Another detective called Bodie’s name. “There’s a guy here to see you,” he said.
“Ask him to wait.” Bodie shifted his eyes back to me.
“He’s kind of antsy,” the other detective said. “He said it’s about his father—Richard Withers.”
Bodie’s eyes didn’t move from my face. “Tell him I’ll be with him in a minute.”
The other detective vanished.
“I’d better let you go,” I said, standing to leave.
“Just one more question, Ms. Suarez.” Bodie stood up too. “Do you think Ms. Gonzales killed Mr. Withers?”
“No,” I said. “What motive would she have for doing that?”
“Did you know about her status, Ms. Suarez?”
I remained silent. I wasn’t being charged with anything. I wasn’t under arrest. I didn’t even have to talk to him if I didn’t want to.
“Do you know that she claims Mr. Withers proposed to her?”
“Claims? Don’t you believe her?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Suarez. If anything comes up, I know where to find you.”
He called for a uniformed officer to escort me to the main door. While I waited, I saw him approach a middle-aged man and introduce himself. He had to be Mr. Withers’s son, I decided. Even from where I was standing, I saw the resemblance to his father and to the pictures of the young boy and the teenager that I had dusted throughout Mr. Withers’s house. His face was pale and drawn. He was obviously in shock. My heart went out to him. How awful it must have been to find out that his father had been brutally murdered.
When I finally got outside, I saw that there was a message on my cell phone from Mike Czernecki. I returned his call.
“Do you have a job for me?” I asked.
“I’m working on it,” he said. “I have a girl in the west end. She does nine houses. I’ve been getting complaints about her. I’m probably going to have to let her go.”
“Nine houses?”
“Half day each on eight of them. Full day on the ninth. It’s a good gig, Connie.”
It was steady work, which would be good, sure. But nine different houses meant nine different homeowners with nine different sets of rules to remember.
“In the meantime,” Mike continued, “Mr. Withers wants you to go back to the house.”
Before I could remind him that Mr. Withers was dead, he said, “Mr. Withers junior, obviously. The son. His wife called me. She said she found the company name at her father-in-law’s house. She says her husband wants the house cleaned from top to bottom. Walls and floors washed. Carpets shampooed. Fridge and cupboards cleaned out. Closest contents sorted, boxed and labeled. It’ll take you a week, minimum. Probably more like two. I told her you’d be there first thing in the morning. You good with that, Connie?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back there.
“Connie, is that a yes or a no? I don’t have all day.”
“Yes,” I said. It was work, and I needed work. “About that other job—”
“When I let that girl go, you’ll be the first to know. And I’m not going to hold it against you that you didn’t tell me about Maria.”
“I didn’t know, Mike.”
He snorted in reply. He still didn’t believe me. But he knew I worked hard, and I was willing to bet no one had ever complained about me.
“Hey, Connie? If I were you, I wouldn’t mention to either the son or the daughter-in-law that you know Maria. Maybe I wouldn’t even mention that you’ve been in the house before. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Yes. Okay.”
“And since they need so much done and they want it done fast, I negotiated a higher fee. You get twenty percent more on this one.”
“Thanks, Mike,” I said. That was how much I needed the work—and whatever else Mike could find for me.
But a twenty-percent increase on next to nothing was still next to nothing. It was like thanking a nobleman for scraps from his table.
CHAPTER SIX
I recognized Mr. Withers’s daughter-in-law Enid as soon as she opened the door. I had seen her at the house, usually snooping around Mr. Withers’s study when he wasn’t looking. But she didn’t recognize me. She scanned me from head to toe but didn’t stand aside to let me in.
“I’m the maid,” I said. “From Missy Maids.”
“ID,” she demanded, her arms crossed in front of her designer sweater.
I dug out the laminated id card that I hadn’t had to show since my first day on the job. I held it out to her, but she refused to take it. Instead, she looked from the picture to my face—twice—to make sure I was who I said I was.
“Very well.” She moved aside. “Follow me.”
She led me up the stairs to the master bedroom. The police crime scene unit had gone over the room thoroughly. A big square of carpet had been cut out where Mr. Withers had been lying. There was fingerprint powder on most of the furniture, on the doorknobs and on the light switches.
“I want this room scrubbed from top to bottom,” Enid Withers said. “No shortcuts. And never mind the carpet— obviously. Ten thousand dollars and it’s completely ruined. Do you understand what you’re supposed to do?”
I nodded.
“I’ll be downstairs if you have any questions. But Mr. Czernecki told me that you can manage without a lot of supervision. You can, can’t you? If I have to stand over you and tell you how to do everything, I might as well do it myself.”
“I can manage,” I said.
“If you find anything and you don’t know where it belongs, leave it on the dresser and I’ll take care of it. Understand?”
“I understand perfectly,” I said. I enjoyed the look of surprise on her face. I was willing to bet that she had expected a thicker accent.
With that, she left me to my work.
