Page 18 of Scarred By Sin

“It’s unlikely that Gwenyth heard that,” Brook pointed out as she gestured toward the door. “It could be Dr. Kessler.”

Theo nodded his agreement before walking toward the front door. Brook’s thoughts turned to Gwenyth while they waited. Bit was the only member of the team who had encountered her so far, and his account had been characteristically vivid.

A woman standing at the railing of the staircase, a gray cardigan, and a stare that had apparently shaved a year off his life expectancy. Porter had been very clear that Gwenyth preferred to be left alone, and Brook would respect that boundary for the time being.

But it wouldn’t last.

At some point soon, Brook intended to knock on the door of Gwenyth’s suite and introduce herself, regardless of Porter’s insistence. A woman who had spent thirty years living next to a greenhouse full of buried remains was either a witness, a victim, or something else entirely, and Brook needed to determine which.

Porter’s role in all of this remained an open question, as well.

The so-called groundskeeper lived in a small cottage near the back of the property, close enough to the main house to keep an eye on Gwenyth but separate enough to maintain a boundary. His loyalty to her was evident, though the nature of that loyalty remained in question.

Protective?

Possessive?

Or simply habitual?

Theo returned to the dining room with a gentleman at his side.

Brook recognized him from the photographs in Arden’s briefing file before the man uttered a word. Dale Ellingham was in his mid-seventies, though he carried himself with the stiff, deliberate posture of someone who considered appearance an extension of authority. His hair was white and neatly combed, and he wore pressed khakis with a collared shirt that was buttoned one too high for the Indiana heat. His shoes were clean, which meant he’d come directly to the front door without walking the property.

“Mr. Ellingham,” Brook greeted, rising from her chair a little slower than normal.

“Ms. Sloane, I presume.” His handshake was brief and perfunctory.

“I appreciate you and Gwenyth opening the estate to us,” Brook said, gesturing toward an empty chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Dale remained standing.

“I won’t take up too much of your time. I just have a few questions.” He clasped his hands in front of him, a posture that was meant to convey patience but carried a barely concealed urgency instead. “How long do you anticipate this investigation will take?”

“That depends on what the evidence tells us,” Brook replied evenly. “The forensics team will be on site for at least another week. Our work will extend beyond that.”

Dale nodded once, though the answer clearly didn’t satisfy him.

“I still don’t understand why the crew started with the greenhouse,” Dale said, the frustration breaking through his composure for the first time. “They were instructed to clear the grounds first. The overgrowth, the fencing, the areas that Porter had let go over the years. He can only do so much on his own now that he seems to be taking care of Gwenyth on a daily basis. I don’t mean to sound insincere, but my primary concern is my niece and the care she obviously needs. I should have stepped in and taken over her affairs years ago, and I’ll carry that regret for the rest of my life. But the truth is, she was lucid back then. She made her own decisions, and she made them clearly. It wasn’t until recently that the decline began to take hold.”

He paused, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve in a gesture that struck Brook as rehearsed.

“Porter hid it, of course. Thinking he was doing what was best for her, but I believe he’s overstepped his bounds. Nestor always gave the man too much leeway, but that’s neither here nor there.” Dale took the time to meet each of their gazes. “What matters most is getting Gwenyth into a facility where someone can look after her around the clock. The proceeds from the estate sale will go directly toward her care. After the tax debt is paid, of course.”

“A small portion of the proceeds, you mean.” Brook hadn’t wanted to start this discussion off as an adversary, but he’d left her little choice. “Relative to your debt, as well.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Dale’s composure didn’t crack, but it shifted, causing a slight tightening around his mouth. He wasn’t used to being confronted, and he certainly hadn’t expected it from a pregnant woman eating grapes in his brother’s dining room.

“We’re well aware of your financial situation, Mr. Ellingham,” Brook continued, her tone neither accusatory nor sympathetic. “The outstanding liens, the delinquent accounts, the second mortgage on your own property. We’re thorough. It’s what the Bureau hired us to be.”

She let a beat pass before softening her voice, but only by a degree.

“I am sorry for the loss of your brother.”

The pivot had been intentional, and it landed exactly where she’d aimed it.

Dale’s expression faltered. His calculated composure gave way to something rawer, if only for a moment, as the reality of what Brook had just done settled over him. She had reminded him, without raising her voice, that his brother’s remains were among the dead in that greenhouse, and that his first visit to this house had been spent talking about money.

“The sheriff informed me,” Dale said quietly, his voice stripped of its earlier formality. “About Nestor.”