Page 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 was murdered ?”

“At an engagement party she was hosting, yes. In the middle of the party, there was a power outage, and during that time, she was strangled to death.”

His eyes began to water, and he bowed his head, voice lowering to a shaky rattle. “Of all the people who didn’t deserve something like that to happen, she’d be at the top.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Noelle showed me kindness when no one else did, kindness I didn’t deserve and still don’t.” He paused, then added, “She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.”

And just like that, the scripture-quoting part of our conversation had commenced.

I feigned innocence, for now, saying, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Proverbs 31:26.”

“I see.”

“Are you a religious woman, Miss Germaine?”

I ignored the question.

What I was or was not was none of his concern, nor did it have any relevance to the reason for my visit.

“I’d like to see your hands, if you don’t mind,” I said.

“Of course, may I ask why?”

“I’ve seen the autopsy photos. There were bruises on Noelle’s neck, finger impressions from being strangled.”

“If you’ve come here today to find out if I had anything to do with her murder, let me put you at ease. I did not. I haven’t seen Noelle since we were in court.”

He raised his hands in front of him like he was under arrest, and I stepped forward. For as slender as he was, his fingers were large.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

“I’m not, but you can put your hands down now.”

I stared at him for a moment, and he stared back, and I noticed something I hadn’t in the photos I’d seen—his eyes were two different colors. One brown, the other more yellowish-green. It was a rare condition called heterochromia, affecting a mere 1% of the population.

He placed his hands in his lap and turned, looking out the window at a large pine tree. “I’m sorry to hear about her death, and I hope her family is all right. Her parents are good people, even if they hate me, as I imagine they still do. Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all wrongs.”

“If you don’t mind, can we forego the scripture passages during our visit?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You haven’t offended, but let’s stick to discussing the topic at hand.”

“The topic of murder, you mean.”

“I do. Where were you on the evening of March 13th?”

“Hard for me to remember what I did yesterday, let alone where I was over two weeks ago.”

“Try.”

“I don’t get out much. I find it’s better to keep to myself. Helps my head to remain clear, free of things I ought not to think about.”

“Can you answer the question?”

“I’d say I was home that evening, as I am most evenings.”

“Alone?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ve learned a lot about you today, about your home life in your younger years, your father, the night you assaulted and raped Noelle.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m trying to engage in conversation with you, to answer any questions you’ve come to ask, but you’re making it hard.”

“I’m just stating the facts.”

He opened his eyes, and even though I didn’t want to admit it, those same eyes, the ones I’d seen in the photos, so dark, so menacing, had somehow changed. They were much softer now.

“As I was saying, I do everything I can to keep my mind clear, in the present where it belongs, and not in the past,” he said. “Nothing positive will come from dragging up unpleasant memories.”

“I understand, and I hope you understand I have a job to do.”

“I suppose me telling you I’m innocent isn’t enough, is it?”

“I’m sorry to say it isn’t. Not yet.”

“I look forward to the day you’re sure of my innocence. Is there anything else I can answer for you?”

“I have some questions about your father.”

“What about him?”

“Is he still alive?”

“As far as I know, he’s still around, though I’m surprised the alcohol hasn’t gotten the better of him by now. I can’t imagine he’s kicked the habit. Don’t see why he ever would.”

“Do you see him?”

“Not since the day I was arrested.”

“Why not?”

“I thought it best to cut him out of my life. With him in it, there’s no chance for me to be a better person, to be the man I work day and night to be.”

“And what kind of man is that?”

“A humble one, a man who seeks to better himself and the world around him, so that one day, when I die, I may be forgiven for my past sins.”

He was either doing a superb job of acting, or he had become the one person I didn’t believe he could—a changed man.

“Since your release from prison, what have you been doing?” I asked.

“I live a modest life.” He got up and walked to the kitchen. “I’d like to show you something.”

On the off chance he couldn’t be trusted, I dipped my hand inside my bag, palming my gun.

He opened a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a tray full of handmade soap, a bit of glitter spilling off the tray in the process. “There’s a local craft market up the road. I have a booth there each week on Saturday. Sell out just about every time. You ever been to Crafty Couture on Main Street?”

“I haven’t.”

“My soap is sold there too.”

“How did you get into soap making?”

“I read a book about it when I was locked up. I thought it would be something I’d enjoy doing, and I was right. Been making soap ever since I got my own place.”

“Does it pay your bills?”

“Can’t say I have many of those. The trailer belonged to my aunt, my mother’s sister. While I was serving time, she married a wealthy man, and she wrote to me to say she was deeding this place to me. I sure am grateful. As for other expenses, I don’t have a car, but I do have a bike. It’s kinda crazy how cheap you can live if you’re not afraid to give up a few luxuries.”

He grabbed a shimmery pink bar of soap off the tray. The bar had a sliver of black running through the middle. He slipped it into a small white bag and walked over to me. “Here, I’d like you to have one.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to?—”

“Please, it’s yours.”

“How about you allow me to pay you for it?”

He swished a hand through the air. “Don’t bother.”

Against my better judgment, I accepted the bar and changed the subject.

“Do you have a girlfriend, or are you dating anyone?” I asked.

He returned to the sofa, shaking his head as he sat down. “I haven’t dated a woman since my release.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t trust myself, I guess.”

“I thought you were trying to live in the present and to leave the past behind.”

“It’s true, I am. I suppose the thing that scares me the most is having to tell another woman about the mistakes I’ve made. It wouldn’t be right not to tell her, but once I did, I couldn’t see any woman sticking around after that. Even though I’ve changed, I’d still be seen as a monster, and the truth is, I was one, but I’m not one now.”

I had mixed feelings about what he’d just said, and now I understood why Zoey felt the way she did when they’d met. Standing in front of him now, I found myself wanting to forgive his past transgressions, even though I was conflicted. Part of me was of the mind that he didn’t warrant forgiveness, no matter how much he’d changed.

“Do you have any friends?” I asked.

“A few.”

“Are they aware of your past?”

He nodded. “They’re part of my church group.”

The sound of a vehicle rolling to a stop out front distracted me from the conversation, and I turned.

Gabe stood, peering out the window, and said, “Guess I’m a popular guy today. Wonder who those two are?”