Page 29 of Scarred By Sin

“You should know that was long before Claudine got sick. Cal had already been through that loss when Nestor’s wife was diagnosed, and I think that’s part of what bonded them so deeply.” Ward held Theo’s gaze, waiting for another question. When none came, he filled the silence. “Cal understood what Nestor was going through in a way that most people couldn’t, because he’d already buried someone he loved to the same disease.”

A retired science teacher whose sister died of colon cancer, deeply embedded in the life and work of a botanist who was trying to cure the disease. A man with intimate access to the estate, to the greenhouse, to Nestor’s schedule, and a personal motivation that ran deeper than friendship.

Theo kept his expression neutral.

“Do you know Porter Voss?”

“Porter? Sure, but I haven’t spoken to him in years. Good guy.” Ward narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Are you suggesting that he had something to do with Nestor’s death?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Theo replied as he folded his notebook closed. “Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Nestor Ellingham?”

“No, not a soul.”

“You mentioned that you employed drivers at some point,” Theo said, redirecting the conversation. “Is it possible to get that list of names from you? For our reports, of course.”

“Turnover for that kind of position is high,” Ward warned him as he reached for the mouse of his computer. “No one who worked for me from back then is still employed here, but I keep payroll records. If you give me a minute, I can print you a list, though there won't be many names on it. I started out slow. Grew the business from there.”

“How many drivers did you start with?”

“Two, but Ray Freeling handled Nestor’s route. He stayed with me the longest, believe it or not. Retired around three years ago.”

Theo continued to ask additional questions, but no new information came to light. The printer on a side table came to life with a mechanical groan, spitting out a list of employees from thirty years ago. Two drivers and two retail employees. It wouldn’t take long to run the background checks and reach out to them for statements.

“I appreciate your time, Mr. Seldon.” Theo pulled a card from his wallet and set it on the desk. “If anything else comes to mind, anything about Nestor or the estate or the people who came and went during those years, I’d be grateful for a call.”

“Of course.” Ward took the card and held it between his fingers for a moment before setting it beside the phone. “I hope you find out what happened to him. If what you’re suggesting is true, you should know that Nestor deserved better than what he got.”

Theo nodded and rose from the chair. He shook Ward’s hand once more before stepping out of the trailer into the July heat. The wall of humidity met him on the top step, and the contrast with the air-conditioned interior was sharp enough to make him squint. The gravel lot shimmered in the afternoon sun, and the sprinklers he’d heard earlier had moved to a different section of the nursery, their rhythmic ticking carrying across the lot like a metronome.

He’d pulled his phone from his pocket before he was halfway to his vehicle and pressed Brook’s name on the display. She answered on the second ring. Theo spoke without preamble.

“Cal Brennan’s sister died of cancer.”

13

Brooklyn Sloane

July 2026

Thursday — 1:48 pm

Porter Voss was nowhere to be found.

Brook had knocked on the guesthouse door twice, but there had been no answer. She’d walked the grounds near the barn and the toolshed, checked the perimeter along the stone wall, and even circled back to the greenhouse on the off chance he’d gone to speak with one of the forensics technicians. The cottage was quiet, his boots were missing from the front step, and the truck he used for supply runs was gone from its usual spot near the barn.

He’d left the property without telling anyone, which wasn’t unusual for someone who made regular trips into town. But the timing bothered her. She had questions about Nestor’s missing equipment, and Porter was the one person who had been on this estate long enough to know where it might have gone.

The walk back across the grounds had taken more out of her than she’d expected. The midday heat pressed down on the property, and the air was so heavy that each breath was like an act of intention. The gravel path radiated warmth through the soles of her flats, and by the time she reached the rear entrance of the main house, a film of perspiration had formed along her hairline. The baby had shifted during the walk, settling lower, and the pressure on her hips was a reminder that her body was operating on a timeline that had nothing to do with the investigation.

She made her way down the hallway toward the kitchen, intending to cut through to the dining room and ask Bit to pull the surveillance footage from the cameras he’d mounted yesterday. The cameras would have captured the time and direction that Porter had left the estate.

She was in the foyer when she caught sight of Gwenyth. The woman was standing on the second-floor landing, both hands resting on the railing, her body angled slightly forward as though she’d been watching the foyer below for some time. The gray cardigan hung from her thin shoulders, and her hair fell in the same straight, uncombed curtain as it had the previous evening.

Her expression was blank in a way that went beyond disinterest. It was completely absent. Whatever clarity had carried Gwenyth down the staircase last night, whatever sharpness had allowed her to confront Dale and ask Brook to find her father’s killer, was gone.

The woman standing at the railing wasn’t the same woman who had spoken those words.

Brook slowed her steps and stopped at the base of the staircase. She kept her voice soft and unhurried.