“Thought about what?” Olivia asked.
George rubbed his chin, eyes darting around. “As a matter of fact, I hired a security company a few years ago to install some devices throughout the house. I don't know if there were any set up near the stairwell, but I could contact the company and find out.”
“Wait a minute,” Olivia said. “You mean to tell me that there are hidden cameras in this house? Even in the bedrooms?”
“No,” George said. “I don't think there's any in the bedrooms or the bathrooms, just in the main areas of the house.”
“Why?” Miles asked. “I thought you felt safe here.”
“A few years ago I had a break in. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. That's when I had the alarm and the cameras installed. I haven't had any other problems, so I just sort of forgot that the cameras are here.”
I felt like getting to my feet and giving George a standing ovation for his fine performance. Hidden cameras? The guy is a genius!
“It’s been over thirty days,” Brett said. “Don’t they usually tape over those recording after a certain time has gone by?”
“It’s possible,” George said with a shrug. “There’s only one way to find out for sure. I’ll call them right after dinner. Maybe there's a way I can access the video via the website.”
This new development seemed to cause much distress at the dinner table. Even Sasha seemed to have no interest in her cell phone chats.
Nobody seemed in the mood to eat except for Margaret. “Would someone pass me the rolls?” she asked.
Olivia sat back, incredulous. “How can anyone eat right now?”
Brett put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Hey, simmer down. Your father has already figured out a way to settle this. If those surveillance videos can prove that no one is to blame, it's a good thing.”
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket so I checked it. Carter needed me to call him ASAP.
“Please excuse me,” I said to George, getting up. “I have an urgent call to make.”
George set down his fork and regarded me curiously. “Is everything okay, Tina?”
“I won’t be long. Please eat before the food gets cold.”
I left the table, headed upstairs and locked myself in the bedroom.
When I had Carter on the phone, I could sense his excitement.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he said. “When I contacted the security company, they were able to confirm that someone had entered the pass code to get inside the house at 11:49 p.m. on the night Josephine died.”
“This is incredible,” I said. “Josephine’s estimated time of death was between 11:00pm and 1:00am. Whoever came into the house could have killed her.”
“Only problem is, we can’t prove who actually got inside the house. Who else besides George knows the four digit code?”
“Well,” I said, thinking it over. “Lucita. But she told me yesterday that she didn’t come back to the house after she left that night around seven-thirty.”
“Maybe she lied.”
I checked my watch. 7:15pm. “Hey Carter, I need to let you go. I’m going to try and talk to Lucita before she leaves tonight. I don't have much time.”
“Okay. Be careful, please.”
Chapter 19
When I got back downstairs, I bypassed the dining room and went straight into the kitchen to look for Lucita. I couldn’t find her anywhere. I glanced out the window and saw a pair of headlights.
Shit, was she heading home already? Maybe George had told her to go home early. I exited the side door and ran out into the driveway, being mindful not to slip on the walkway covered with a fresh layer of snow.
Luckily, Lucita still had the car in park, probably waiting to let the engine warm up. I could barely see her face inside the dark vehicle, only the whites of her eyes.
I waved my hands up and down as I approached her car, hoping she’d see me before driving off. She cracked her window an inch and peered at me with a look of concern.
“I really need to talk to you,” I said. “Can I sit with you inside the car for a few minutes?”
She eyed me with trepidation but eventually nodded.
I opened the passenger side door and got in. “You were here the night my mother died,” I said. “At 11:45pm, you punched in the security code and then at 12:55am you left. That puts you in the house around the time my mother fell.”
Lucita just stared at me, as if unable to speak.
“Why did you come back to the house that night, at that specific late hour?” I asked. “And if you don't tell me the truth, I will have to tell George.”
She shook her head. “No. Please, you can't do that. I will tell you what happened.”
“I'm listening.”
It took her a moment but she eventually spilled her guts. “Sometimes I have to get away from my husband when he drinks. It doesn't happen every night - usually on the weekends. That Saturday night we had a fight and I left. I had no place else to go but here. Mr. Caswell has no idea.”
Could I believe her this time? Or was this a ploy to get me to feel sorry for her. At least she wasn’t denying that she’d been here that night.
“Did Josephine find you in the house?” I asked. “Did she become angry and threaten to tell George?”
“No,” she said. “She never saw me.”
“Are you telling me it was just a coincidence that you happened to be in the house when she died? You must have seen something.”
Her face became tight with emotion as she dabbed at her eyes. “No, but I heard something.”
I waited for her to continue, but she seemed scared. “Take a few breaths,” I said. “There's no hurry.”
The way she looked at me with caution, this woman didn’t trust me at all. I guess I couldn’t blame her but, until I knew what she was hiding, I didn’t trust her either.
“Okay,” she said, finally. “When I came back that night, I tried to sleep on couch in den next to the library. I woke up when I heard the voices.”
