Page 20 of Tide and Seek (Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries #8)

“Sure,” Hartley said curtly. “But if I had a dollar for every time a friend or family member was wrong about their loved one’s ability to commit murder, I’d be a rich man.”

My face warmed at his surly tone.

Hartley seemed to catch himself. “Look, my job is simply to gather all the information I can and then go examine it. My investigation takes me where it takes me. I’m not trying to railroad anyone into a murder charge that isn’t deserved.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Royce said agreeably.

I said nothing.

“Now.” Hartley flipped to a new page in his notebook, his expression becoming more businesslike. “Dr. Thornton, let’s talk about this break-in at your property. What exactly was taken?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I’m actually not sure yet. I’ve been dragging my feet doing the inventory. I collect medical antiques and historical surgical instruments.” I gestured toward the display shelves at the side of the living room. “On the surface, it doesn’t appear anything was taken.”

Hartley glanced over at the shelves. “Are those pieces valuable?”

“Collectively, their value is probably around thirty thousand dollars, give or take.” I watched his eyebrows rise slightly. “They’re not just collectibles. Some of them are museum-quality pieces.”

“And yet you just keep them here on a shelf?” His tone was disbelieving.

I grimaced, cheeks warm. “That was definitely a foolish oversight. When I left for Rainy Dale, I wasn’t thinking logically.

I was in a hurry to get out of LA and that’s really all I cared about.

In hindsight, I obviously should have put them in storage.

I’ll definitely do that before I go back to Rainy Dale.

I naively believed that having a security system would keep all my things safe. ”

“Unfortunately not.” Hartley snorted. “I’m sure if the thief hadn’t immediately triggered the alarm, he’d have stolen whatever he could grab.”

“No doubt,” Royce murmured.

Hartley asked, “Who knew about your collection, Dr. Thornton?”

I frowned, thinking. “Well, anyone who’d been to my home would have seen them. Naturally, my housekeeper, Margie...” I trailed off, remembering what Luke had told us yesterday about her death.

Hartley’s pen paused over his notebook. “Ah yes, Margie Santos. I understand she cleaned not just your home, but several properties here at Ocean Whisper Estates.”

“That’s right. She cleans... or did clean my home for years.” The past tense felt strange on my tongue. “Luke Westbrook told us yesterday that she’d died of an overdose. Is that true?”

“Mr. Westbrook was correct.” Hartley’s expression grew grim. “Margie Santos was found dead in her apartment five days ago. Fentanyl overdose.”

I shivered. “That’s so horrible.”

“Yes. It is.” Hartley studied me. “How well did you know Ms. Santos?”

“Not really well on a personal level. She was always friendly, professional, reliable. She came by monthly to maintain the house even when I wasn’t here.” I paused. “I can’t imagine her using drugs. She just didn’t seem the type. Especially something like fentanyl.”

Hartley’s gray eyes flickered. “People aren’t always what they seem, Dr. Thornton. In fact, it appears Ms. Santos might have been selling drugs to some of her neighbors.”

“She was selling drugs?” I squawked. The very idea of a nice woman like Margie hawking drugs was mind-boggling.

“It seems so.” Hartley grimaced. “We’ll know more once we’ve interviewed everyone. But from what we can tell, she wasn’t all that she seemed on the surface.”

My mind was reeling. Sweet little ol’ Margie, who always left my house spotless and smelling of lemon and lavender, had been dealing drugs? That was like finding out Mrs. Butterworth had a side hustle selling meth.

“Getting back to Mrs. Brownstone,” Hartley said, “do you have any idea why she might have been in the area Tuesday night? According to her daughter, she’d been living in a senior community in Thousand Oaks since she sold her home here. Any reason she’d have come back here?”

“I wouldn’t really know. She lived here a very long time,” I said. “From what I’ve heard, she still felt entitled to use the private beach.”

“Even though she no longer lived at Ocean Whisper Estates?” Hartley frowned.

“She was just like that.” I shrugged. “Having owned a home here over two decades, it was probably hard for her to let go.”

Hartley rubbed his jaw, looking thoughtful. “Even so, would she have come here at night for a stroll on the beach? That’s quite a drive and she wasn’t a young woman.”

“I agree,” I murmured. “I really have no idea why she thought it was worth the trip. There are plenty of other nice beaches.”

“Do you remember who told you Mrs. Brownstone still felt entitled to use this beach, Dr. Thornton?” Hartley looked up from his pad, pen poised.

James had been the one who’d mentioned Mrs. Brownstone still used the private beach, but I worried that naming him as the source might steer Detective Hartley back toward him as a suspect.

Keeping things vague seemed harmless enough.