* * *
I pulled on rubber gloves and set to work in the bathroom. I scrubbed every surface until it gleamed. I washed the floor. I polished the massive mirror over the sink. As I did, I imagined Maria standing in front of it, fresh from her shower and not yet knowing that her world was about to be turned upside down.
After the bathroom, I moved into the bedroom. I wiped and polished all the furniture. I straightened the things on the dresser—the silver brushes, the little scissors, several bottles of cologne. I remembered the scent that had lingered when I had found Mr. Withers’s body. I remembered the first time he had gone overboard with his cologne. I had developed a full-blown allergy attack. He had never used it again while I was in the house. But he’d obviously put some on for Maria. I stripped and remade the bed, and vacuumed the carpet. I was putting my supplies back into my tray and getting ready to move on to the next room when Enid appeared. She scanned the room.
“Did you clean everywhere?” she demanded.
I nodded.
“Under the bed?” she asked.
I nodded again.
“Under all the furniture?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Did you find anything?”
“No,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said. Did she think I had taken something? Is that why she was asking? “Would you like me to start on the other bedrooms?”
Before she could answer, the doorbell rang. I expected her to tell me to answer it, but she didn’t. She hurried to get it herself. I followed her as far as the top of the stairs to wait for her instructions.
“Is Mr. Withers here?” a man’s voice asked.
“Mr. Withers is deceased,” Enid said.
“Mr. Charles Withers,” the man clarified.
“I’m afraid—oh, there’s his car now.” I heard a car pull up to the side of the house. A moment later someone entered through the mudroom door and walked through the kitchen.
“Charles,” Enid called, “there’s someone here to see you.”
Though I couldn’t see him, Mr. Withers obviously stepped int
o the hallway.
“Albert Camden,” the man said. “I’m your father’s attorney, Mr. Withers.”
“Ah, yes,” Charles said. He sounded breathless. “Please come in. Is this about the will?”
“Yes.” There was a slight pause before Mr. Camden said, “Madam, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“This is my wife,” Charles said.
“My pleasure,” Mr. Camden said smoothly. “Mr. Withers, I don’t know if you are aware of it, but your father recently made a new will.”
“New will?” Charles and Enid said, almost in unison.
“Normally I would have had my assistant call to arrange a meeting in my office with all interested parties,” Mr. Camden continued. “But it came to my attention that you were having the house cleaned in anticipation of…well, I believe you intended to take possession of it.”
“How did that come to your attention?” Enid asked.
“Intended to take possession?” Charles asked.
“Who told you about our intentions?” Enid demanded.
“There are accounts to be settled,” Mr. Camden said, ignoring her angry tone. “My assistant contacted Mr. Withers’s regular suppliers to ask about any outstanding invoices. One was for a maid service. That is how I found out that a maid had been hired to clean the house and that the bill for her services is to be added to the month’s bill.”
“Is there a problem with that?” Charles asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Mr. Camden said.
“What problem?” Enid asked.
“Perhaps we could sit down for a moment and I could explain—”
“Perhaps you could just get to the point,” Enid said.
There was a moment’s silence, and I imagined Mr. Camden studying the couple before continuing.
“Quite simply,” he said at last, “you, Mr. Withers, do not have the authority to add any expenses to the accounts of your father’s estate. Nor do you have the right to take possession of this house. Mr. Withers left it to his fiancée.”
“You can’t be serious,” Charles said. “She’s a maid.”
“I’m very serious,” Mr. Camden said. “Mr. Withers changed his will to leave this house and certain other assets to her.”
“What other assets?” Enid demanded.
“Ms. Gonzales murdered my father,” Charles said. “Surely that means she can’t inherit from him.”
“That charge has yet to be proven—beyond a reasonable doubt, as they say. And then there’s the matter of any child that might result from the union.”
“Child?” Enid said. “He included provisions for a child?”
“Might result?” Charles was almost shouting. “He’s dead. He was murdered. How can anything result?”
“Nevertheless,” Mr. Camden said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the premises until the matter is settled.”
“I’ll challenge the will,” Charles said, interrupting him. “Anyone can see what happened. That woman threw herself at my father. She tricked him into changing his will. Then, when she got what she wanted, she killed him.”
“If you want to challenge the will, you are free to do so,” Mr. Camden said. “In the meantime, I have to ask you to vacate the premises and surrender the keys.”
“I don’t believe this!” Enid growled. “Charles, do something!”
“I’ll take care of it,” Charles said. I heard the faint jingle of keys and then the sharp sound of metal being slapped onto a table. “There,” he said. “There’s my key.”
“And you, Mrs. Withers?” Mr. Camden said. “Do you have a key?”
“Give it to him, Enid,” Charles said.
Enid’s voice was bitter. “You’ll be hearing from our lawyer.”
I heard footsteps, then silence.
Suddenly I was afraid that everyone had gone.
“Wait!” I called.
A man came to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at me. Mr. Camden.
“I’m the maid,” I said. “Just let me get my things.”
