Gloria parked in front of a modest apartment building on the corner of two quiet streets. Rosa couldn’t hold in her surprise. She’d imagined the wife of Clarence Forrester and the granddaughter of Aunt Louisa would live in something more substantial.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Gloria said, staring back at Rosa. “Mom adamantly insisted that Vanessa live with us despite their marriage problems.” Gloria grinned mockingly. “What would people think? It was bad enough that the word ‘divorce’ was even being mentioned aloud. Vanessa never took Mom’s threats seriously, and when she left, the Forrester money was shut off with no option for Vanessa ever to move back. I tried to reason with Vanessa, but she’s as stubborn as my mother. Vanessa now manages a shoe store to get by while Julie is in playschool.”
When they approached the main door, Gloria pushed a button next to the name Forrester on the outdoor directory.
“Hello?” The voice that came over the intercom seemed slightly out of breath.
Gloria spoke loudly into the intercom. “Vanessa? It’s Gloria. I’m here with Rosa.”
After a moment, a buzzer sounded, and Gloria pushed the glass entry door open.
They took the elevator to the third floor and gently knocked on Vanessa’s door. Dressed in white exercise shorts and a cotton top that tied in a bow at the back of her neck, Vanessa wore her brown hair tied back into a ponytail. With intense brown eyes, she carefully regarded Rosa as she opened the door.
“Pardon how I look. I was just doing some calisthenics in my front room.” Vanessa invited them into a small but comfortable-looking apartment. The living room, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke, had a window that offered a beautiful view of the surrounding neighborhood. An exercise mat and some small barbells next to it, lay on the vinyl floor.
Vanessa invited them to sit at a small table situated in a dining area next to the kitchen.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Vanessa said politely. “I have Coca-Cola in the fridge.”
Feeling somewhat parched, Rosa accepted the offer. Gloria did the same. Vanessa opened a shoulder-high, single-door fridge, poured the bubbly beverage into three glasses, and carried all three in a triangular shape to the Formica-topped table.
“I’m assuming you’re not here for a friendly visit.” She pulled up a speckled vinyl-covered chair for herself and nodded at Rosa. “We met briefly at the party the other day. Your accent is definitely not from around here.”
“She’s my cousin from England,” Gloria said proudly.
Rosa sipped her soda pop and set the glass on the table. Condensation ran in rivulets to create a wet ring. “I’m here on holiday.”
“Of course, I’ve heard about you.” Vanessa crossed a bare leg. “Clarence says you’re a detective?”
“She’s a WPC,” Gloria answered with a giggle. “That stands for Woman Police Constable.”
Vanessa smirked. “Nice of the men to make the distinction.”
Rosa ignored the jibe. “I’m part of the London Metropolitan Police Force. I’ve been asked to join the investigative team in Santa Bonita on the Florence Adams case.”
Vanessa narrowed her gaze in Gloria’s direction. “How fab.”
Rosa cocked her head, “Yes, I guess that’s . . . um . . . fab.” She pushed a stray strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Vanessa pouted. “I was already questioned by Detective Belmonte. I don’t know what else I can add.”
“I know, but sometimes it’s good to go into things a bit deeper after the fact.” Rosa jumped in. “How well did you know the victim?” She watched Vanessa’s face intently for her reaction.
Vanessa blinked several times. “Not well. We weren’t friends or anything like that.”
“Vanessa,” Gloria broke in gently, “The police know about Clarence and Flo.”
A red flush bloomed on Vanessa’s cheeks. “It’s difficult to keep private matters private in a town this size.” She stared at Rosa. “You can see why I’m reluctant to talk about it.” She jutted her chin out defiantly. “It’s humiliating.”
“I understand,” Rosa said, and she did. The reason she was in California was to escape the tide of public humiliation that had roared her way after she’d abandoned Winston. “But this is a murder investigation, so, unfortunately, hard questions will be asked. If you hold back any information, and the police find out, it’ll immediately cast suspicion on you.”
Vanessa swallowed. “I see.”
“Based on the statement you gave Detective Belmonte, you were walking along the shore when you came upon the body, correct?”
Vanessa nodded.
“How long had you been on your walk?”
“I guess about twenty minutes.”
“Did anyone see you or talk to you at that time?”
“No, I walked south along the shore for a while and then turned around. It was starting to get dark. I . . . don’t think anyone saw me. I mean, there were a few people in the distance that weren’t part of our group. The beach wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t deserted either. They were all strangers to me, though.”
Rosa had taken her walk at the same time, only she’d headed north while Vanessa had gone south.
“I’m sorry that I have to get personal here, but how long had your husband and Florence been involved before you found out?”
Vanessa lifted a creamy white shoulder. “A couple months? Who knows? It’s not like Clarence would tell me the truth.”
“I’m sorry my brother hurt you,” Gloria said.
“Yeah, well. Looks like Florence got the worst of it.”
A heavy pause settled between them.
Gloria shifted uncomfortably before breaking the silence. “What are you implying?”
“Oh, nothing. Just fate. Florence was a home-wrecker, and now she’s dead.”
A smile tickled Vanessa’s lips in a way that made Rosa still. Vanessa jumped to her feet and collected the empty glasses. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to pick Julie up from her friend’s house, and I need to make myself presentable before facing the public.
When Rosa and Gloria arrived back at the Forrester mansion, they found Clarence in the garage—an apparent refuge from a houseful of women, Rosa thought—working on a motorcycle.
“A new
