CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Carmen
Detective Pierce’s gaze bores into my retreating back as I leave the room. It takes every ounce of self-preservation to keep me from running, the desire to be as far away as possible from Detective Pierce and his suspicions and accusations great indeed.
I allow my steps to quicken as I reach the staircase that leads up to my room.
As I climb to the top, the memory hits me—of that fight with Carolina. Of our last moments together. I would have done everything differently if I had known what was going to happen. I wish she had come to dinner that night. I wish I had made amends.
Something was clearly bothering her. I wish I had tried harder to know what it was. I turn down my hallway and freeze.
Nathaniel stands outside my door, the police detective who was posted in the hallway last night nowhere to be found.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I nod, too emotionally wrung out from my conversation with Detective Pierce for much else.
“Can we talk?” Nathaniel asks.
I nod again, walking past him so that he trails behind me as I open my bedroom door. He follows me inside, and I close the door behind me.
It’s more intimate than I’d like, but the police are all over the house, and now that I know Nathaniel was working for Asher to investigate all the strange occurrences at Marbrisa, I want to know just what he’s uncovered.
Nathaniel glances at the painting of Anna on my wall for a moment, his gaze resting there as though he, too, understands the significance of who she is to this place.
“I saw Asher this morning,” he says. “Right before I spoke to the police. He told me what happened. He also told me that you now know what I’m really doing here.”
“I do. Where is Asher now?”
“With his lawyers at their offices on Coral Way. The police questioned him again this morning. It’s beginning to look like they’ll arrest him. He’s worried that they’re developing a theory that you were somehow his accomplice. He asked me to look after you if something happened to him.”
“Will they arrest him?”
“I don’t know. Probably. The evidence is relatively thin, but arrests have been made on less.”
“Do you think Carolina’s death is tied to the animals that have been killed at Marbrisa?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a jump to go from killing a peacock to killing a woman, and at the same time, if you throw out all that rot about this place being cursed, what you’re left with is a string of murders and gruesome happenings. It’s hard not to think that they would be connected.”
“Did you have any suspects in your prior investigation for Asher?”
“Everyone? That was the problem. I never could figure out a motive. It seemed so random. The only clear pattern that began to emerge was that each time something like that happened, the stories about this place grew worse, scaring people away.” He shrugs. “My best guess was that it was always a business rival of Asher’s. It didn’t feel personal to me. Carolina feels personal.”
“You didn’t like Carolina.”
“Their relationship was strained. I had to look at all potential suspects.”
“You thought my sister was killing alligators?” If the situation wasn’t so horrible, I’d almost laugh at the absurdity of it.
“You’d be surprised. I learned a long time ago not to assume anything in my investigations. People can always prove you wrong. You were about the only person I ruled out as a suspect, and that was because you were in Havana when all this was happening.”
“And if I hadn’t been in Havana?”
“Then, yes, I would have considered you a suspect.”
“And now? Do you share in Detective Pierce’s suspicions—do you think Asher and I colluded to . . .”
I can’t even finish the sentence.
I sink down on the edge of the bed.
“I told Asher I would watch over you. And I will.” His mouth tightens. “I know Detective Pierce by reputation. He’s tenacious. That doesn’t always mean he comes to the right conclusion. I want to find out who killed your sister.”
“Why do you care so much?”
“Because Asher hired me to do a job. It feels like I failed. I don’t like to fail.”
“And Asher?” I ask. “Do you think he’s innocent?”
If Detective Pierce was right, and Asher’s finances are as bad as he said they were—
If George was right, and Asher and Carolina did fight—
“I hope he is,” Nathaniel says, moving toward the door to leave.
“And if he isn’t?”
“Then I’ll I turn him over to the police.”
There’s more I want to ask him, so much of my conversation with Detective Pierce nagging me, but investigator or not, I still can’t trust him. He could just as easily be working with Asher, protecting Asher’s interests. After all, he is receiving a paycheck for all of this.
It’s time to take matters into my own hands.
Mrs. Morrison sighs. “As I said earlier, I don’t like to talk about my employers.”
We sit beside each other in the gazebo, our hands folded in our laps, facing the house. The conversations with Detective Pierce and Nathaniel have filled me with a sense of urgency. If they’re to be believed, I’m somewhere between suspect and potential future victim, and either way, I need to get up to speed on the history of Marbrisa sooner rather than later, and at the moment, Mrs. Morrison is the only person besides Detective Pierce—who is clearly not inclined to share—who can possibly connect the events of the past with what is happening in the present. It’s a risk confiding in her, considering she likely told Detective Pierce about my fight with Carolina, but I’m not sure what other option I have.
For her part, she looks equally unsettled sitting outside with me, and I can’t help but wonder based on the statement she gave the police if she’s filled with worry that she might be visiting with a potential murderer.
“Of course,” I reply. “I can understand that. But in this case, perhaps you’d be willing to make an exception.”