“Voices? Who?”
“Mrs. Hayes, she was arguing with someone. A man's voice but I'm not sure who.”
“Where were they?” I asked.
“In the library.”
“What were they arguing about?”
“I don’t know. But Mrs. Hayes was very upset.”
“What did you do?”
“I was afraid she might see me, so I left out the back door through the kitchen. I went home and slept in my car until the morning.”
“Why haven’t you told George about this?”
“I was afraid he would fire. I'm not allowed in the house after hours.”
“Is that what George said, that he'd fire you if he ever caught you in the house after hours?”
Her dark eyes scanned me quizzically. “Well, no. But I assume it is not good.”
If Lucita was telling the truth, I could understand her plight; however, she held the key to an important piece of evidence.
“Look,” I said. “Do you realize what this means? It means that, whoever Josephine was arguing with in the library, that man could be responsible for her death. You need to tell George what you heard.”
“But I do not know who the man was.”
“Well, it had to have been either Miles, Brett or Jeremy, right? They were the only guys here that night.”
She nodded.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. George’s instincts might have been correct after all. “Can you remember anything that was said?”
She mashed her lips together in concentration. Finally she looked at me and shook her head. “No.”
There was a flash of hesitance in her eyes that contradicted her reply. She was holding something back and I couldn't imagine why.
“As for your husband,” I said. “There are places for you to go. People who will help you. I saw the bruises on your arms. Were they from him?”
When she didn't respond, I assumed I
was correct.
“I need to go,” she said. “He is waiting for me at home.”
“George is not going to fire you,” I said. “I will talk to him, okay?”
Lucita stared straight ahead, her gaze firmly fixed on the dashboard lights. “Okay.”
When I got out of her car, I stood there in the dark watching her taillights fade as she continued down the long driveway to the street.
Chapter 20
As I was walking into the house through the kitchen door, Brett was loading the dishwasher with dirty dishes. I could smell coffee brewing on the counter. He looked up at me with a bemused grin. “Pretty cold outside without a jacket, I bet.”
I had no idea if he’d seen me talking to Lucita inside her car. I had to assume he had. “Looks like dinner is over. How long have I been gone?”
“Twenty minutes I’d guess.” He gave a low chuckle. “As you can see, I’ve been granted the honor of cleaning up.”
“Well, at least you had the good sense to make some coffee.”
He finished with the dishes, wiped his hands on a towel, then poured two cups of coffee and handed one to me. “So, you’re pretty chummy with the maid. I saw you two talking in her car. What was that all about?”
I figured there was no point in delaying the inevitable. “I was asking her questions. She told me that my mother had been arguing with someone in the library the night she died. The voice belonged to a man.”
Brett scratched his chin, giving the impression of thinking. “Really? Well, it wasn't me in case you're wondering. I went to bed around ten that night.”
“So, if it wasn’t you, then it had to be Miles or Jeremy.”
Brett shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “Jeremy seems to have a lot of interest in George's book collection. Maybe it was him.”
His comment got me thinking. What if Josephine found Jeremy in the library late that night doing something he shouldn't have been? What could that possibly be? It's not like Jeremy would dare steal any of George's books. Unless ...
“Excuse me, Brett. I need to speak with George.”
He stepped in front of me as if to block me from leaving. “But this conversation is just starting to get interesting.”
I placed a hand on his arm and gently moved him out of my way. “Well, maybe we can resume the conversation a little later.”
Brett leaned over to whisper in my ear. “We can share another bottle of wine if you’re up for it.”
Was he blatantly flirting with me again? “It's getting late.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s barely eight o’clock. The night is still young.”
“What about your wife?” I said. “Why don’t you share a bottle of wine with her?”
“Olivia is too busy throwing herself a pity party. It'll take a while until her Xanax kicks in and, until then, I'm staying clear.”
“I can't promise anything, but maybe I'll be back down later.”
On my way up the stairs to George’s bedroom, I noticed Miles was just walking out. His head was bent forward as he wiped his eyes. He must have sensed me standing there so he looked up and blinked as if embarrassed that I’d caught him having an emotional moment.
“Oh, hi,” he said, trying to compose himself. “Did you need to talk to my dad?”
“Yes,” I said. “Is now a good time?”
“I think so. He’s a little tired, but I’m sure he’ll want to see you.”
I was touched by his display of tenderness toward his father. He really seemed to be heartbroken over the news of the brain cancer.
“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry this weekend turned out to be such a mess.”
He shook his head and interjected. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. I should be the one to apologize to you.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For my sister’s behavior. Please try to understand she’s having a tough time with all this. Our father’s diagnosis has come as quite a shock to everyone.”
“I’m sure it has and I’m very sorry.”
