Page 10 of Little Bitter Truths
“When she first noticed the person sitting in the vehicle, she said the house was dark, the only light coming from the television.Fifteen minutes later, the truck was still there, so she turned on the porch light to get a better look.That’s when the driver started the engine and took off up the street.”
“Going back to Cooper, did he say anything about reaching out to Mia after he and Wren split?”
They shook their heads in unison.
“Not a word,” Foley said.“Why?”
“Mia said Cooper called her after the separation a couple of times.He asked her if she would try to convince Wren to get back together with him.”
For a moment, the room fell quiet.
“Well, that’s a nice little piece of information,” Whitlock said.
“Why?”
“According to him, splitting up had been the right decision.He said he wished her well and that the feeling was mutual.At least, that’s the story he told us.”
4
The drive from Cambria to Paso Robles took a little under an hour, depending on traffic and how many tourists decided to crawl along Highway 46 while admiring the vineyards.The late morning sun stretched across the rolling hills as I made my way inland, the coastal fog long gone by the time I passed through Templeton.Oak trees dotted the landscape like old sentinels guarding the vineyards, their twisted branches casting shadows over rows of grapevines that ran toward the horizon in perfect lines.
It was the kind of drive that often cleared my head.
But today it gave my thoughts more room to wander.
The facts as I knew them so far: Wren had been murdered in her sister’s living room.Nothing was stolen.There was no clear motive.A neighbor had spotted a truck parked nearby the night before, and a fired employee had threatened her.And then there was the husband who sounded almost too good to be true.
As I mulled it all over, Paso Robles came into view, the small downtown area coming alive with the quiet bustle of late morning.I pulled into the parking lot outside a modest brick office building with a brass sign mounted beside the entrance, which read: MAYFAIR FINANCIAL
Inside, the office was neat and understated.Framed photos of vineyards hung on the walls, and soft instrumental music played somewhere in the background.
A receptionist sat behind a desk near the front.
She looked up as I approached and said, “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Cooper Mayfair,” I said.“My name is Georgiana Germaine.”
“He’s just finishing up with a client,” she said.“You’re welcome to have a seat.”
I sat, and moments later a door opened down the hall and a man stepped out.He shook hands with another man in a gray suit with a folder tucked under his arm.Gray Suit seemed relieved to be leaving.
At first glance, Cooper looked like the kind of person one could trust to manage their money.He had an all-American vibe.He was clean-cut and handsome in a way that wasn’t flashy but easy on the eyes.His dark blond hair was trimmed above the collar of his white button-up, which was tucked into a pair of beige slacks.
His gaze landed on me, and I said, “Mr.Mayfair?I’m Georgiana Germaine.”
Recognition flickered in his eyes.
“You’re the private investigator,” he said.
“That’s right.”
“Mia told me she hired you.I assume you’re here because you have questions for me.I was just about to take my lunch break.Would you mind if we talked over a meal?”
“Works for me.”
He walked in my direction, offering a slight smile to the receptionist.“I’ll be back in an hour, Linda.”
We stepped outside and walked a block down the street to a small restaurant on the corner called the Twisted Vine Bistro, a cozy place with outdoor tables shaded by umbrellas and a chalkboard menu propped beside the door.
