Jane’s face fell. “I don’t know how I can help you.”
“John said you worked for him for several years. You have insight into the family. You may have noticed something odd in the weeks or months leading up to Peter’s death.”
“A reporter,” she said flatly. “I will not gossip about the family, friend or no.”
“I don’t want gossip.” Though gossip often had a ring of truth, if you could weed through the biases of the person sharing the information. “May I come in?”
“No.”
Okay, she had to do this another way. Jane Nunez was a mother, a small-business owner, and married—was married. Her chatty client said she was a widow. Yet she still wore a simple, classy wedding band on her ring finger. Four kids? Organized. Her kids had obeyed her immediately with only a simple eye roll of protest, meaning she commanded respect. She wouldn’t be easy to manipulate.
“Do you think that Blair Caldwell killed her son?”
“I’m not going to dignify that question with an answer.”
“John believes she’s innocent, and he wants me to prove it. That’s not what I do. I investigate cold cases. I’ve never investigated a murder that was less than a year old. I’m not here to stir the pot, to impede the police investigation or the trial. I’m here because there are similarities between Peter’s murder and the murders of three other boys between the ages of seven and nine. I hope Blair is innocent, for John’s peace of mind, but I’m not here to prove it.”
“Then why are you here?”
“In the three other cases, one of the parents had been having an affair. That information came out in each of the investigations. John told me he wasn’t cheating on Blair, Blair isn’t talking about her case because of the pending trial. I want to know what you think.”
“I have no idea,” she said quickly.
“You have no idea if either of the Caldwells were having an affair?”
“I do not pry into the personal lives of my clients. I don’t gossip. I need you to leave. It’s been a long day, and I have to get dinner ready.”
“Mrs. Nunez, did you notice anything odd in the weeks or months leading up to the murder? An unscheduled delivery, telephone hang-ups, anything out of the ordinary?”
“I was at the Caldwells’ house every Friday from eight in the morning until two. That’s it. If I had noticed anything, I would have told Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell. I would have told the police.”
“You must have an opinion. The police arrested Blair Caldwell. That might jog your memory, something that you think she may or may not have done.”
“I have the utmost respect for the police, but even the police can make a mistake.”
“So you think she’s innocent.”
“I don’t know! I need you to—”
“John told me that you cared a great deal for Peter. That you quit because you were heartbroken.”
“I was heartbroken!” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “Peter was a year older than my own son. I couldn’t stop thinking that but for the grace of God, it could have been Robbie.” She looked down, put her fingers to her eyes. “Ms. Revere,” Jane said in a whisper, “I don’t know what you want from me. I worked for the Caldwells since Peter was three, when they moved here from New York. I wasn’t a nanny, I didn’t watch Peter except on rare occasions. But I knew him, he was a wonderful little boy. Smart as a whip and full of energy. I couldn’t work for them anymore because I kept seeing Robbie in Peter’s photos.” Her voice cracked again, and this time it took her several moments before she could speak again. Max assessed her, and her first impression was accurate.
This woman knew something. She might not know what she knew, but in the back of her mind, something was troubling her, over and above the death of a boy much like her own son.
Jane said, “The Caldwells were good clients. They spoiled Peter, but he didn’t act spoiled. I feel for the family, and I feel for that little boy. And that is all I have to say on the subject.”
“You know something, in the back of your mind, maybe if we could sit down and—” Max barely got the words out before Jane shut the door midsentence.
She walked back to her rental car, frustrated. The last two days had been a complete dead end. What had she expected? A suspect was on trial for murder. Even if someone thought Blair was innocent, would they still think so now? She couldn’t talk to witnesses, she couldn’t get back to see Blair, and after today John would probably not cooperate.
Time to focus on the other three cases. She hoped her assistant, David Kane, had better news.
On the drive back to the Biltmore, she made flight reservations for San Diego. Whether Andrew Stanton cooperated or not, she was going to investigate his son’s murder.
Chapter Five
Max finished her dinner at the exquisite Wright’s at the Biltmore—they’d been closed yesterday when she first arrived, so she’d made sure she set aside the time to enjoy a meal Wednesday evening before she left Thursday for San Diego.
She asked for a third glass of wine while she looked over her notes from her conversation with David earlier. He had mixed news—Chris Donovan’s father would talk to him tomorrow at Corcoran State Prison, but the Porter family had refused to meet.
David was playing nice, she suspected, so she told him to try again with the Porters after talking to Adam Donovan. She could drive up to Santa Barbara from San Diego if she had to, but she’d rather avoid the trip. She wanted to focus her energy on the first victim—Justin Stanton. In her experience, the first victim would yield the most information. The first victim was almost always personal and the most likely victim to have known the killer.
The hostess approached her. “Ms. Revere, a Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell are at the front desk. They would like to speak with you. May I bring them here or would you like them to wait in the lobby?”
“Bring them here, thank you.” She wasn’t going to cut short her pleasant working dinner because Blair Caldwell was having a fit.
She’d bet her inheritance that Blair had convinced John to ask Max to back off.
Her wine came at the same time John and Blair were escorted to her table. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” John said. He looked physically drained and didn’t make eye contact. Max felt for him, but at the same time, she wasn’t going to be manipulated by anyone’s emotions.
Blair was pale and her eyes darted about. Was she concerned about being recognized? Confronted? Max had some sympathy. If she were in fact innocent, these charges and trial would shred her. She’d be heartbroken over the death of her son, and shattered that people thought she had done it.
If she were guilty, Max hoped the prosecution could prove it—beyond a shadow of a doubt. Because John didn’t believe it and he needed to. If she were innocent, Max hoped the jury was unanimous, otherwise it would weigh heavily on Blair, on John, and on the community.
They held hands. Unified. Showing their strength.