“I really don’t know what help I could give. Or how it would affect what happened to your sister.”
“Please. Anything could be helpful.”
She sighs. “There’s a great deal of sadness in this house.”
“What happened back then?”
There are so many questions that I want to ask her, but it seems wiser to let her memories unfold as she sees fit. Now that she’s begun talking, it looks like she’s loosening up, the tight hold she has kept on her emotions gone, the past bubbling over into the present.
“They seemed nice enough when I first met them—the Barneses. She wasn’t friendly, but she was kind, if you know what I mean. The sort of woman who mostly kept to herself and seemed to have little interest in making friends, but was always polite and gracious when she interacted with others. She was never rude or dismissive to the staff as so many can be. He was fine as well. Busy and important was the impression I got. But no one had a bad word to say about them in the house. No screaming matches between them.”
“What changed?”
“I’d say Miami changed them. It attracted a wild crowd back then. There were parties the likes of which you’ve never seen. Extravagant, wild parties.”
“At Marbrisa?”
“Just the one, the night that Lenora Watson drowned. They attended plenty, though. I always got the impression Mr. Barnes enjoyed them more than his wife did. Then again, she never made her feelings on the matter known much. She was a quiet one. You got the sense she was holding a great deal in.” Mrs. Morrison looks down at her hands, twisting them together. “I worried eventually she would explode.”
“Who came to that party—the night Lenora Watson drowned?”
“Oh, everybody did. It was a mark of pride to be seen at Marbrisa. After all, it was one of the grandest homes in all of Miami. The official guest list numbered over five hundred, and that didn’t include the many who gate-crashed like Lenora. If you don’t think I’m forward for saying so, it was clear that Robert Barnes enjoyed the attention, the respect he received, the deference. And of course, there were women.”
“He had a mistress?”
Growing up, I wasn’t supposed to know about such things, the concept too scandalous for my young, delicate ears. But my mother and her cousins talked, and I was a little in awe of them, how glamorous and worldly they seemed, and I couldn’t resist the urge to eavesdrop on their conversations as they shared the latest gossip circulating in Havana, often lamenting the plight of one of their friends or an acquaintance.
“He did. Her name was Julie, if I’m remembering correctly. I don’t recall her last name. But the staff had their own circles where we shared information, and it was common knowledge at the time in Miami. Of course, a lot of this became public after Anna’s death.”
“Did Anna know? About his mistress?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, she wasn’t the sort to be overly familiar with anyone, and she was inscrutable. If I’ve ever met a more self-contained person, I don’t remember it. She spent many of her days in that house, in the gardens.”
“Alone?”
She sighs, sidestepping my question. “I felt bad for her, you know. Whether or not she was aware of her husband’s affair, eventually the whole town was. It was a humiliating situation. Not to mention, I always got the feeling that she loved her husband. That she was dedicated to the marriage.”
My parents’ marriage appeared tranquil on the surface. I never got the impression that there was any infidelity between them, never overheard any loud arguments. If there were tense moments, they shielded me and Carolina from them. They were never overly affectionate, either, but considering they had been married nearly thirty years when they died, my impression was always that they had a happy union. What Mrs. Morrison describes between Robert and Anna sounds incredibly tragic.
“I thought he loved her,” I say, feeling naïve. “After all, he built this house for her.”
She snorts. “I always thought he built the house for himself, not for her. She certainly never seemed to take much pleasure in it. He might have loved her in his own way, but he made some foolish mistakes. They both paid for them.” She hesitates. “I shouldn’t say anything, although I suppose it doesn’t matter as much now that they’re all gone. There was one visitor Anna entertained a great deal. Just before she died. In the beginning, the staff didn’t think much of it because it seemed natural that he would be at Marbrisa. But then, as time went on, well, people suspected they were more than just friends.”
“Who was it?”
“The architect—Michael Harrison.”
“She had an affair with the architect?”
It must have been a well-kept secret, considering this is the first I’ve heard of it. I think back to the painting of Anna hanging in my bedroom, to Michael Harrison’s name scrawled there. I want to run back upstairs to my room, wish to study the image and Anna’s expression with fresh eyes now that I have this new piece of information.
“I think so. I saw them together in the greenhouse once. He was clasping her hand. It could have been a perfectly innocent gesture, but there was something about it that made me think otherwise.”
“What happened between them?”
Did history repeat itself? Is that why Carolina was so drawn to Anna’s story? Because she was also involved in an affair? Did she fear Asher would hurt her the way Robert hurt Anna?
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. Like I said, I only saw them together the one time.”
“Do you think Robert killed Anna because she had an affair with his architect?”
“That was the police’s theory, certainly. Robert Barnes died before the murder trial for Anna’s death. A heart attack. I always wondered if a jury would have found him guilty.”
“Do you think Lenora Watson’s death was an accident?”
She hesitates for a long time. “I just don’t know,” she finally replies.