Little Empty Promises (Georgiana Germaine #10)

Chapter 37

37

I drove to Samantha’s house and showed her the photo. She was almost certain the man in it was the same person she’d seen at the library the day Cordelia died. We discussed Johnny and why she hadn’t told me about his argument with Cordelia. She said she found it irrelevant—Johnny had nothing to do with the murder, in her mind, so she saw no reason to mention it.

My next stop was my office, and I was happy to find Hunter at her desk. I sat beside her, and we did a search on Dustin Clemens. What I learned shocked me.

I left the office and called Whitlock, telling him about the photo and how I believed Dustin was the man who’d murdered Cordelia. Whitlock said he’d bring him in for questioning, but before we ended the call, I asked him for a favor, telling him I’d explain why later. I had one last stop to make, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

I parked in front of a stylish, modern-style house. When I knocked on the door, a voice inside said, “Come on in. It’s open.”

I slid my hand inside my bag, palming my gun, thinking it was a good idea. I was protecting myself. Turned out, it was a mistake. A big mistake. As I walked through the front door, I realized I wasn’t the only one with a gun, and the other gun was pointed right at me.

“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, Georgiana,” Octavia said. “Although I think I always knew it would, ever since you were hired to investigate Cordelia’s murder. You’ve always been too smart for your own good. Take a seat.”

I did as she requested, and I considered my next move.

“What’s your plan?” I asked. “Are you going to kill me, your good friend’s daughter? Do you think you’d get away with it if you did? You wouldn’t. My mother would live and breathe to catch my killer, and you know it.”

She let out a long sigh. “This isn’t what I wanted, any of it. I wish I could go back, but it’s too late for all that now.”

Octavia took a seat across from me, the gun still aimed at my chest. “I’m guessing you have a lot of questions for me.”

“If I ask them, are they going to be answered?”

“Perhaps.”

“You were waiting for me. How did you know I was coming?”

“Your mother called right after you left. We got to chatting, and she told me you’d been looking at the photos she’d taken. You made an excuse about having an errand to run. She didn’t believe it was just an errand, but she didn’t put it together. And why would she? She has no idea about my involvement.”

“My mother has looked up to you for years,” I said. “When she finds out what you did, she’ll be devastated.”

“Not when she finds out … if she finds out, and she won’t. As you were leaving her house, she saw you slip the photo of Dustin into your bag. She said you had a look on your face, the same look you get when you’re about to solve a murder. I assumed you’d put enough together to come for me, and I was right. I also know what you’re like, and I knew I’d have a little time to figure things out before you turn me in.”

“And what am I like?”

Octavia crossed one leg over the other. “You prefer to solve a murder before you bring the police into it. You like to be sure. You pride yourself on it. I doubt they know you suspect me, not yet.”

She’d pegged me well, but she hadn’t gotten it all correct, a fact I decided to keep to myself until the time was right.

“What I still don’t understand is why you had Cordelia killed in the first place,” I said.

“What makes you think I had her killed?”

“After Cordelia was murdered, a piece of paper was found in the library with a description of a woman. It was a perfect match to Cordelia. That same day, the library manager saw a strange man lurking around. The man was your buddy?—

Dustin.”

She furrowed her brow, looking irritated. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. How could he be so sloppy? If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. No matter. In terms of evidence, I’m afraid you're falling a bit flat.”

“I’m not done yet. Once I confirmed Dustin was in the library the day Cordelia died, I went to the office. I did some digging on him, and I’m sure you can imagine what I found out. Seems he’s been putting out fires for you for a long time, which isn’t a surprise since he works for you.”

She rolled her eyes, grunting, “I should have never asked him for help.”

“You still haven’t told me why you had Cordelia killed, but I’d like to venture a guess. Cordelia saw something she shouldn’t have, and she was murdered because of it.”

“She’s a nosey little thing—well, she was a nosey little thing.”

“What happened at the park?”

“The gathering went as planned, and afterward, everyone left. I stayed behind for a while. I thought everyone had gone, but later I learned Cordelia, who’d come with your mother, had also stayed behind to go for a walk.”

“That still doesn’t explain why she’s dead.”

“I made a mistake, a foolish one, and Cordelia happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when I made it.”

We stared at each other for a time. Though she was the one with the gun in her hand, the perspiration gathering around her forehead suggested she wasn’t as confident as she wanted me to believe.

“What was the mistake?” I asked.

“I fooled around with a man, and I got caught in the middle of it.”

“Fooled around with a man who wasn’t your husband, you mean.”

She nodded. “It wasn’t my finest moment, and I figured it wasn’t a big deal. It was a one-time thing. I’d decided it wouldn’t happen again.”

“When I was at my mother’s house earlier, she was raving about the renovations in the park. In particular, the bathrooms. If I had to guess, I’d say your rendezvous happened there, and Cordelia caught you in the act.”

“It’s all his fault. He said he’d locked the door, and maybe he thought he had. In any case, she walked in, saw me with my dress hiked up, him with his pants down, going at it.”

“And because of what she saw, you thought it warranted murdering her?”

“I didn’t give it much thought, at first. I figured, she was a little old woman. I’d speak to her about it, and everything would be fine. It wasn't until she threatened me that I knew talking with her wouldn’t work.”

“She threatened you how?”

“You’d think the woman caught me murdering someone. She lectured me about how wrong it was to cheat on my husband, and when I laughed it off, her anger escalated. She decided I needed to make a public statement about it, admitting what I did. If I refused, she would make one herself. She said she’d seen a lot in her life, and she was tired of people not paying for their sins.”

“What did you tell her?” I asked.

“I told her she could say whatever she liked, and no one would believe her.”

“You didn’t believe it, though.”

“I believed it when I said it. Later, when I met up with Dustin, he saw how shaken up I was, and he asked me what was wrong.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Not at first, but I’ve never been able to hide things from him. He knows me too well. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. So, yes, I confided in him. When he had the full story, he said to leave it to him. He promised to be discreet, and he said he’d make it all go away.”

“Did you even ask what he meant by that?”

She shook her head. “If you want the truth, I didn’t want the details. I was better off not knowing.”

“Not having the details still gets your hands dirty. You must have known what he was thinking about doing, and you didn’t stop him from doing it.”

“I knew. I just had no idea how indiscreet he was until now. What a fool … what an absolute fool I’ve been.”

“And the man you had sex with … I don’t need you to give me his name. I already know it—Benjamin Branson.”

“Bravo.”

“Before, when you said I prided myself on solving murders on my own, you’re right. I do. This time, there’s one exception.” I held up my phone, turning it toward her. There, on the screen, was the photo I’d asked Whitlock to send. A photo of Dustin being questioned at the department by Foley. “They didn’t know how you were involved. Now they do.”

“Dustin will never turn on me.”

“We’ll see.”

She scoffed, swished a hand through the air. “I already have a plan. I’ll set up Benjamin to take the fall. It will be easy—too easy.”

“You shouldn’t be so confident.”

“Enough talking. Stand up. We’re going for a drive.”

As I stood and readied myself to tackle her, Octavia’s front door blew open, and my mother stormed in, gun in hand.

Eyes wild, she glared at Octavia, saying, “How dare you raise a gun to my daughter! Put it away this instant, Octavia, or I’ll put a hole in your head.”