I was positive James wasn’t capable of murder, and I didn’t want to do anything that might put him in Hartley’s crosshairs.

“I don’t recall,” I lied, cheeks warming when I felt Royce’s gaze.

“No?” Hartley frowned.

“Not at the moment,” I said, making sure not to look at Royce.

“Okay.” He hesitated. “Tell me, what do you think of Luke Westbrook?”

Relieved at the change of subject, I said, “He’s a bit of a free spirit.” That was the nicest thing I could think of to say about Luke.

“He uses narcotics, correct?”

I blanched. “Er… yes.” Apparently Luke’s reputation preceded him.

“Would you say he’s a trustworthy type of guy?” Hartley continued to appraise me with his keen gray eyes. “For example, would you trust him to housesit for you?”

“Probably not,” I admitted guiltily. “Luke was always eccentric, but he seems even more so than when I lived here before.”

“So you’ve seen Luke since you’ve been back?”

I nodded. “Yes, briefly. He dropped by yesterday. He was definitely on something.”

“Any idea what sort of drugs he takes?”

I shook my head. “You’d have to ask him. I believe he mixes things.”

Clearing his throat, Hartley glanced down at his notes again. “Let’s see… while you were away, you had Margie the cleaning lady come by on a regular basis, and who else?”

“When you say ‘come by,’ what do you mean?” I frowned.

“Service people.”

“Ah, I see. Well, there was Margie, as we discussed.” I rubbed my chin, trying to remember all the various people I hired to keep my beach house in good shape.

“Harris, the security officer for this community, checked on the place from time to time and let me know everything was okay. I have a pool guy who comes every two weeks, and the pest control company sprays once a month.”

“Any of them ever come inside?”

“Just Margie,” I said, then corrected myself. “Wait, every few months the pest control guy has to come inside to spray. Otherwise, we end up with an ant problem.”

“So it’s not a regular thing?” Hartley asked.

“I think he sprays inside every three months? I’m sorry, I’m not exactly sure of the duration. He’s going to spray inside when we leave next week.” I grimaced. “I’m sensitive to the bug spray chemicals, so I asked him to hold off.”

“He was here recently?”

“Yes, yesterday morning. One of my neighbors—Luke, actually—asked him to visit because he’s being invaded by ants.”

“I see.” He tapped his pen on the pad, looking thoughtful. “Anyone else you can remember who would need to come inside your home?”

“Not that I can think of.” Hopefully I wasn’t forgetting anyone.

“Pool guy ever come inside?”

I shook my head. “No. Why would he?”

“Just asking,” Hartley said, shrugging. “Sometimes the pump filter system is installed in a garage or interior utility room inside a home.”

“Not in this case,” I murmured.

“You ever see any of the service people talking to Mrs. Brownstone?”

I frowned. “I’m sure she must have talked to them, but I don’t recall a specific instance.” I didn’t bother mentioning that odds were she wouldn’t have been talking to them, she’d have been yelling at them.

“And you didn’t see anyone hanging around the night you arrived from Rainy Dale?”

“No. Sorry.” I grimaced.

“Right.” He sighed, looking tired. “Okay, well, that’s all I have for you at the moment.”

“If you think of anything else, just call.” I sounded way too happy he was leaving. Hopefully he didn’t notice how eager I was to get rid of him.

“I will.” Hartley closed his notepad and stood. “If you think of who it was who told you Mrs. Brownstone still frequented the private beach, let me know.”

“Sure,” I mumbled, guilt resurfacing.

Hartley turned to Royce. “Oh, and to answer your earlier question, Sheriff Callum, the coroner estimates time of death between 7:00 p.m. and midnight Tuesday.”

“Okay, thanks for sharing that information,” Royce said, also rising.

I got to my feet, still avoiding looking at Royce. I felt guilty for lying to Hartley about James, and knew Royce wouldn’t be pleased with me.

Hartley moved toward the front door, tucking his pad away. “I’ll probably have a few follow-up questions for you two, but we can most likely handle those over the phone. When exactly are you flying back to Rainy Dale?”

“Next Thursday night,” I said, opening the door for him.

Hartley stepped out onto the stoop, his gray eyes serious. “If you think of anything you forgot to tell me, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I will,” I said.

“Good luck with your investigation, Detective Hartley.” Royce sounded pleasant, but I could feel a current of uneasiness beneath the surface.

I closed the door and leaned against it, slowly turning to face Royce. My stomach clenched at his grim expression. “Don’t be mad,” I said softly.

“Why’d you lie, Max?” he asked gruffly, confusion shimmering in his brown eyes.

I winced. “Because it isn’t important who told me about Mrs. Brownstone still using the beach.”