I ran back to the bedroom and retrieved my tray. Mr. Camden waited for me and, like a true gentleman, held the door.
* * *
Mike called after I got home.
“You have to talk louder,” I said. The workmen were making progress. At this rate, they would be working in my apartment the next day.
“I have a request for you,” Mike said, shouting into the phone.
“You mean another job?”
“Not exactly. Not yet, anyway,” he said. “But I’m working on it.”
“Then what?”
“Some people want to talk to you. The old man’s son and daughter-in-law.”
“The Witherses want to talk to me? What about?”
“She didn’t say.”
“She?” I asked.
“The wife. She says she wants to talk to the maid who found the old man’s body. She says it’s important. She wanted me to give her your name and address so she could see you right away.”
“You didn’t give it to her, did you?”
“No,” Mike said. “You know my policy.”
I did. Mike believed in confidentiality— for both his clients and his employees. I was grateful.
“But I told her that I would give you the message and tell you that she’s expecting you at her house at six o’clock tomorrow evening. You got a pen?”
“I didn’t say yes, Mike.”
I imagined Enid Withers demanding my presence instead of asking for it. I also imagined the look of shock on her face when she found out that the maid whose presence she was demanding had been under her nose all morning.
“But you will go, right, Connie?”
“I don’t know.” It was the truth. Part of me wanted to say no simply because I didn’t like Charles and Enid Withers. But the rest of me was curious about what they wanted. “Why do you even care, Mike?” I asked. “They aren’t clients of yours.”
“They are since they hired you to clean the old man’s house,” Mike said. “I told the wife what your situation is— that you’re out of work. So she came up with a job for you for tomorrow. She wants the condo of a friend cleaned before the friend returns from Europe. She’s willing to pay you well. You put in the day there, make some money, and then go and talk to her and her husband. Sounds good, right?”
“How well is she willing to pay?”
“Three times your regular rate.”
“That sounds like a bribe, Mike,” I said. “What does she want from me?”
“Probably information about Maria and the old man. That’s another thing you didn’t tell me about, Connie—that Maria was planning to marry Withers. I’m doing you a favor. Take the money. You need it. Talk to them. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for the company.”
“The company?”
“Those people live in a great neighborhood,” Mike said. “A neighborhood where the women have high-powered jobs— if they work. Either way, they don’t do their own housework. If we do the Witherses a favor, maybe they’ll do us a favor—get us some referrals.”
“Us? Don’t you mean you, Mike?” I said. “And do you really think they’re going to recommend Missy Maids after this?”
“You never know. Besides, I’ve got nothing to lose here,” Mike said. “Neither do you.”
“What’s in it for me?” I asked. “Besides the triple pay?”
Mike snorted. “You’re starting to sound like me. What’s in it for you is I get on the phone right now and fire that other girl and you get a brand-new roster of clients.”
I may have sounded like him, but I wasn’t at all like him. I didn’t want to profit from someone else’s misfortune.
“Get me a different roster,” I said. “New people. Full days. No half days.”
“Connie, if I could, I would—”
“That’s the deal, Mike. If you don’t have any houses, get me some offices. I know you can do it.” Mike had
cousins in the office-cleaning business. He could get me something if he wanted to. “If you give me what I want, I’ll give you what you want.”
There was a long pause. I fought the urge to take back everything I had just said. What if he told me to forget it? What if I’d just thrown away the only work I had?
“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll see what I can do.”
That was a yes. Otherwise he would have fired me outright.
“Call me when you have something definite. Then I’ll call the Witherses.”
When the phone rang half an hour later, I thought it was Mike.
It wasn’t.
It was Maria.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Where are you, Maria?” I asked. “They moved me. It’s a place for women. Mr. Mason says they’ll make me stay here until the trial.”
“Are you okay?”
“They insult me so much, Connie. Mr. Mason was here. He told me Mr. Richard’s son and daughter-in-law got the police to search my apartment. And they demanded to know everything I had with me when they arrested me. They say they know I stole from Mr. Richard. But you know what? They didn’t find anything. I’m not a thief.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“And, Connie, he also told me about Mr. Richard’s will. He says Mr. Richard left almost everything to me.”
“I heard,” I said. “But I don’t think you should talk about it on the phone, Maria. I can’t see you tomorrow, but I’ll come the next day. I promise.”
“Mr. Richard was a nice man. He said someone like me who works so hard deserves to have something good happen. But he never said anything about his will, Connie. He just asked me to marry him. I think he was lonely all alone in that big house. I think he wanted someone to look after him. I told him I love to do that. Also I could help my family, send them more money, maybe bring them up here. But I never expected him to die and leave me so much.”
“We can talk when I see you,” I said again. “Not over the phone.”
“Sure,” she said. “But Connie, you’re a lawyer. When they let me out of here—”
Hadn’t she heard Mr. Mason? There was no way she would get bail.
“—they’ll deport me for sure. What do you think? Can I can still inherit from him even if I live in another country?”
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