t you come inside? I can spare a few minutes before I pick up Kiera. She’s over at my son’s house, playing with her cousins. I’m Joanie, by the way.”

I followed Joanie to the living room, and we sat on a couple of chairs in front of the fire.

“I understand you went to see Dominic yesterday,” she said.

“I did. I was there when he ... he, uhh ...”

“Yes, it’s unfortunate, what happened. He’s hasn’t been well since Noelle passed. We all knew he was battling depression, but none of us thought it had reached the point where he’d take his own life. I’ve been made aware of the letter he left. Haven’t gotten the chance to see it yet, but Detective Whitlock was kind enough to read it to me over the phone.”

“How is Kiera? Is she aware of what happened?”

“Not yet. We haven’t decided when to talk to her about it, and we’re still working out the healthiest way to have the conversation, not that there is one in this instance. It’s never a good time to deliver news of this sort.”

“What will happen to her now that both of her parents are gone?”

“In the case events unfolded like they indeed have, Noelle wanted us to take Kiera, and we will, of course. We have a lot of family here, so she’ll have a lot of support.”

“Have you considered taking Kiera to a therapist?”

Joanie reached for a book, one of many stacked up on the coffee table, and she turned it toward me.

The book was called The Key to Unlocking a Better Life .

And the author ... Joanie Alldredge.

“I didn’t know you were a therapist,” I said.

“I’ve had my practice for almost forty years now. When I saw your name on your business card, I put two and two together, and ... let’s just say you look a lot like him.”

“I look like him ?”

“Your father, Abe Germaine.”

Now I understood why she’d stopped me on my way to my car.

“How did you know my father?” I asked. “Did he come to see you ... for, uh, help?”

“He did. Not all the time. When he had a case that was hard for him to deal with, he’d stop in for a chat. He wanted more than anything to keep the stress of his higher-priority investigations to himself, so he didn’t bring it home to his family.”

“I don’t ever remember him talking about his cases much, not unless his coworkers were around.”

“He spoke to me about you once, and although it’s rather unusual for me to talk about my clients, I don’t think he’d mind me sharing something with you.”

I leaned in, curious to hear what she had to say. “Go ahead.”

“Your father worried you’d follow in his footsteps.”

“He worried? Why? I was so young when he passed away.”

“As young as you were, you had a genuine interest in his line of work. It reminded him of his own ambitions. He wanted you to have a good life, a happy life, and a career that allowed for those things. Being a detective, even a private eye who works on homicide cases ... from what I’ve learned, it’s challenging.”

She paused, as if awaiting my response.

“I have a wonderful life, and while my career can be stressful at times, I love what I do,” I said. “And while I’m speaking of love, this summer I’m marrying a man I’ve known since my college years. He’s always been supportive of what I do. Sometimes, he even assists with my cases.”

She placed a hand on mine. “That’s wonderful to hear. If your father was alive today, I’m sure he would be proud.”

Wanting to get the subject off of me and back to the case, I said, “If you can spare a few more minutes, I’d like to ask you a few things.”

Joanie glanced at her watch once more. “Would you excuse me?”

I nodded, and when she returned a few minutes later, she said, “I’ve just spoken with my son’s wife. She’s in no hurry for me to pick Kiera up, so to answer your question ... yes, we can continue our discussion.”

I was glad to hear it.

“Before we get going on what I’m sure will prove to be a much heavier topic, I have to admit, I’m parched. Would you care for a glass of water?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Lemon, or no?”

“Lemon, thank you.”

Joanie went to the kitchen, and it wasn’t long before she came back into the room, carrying a tray of two lemon waters and a handful of cookies.

She set it down between us on a circular coffee table.

“It’s not often I indulge in sugary treats, but at times like these, I find it’s the little things that help us get through,” she said. “Please, help yourself.”

I grabbed a chocolate chip cookie and a napkin, preparing myself for the difficult topic to come.

“When I was talking to Dominic yesterday, he shared a private part of Noelle’s past with me, something they didn’t speak of to anyone,” I said.

“Are you referring to what happened to Noelle in high school?”

“I am.”

“He must have had a good reason for telling you about Gabe.”

“I understand now why she opened the Ophelia Albrecht Center.”

“Ah, yes. The women’s center meant everything to Noelle.”