He breathed in through his nose and let it out like he needed to release the weight of the world. “But I know you’re dealing with a loss, too. Complicated by the fact that you suspect her death was foul play. I wish there was a way I could convince you otherwise.”
After Miles wandered off in the direction of his room, I quietly knocked on George’s door and waited for a reply. Within a few seconds, the door opened a crack and I could see his face. “Tina?”
“Can you talk?”
He opened the door and ushered me inside. “Have a seat. I was hoping you’d stop by.” George was wearing a long, flannel robe and suede house slippers. He still managed to look elegant.
The master bedroom was bigger than my entire apartment. It might as well have been a presidential suite at the Four Seasons. I sat down in a velvet chair and took in the surroundings. This was not the appropriate time to compliment him on the interior decorating however.
“Something important has come to light,” I said.
He sat down next to me and leaned in. “What is it?”
“Carter contacted your home security company. He found out that someone had used the code to enter the house around 11:45pm.”
George seemed taken aback. “I don’t understand.”
“Lucita admitted to me that she’d come back to the house that night. Her husband was drunk and she needed to get away from him. She had nowhere else to go but here. She fell asleep on the couch in the den and woke up when she heard Josephine arguing with a man in the library. Afraid of being caught, she slipped out the kitchen door and drove back home.”
“She told you this tonight?”
“Yes. In her car, just as she was leaving.”
“She couldn’t identify the man’s voice?”
“She said no.”
George got up and slowly paced the room. “And what time did she hear this conversation in the library?”
“Around midnight.”
George’s face turned pale as he stopped to look at me. “What was the argument about?”
“Lucita claims that she didn’t hear specific words, just that the voices seemed angry. I have some ideas if you care to hear them.”
“Of course,” he said, finally taking a seat again. “I want to hear your thoughts.”
“Remember when you and I were in the library yesterday afternoon talking about the Edgar Allen Poe collection you bought from an auction?”
“Yes.”
“You were very specific about the print date being 1884 but, when I looked through one of the volumes, the date said 1902. I figured it was an honest mistake on your part, but now I’m wondering if those are even the same books you purchased.”
When George’s expression changed, I knew he understood. I remained silent, knowing the wheels in his brain were churning. He needed time to process this.
He bowed his head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“If I’m right, then someone could've been down in the library switching out the books when Josephine caught whoever it was. She discovered what was going on and confronted the person. She ran up the stairs heading back here to the bedroom to tell you but the person caught up with her.”
George raised his head to look at me and said, “Dear God. Who could it be?”
“Jeremy borrows books from your library,” I said. “I saw him reading one this afternoon, in fact.”
“Yes, but he always returns them in perfect condition. Although, I never really check them thoroughly after he returns them.”
“Has he ever showed any interest in the Poe collection?” I asked.
“No. He’s mostly interested in early eighteenth century literature.”
“Perhaps you should double check all the books he’s ever borrowed and make sure you have the originals. In fact, would it be reasonable to check inside his luggage right now? He could be planning to switch out more books this weekend, if he hasn’t done so already.”
<
br /> George closed his eyes, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. “I just don’t understand how Jeremy could hurt Josephine. He seems so mild mannered.”
“Maybe he didn’t mean to kill her. He just wanted to talk her out of ratting him out.”
George sat up straight, a determined look on his face. “He was the one who found Josephine. Maybe that wasn’t a coincidence.”
“Yeah, I thought of that, too. He probably realized that in the event her death was ruled suspicious, his DNA on her body could be explained.”
George stood up and checked his watch. “I could go to Margaret’s room and confront Jeremy right now.”
“Or, we could wait and see,” I said.
“Wait for what?”
“To see if he does another switcheroo in the library tonight. I'd be willing to wait down there in the dark to catch him. That way, he won’t be able to deny the fact and, although stealing books won’t prove that he killed Josephine, at least it will establish a motive.”
George gave it some thought. “Okay. I’ll agree to that. In the meantime, I’m going down to the library to check every single book that Jeremy has borrowed from me.”
As I followed him out of the room, I felt compelled to add, “Of course, Jeremy might not risk doing it again, after what happened last time but I think it's worth a shot.”
* * *
A few minutes later, George and I were in the library searching through all the books that Jeremy had borrowed in the past year but all of them were accounted for.
The Edgar Allen Poe collection, however, was not the original set that George had purchased at auction, confirmed by the print date.
“These covers look nearly identical to my original collection,” George said as he showed me the worn leather binding on one of the books. “But this collection is in better condition. Most people would never notice the subtle difference but, now that I see it up close...” He returned the book to the shelf with a heavy sigh. “It pains me to think that Josephine might have died because of some old books. It isn't fair.”
“No, it's not. But how do we find out if it was Jeremy?”
The Devil You Know (Sarah Woods Mystery Book 15) Page 7