Page 26

The Ophelia Albrecht Women’s Center was a bright-white, two-story building. With its large wraparound porch and Grecian columns, it reminded me of the house in Gone with the Wind . I stepped inside, quick to notice the elegant, winding staircase and the wall next to it, which boasted a floor-to-ceiling mural of a lotus flower. Known for their ability to rise from the mud without so much as a blemish, lotus flowers symbolized strength, resilience, and rebirth—the perfect choice for a women’s center.

After I checked in with one of the security guards, I was given directions to Barbara’s office. As I made my way there, I passed by a woman wearing a pink track suit. She glanced at me for a quick second and then looked away, grabbing her shirt sleeve and yanking it down as if trying to hide the cuts I’d just seen. In that moment, I felt a range of emotions—gratitude for places like this one mixed with a heaping feeling of sadness. I couldn’t imagine what these women were going through and how brave they were to seek help.

I entered Barbara’s office, and she smiled, looking up at me and saying, “Georgiana Germaine, it’s nice to meet you. I was wondering when you’d stop by.”

She was younger than I expected, forty-ish, and dressed in a black, rayon pantsuit. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a neat side bun.

“I wasn’t aware you’d heard about me,” I said.

“I looked you up after having a chat with Noelle’s mother yesterday.”

“How’s Joanie doing?”

“She’s been better. Do me a favor and close the door. I’m guessing the conversation we’re about to have would be best had in private.”

I closed the door, and she gestured at a chair.

I sat down.

“How are things going with your investigation?” she asked.

“A little slow, but I’m gaining momentum.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It’s been hard, being at work these past several days. It’s difficult to stay strong, when all I want to do is to break down and cry. But I have no choice, I must be strong for the women at the center. They deserve it.”

“Were you and Noelle close?”

“I’d like to think so. I was hired to manage the center right before it opened, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“I heard Dominic went to great lengths to keep Noelle’s name discreet, given the nature of the center and the services it provides.”

“Dominic was protective of all of us, always thinking of ways to keep us, and the women who come here, safe. We give our first names to the women, but not our last, and we don’t talk to the ladies about our personal lives ... not often, anyway. Sometimes it’s easier said than done.”

“I bet.”

“We form bonds with some of the women while they’re here. It’s easy to do.”

I crossed one leg over the other. “Have you had many problems with any of the abusers showing up here, looking for their wives or girlfriends? I assume some of them know this is where they might go when they become brave enough to leave.”

“We’ve had a few run-ins over the years, but I’ve got the police on speed dial, and the security here is excellent. And our two security guards are intimidating—in size as well as demeanor. Dominic and Noelle did a great job of creating a center where women feel protected from the outside world while they seek treatment and make plans to better their lives.”

“Would you say most women who come here leave their abusers for good?”

Barbara shook her head, looking shocked at my question. “I’d say it’s the opposite. About half of the women who return to their former relationships are abused again within six months. I choose to focus on the success stories—the women who are able to move forward. We help them all the best we can, which is all we can do. At the end of the day, it’s their life and their decision.”

“What will happen to the center now that Dominic and Noelle are dead?”

Barbara sighed, her expression one of concern. “I was just talking about this subject with Noelle’s mother. She’d like the center to remain open and for us to continue to honor what Noelle started. But she has no idea what it takes to run this place, let alone to keep it funded enough to help these ladies. I’m nervous about it, to be honest. It takes a lot of money to run the center, but for now, we’ll remain open as long as we can.”

She paused, looking out the window at the woman in the pink track suit who was now strolling through the garden. Then she turned back to me, saying, “Now, what can I do for you?”

“In the weeks prior to Noelle’s death, did anything happen with any of the women, anything out of the ordinary? Did Noelle act any different than usual?”

She gave my questions some thought. “Nothing out of the ordinary occurred at the center, no. As to your question about Noelle, no. She wasn’t her usual, chipper self.”

“Any idea why?”

“I always thought Noelle did a good job of keeping boundaries between herself and the women who come here—getting close, but not too close. About a month ago, that all changed.”

“What happened?”

“A woman showed up one night in bad shape. She’d been beaten far worse than most I’ve seen, and I’ve seen a lot.”

“Is this the same woman who left this place and then went missing?”

Barbara raised a brow. “Ah, I see you’ve heard of Dawn Salisbury.”

“Noelle’s mother told me about her. She said Noelle wanted to hire a private investigator to find Dawn. When she asked her mother for advice, Joanie told her to leave it alone.”

“Sounds like something Joanie would say. She may have suggested Noelle do nothing, but between us, she did.”

I leaned forward. “Are you saying Noelle hired a private investigator?”

“She sure did.”

“And?”

“He couldn’t find Dawn. It’s like she just vanished. When the police stopped by her place, she wasn’t there. Her apartment hadn’t been packed up, and her car was still in the garage.”

“Did anyone see Dawn after she left the center?”

“According to the private investigator, no. This center was the last place she was seen.”

It was odd.

Even odder were the lengths to which Noelle had gone to find the woman, something she hadn’t done with others in the past.

What was different about Dawn?

Was she the key to finding Noelle’s murderer?

“When Dawn showed up here, what did she say about all her injuries?” I asked.

“She wouldn’t admit to being abused, even though it was clear she had been. Noelle did everything she could to get Dawn to talk, but she wouldn’t. Not to us, not to the police.”

“Why do you think Noelle went out of her way to find Dawn? I’m assuming she didn’t do the same for any of the other women.”

Another glance out the window and then, “No, she didn’t, and I’ve asked myself the same question many times. The situation with Dawn was unusual.”

“In what way?”

“When she first got here, Noelle thought she’d seen her somewhere before.”

“Even if that’s true, it still doesn’t explain why she’d hire someone to find her.”

“I agree, and I should add, part of me suspected there was more to it—something Noelle wasn’t telling me.”

It made me wonder whether Noelle knew where she’d seen Dawn before, and for whatever reason, hadn’t admitted it.

“What made you feel Noelle was keeping something from you?” I asked.

“Most of the time, when Noelle tried to get one of the women to speak their truth, admit who was hurting them, she did so in a calm, nonaggressive way. With Dawn, she pushed a lot harder.”

“Do you think it was because of how badly she’d been beaten?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“The private investigator she hired should have given Noelle a file folder with his findings, even if he didn’t locate Dawn. You wouldn’t happen to have it or know where it is, would you?”

She interlaced her fingers over the top of her desk, giving the question some thought. “I don’t know anything about a file he may have given her, but since you’re here, let’s go check Noelle’s office.”

We stood and walked across the hall.

Barbara unlocked the door, and we stepped inside. She closed her eyes, breathing in a lungful of air. “I haven’t been in here since ... you know, prior to Noelle’s death. I still remember the last time I was in here, talking to her. It was the day of the murder. She stopped by to grab something she needed for Zoey’s engagement party.”

“When people die, I always find rooms like these to be like time capsules. You almost don’t want to touch or change anything.”

“We won’t, not right now. As far as I’m concerned, this is still her office.”

Barbara walked to the other side of the desk, pulled the top drawer open, and riffled through it, taking things out and setting them on the desk. On her fifth try, she said, “Hey, I think I found something.”

She pulled out a file folder out and opened it, nodding.

Sure enough, it was a summary of the investigation.

“Here you are,” she said, handing it over. “I hope this helps.”