“Did she ever speak to you about any of the women who came to the center?”

“On occasion. It was rare. If she talked to me, it was to get advice. Why do you ask?”

“Even though I’ve been led to understand she tried to keep her real name and her life private, I’m wondering if someone affiliated with the center discovered her true identity. Perhaps a disgruntled husband whose wife she’d mentored.”

“If so, I know nothing about it.”

“I heard the police were consulted from time to time, and that in more serious situations, Noelle did what she could to talk some of the women into speaking up about what they’d been through.”

“Noelle never pushed. She planted the seed and did what she could to get that seed to grow. It was always the woman’s decision to talk to the police, and when they did, if they wished, Noelle remained by their side the entire time.”

“Were there any instances when an abuser found out his girlfriend or wife was at the center, and they tried to intervene?”

Joanie gave the question some thought. “It did happen. Not often, but Dominic took precautions right from the start. One of those precautions was hiring security guards—one at the front gate and one as you enter the center. No one comes in or out without checking in, and even then, it’s the woman’s decision whether or not to see any visitors.”

“When you say it’s the woman’s decision, how does that work?”

“Everyone is stopped at the gate and asked to state their name, which has to be proven by showing the proper identification. The security guard never tells a guest if the woman the person is coming to see is on the premises. He only says he’ll check. If a woman refuses a visitor, the visitor is told the woman isn’t there.”

I was impressed.

“Is there any protection for the women once a visitor gains entry?”

Joanie nodded. “Of course. Staff has a button they can press which lets the security company know there’s a problem.”

“Has the button ever pressed?”

“To my knowledge, no.”

She leaned to the side, grabbing a tissue, and blotting her eyes.

“I know this is hard to talk about,” I said.

“It is, you’re right, but I am in complete support of what you’re trying to do. If talking to me will lead you in the right direction, it will be well worth it.”

“Do you remember the last time Noelle asked for your advice about one of the women at the center?”

Joanie reached for a cookie. She took a bite, holding the rest of it in her hand as she said, “Let’s see now. There was a recent incident, yes. It’s coming back to me now. A woman came to the center. She had a black eye, multiple bruises and wounds.”

“Does this type of thing happen often?”

“Not often, no. Many women come to the center seeking refuge after leaving their partners, be it boyfriend, or husband, or otherwise. The center acts as a middle ground. It’s the step between shedding their past and healing from their pain as they try to forge a better life for themselves. As for the woman I just mentioned, Noelle convinced her to be looked at by a doctor, but the woman wouldn’t admit who’d beaten her.”

By law, any doctor who suspected a woman was a victim of domestic violence was mandated by the state to report it.

“I’m assuming the doctor knew she’d been assaulted.”

She nodded. “He contacted the proper authorities. Even then, the woman wouldn’t give them a name. The police did what they could to try and figure out who’d harmed her, but the woman was unmarried, and she lived alone. When police questioned her coworkers, they confirmed she lived alone. They’d all presumed she was single.”

“What happened to the woman?”

“She left the center almost as soon as she arrived, which didn’t sit well with my daughter. She admitted to me she’d been to the woman’s house, but the woman wasn’t there. A day or two went by, and the woman still hadn’t been seen, and she hadn’t shown up at work. Noelle came to me for advice. She wanted to hire a private investigator.”

“Did she?”

“I doubt it. I tried my best to talk her out of it.”

“Why?”

“Not knowing the woman’s full story, or who harmed her, or why, I was concerned about Noelle’s involvement. She’d never put herself at risk in such a way before, not to my knowledge.”

So why had she this time?

What was different about this woman than the others?

“Was the woman ever found?” I asked.

“To my knowledge, no.”

If Noelle’s desire to hire a private investigator hadn’t been supported, it was possible she’d hired the investigator and didn’t tell anyone.

“How many employees work at the center?” I asked.

“I’m not certain. I can tell you Barbara Adams runs the place. She’s been there since the beginning.”

Joanie polished off her cookie, washing it down with lemon water, which wasn’t to my taste, but to each his own. She reached for another cookie, saying, “Do you have any other questions about the center?”

“None I can think of right now.”

“Good, then we should move on. You mentioned Gabe earlier, and I have plenty to say about him.”