by Celia Loren
"It was small—just four people. Brent Redmond, of course. His mother Leigh, his sister Whitney, his attorney Mark Scanlon, and Scanlon's fiancé Kristine Harrington. All four slept in the house that night. Apparently it's common for Redmond to invite guests to spend the night. And Eugenia Mueller and Aaron Sarka."
"Wait…are you saying one of those six people killed her? That's crazy."
"Not so crazy. Take Aaron Sarka, for example. Did you know he used to work for an independent military contractor? We tried to look into his background and couldn't. His files are sealed. I don't think the government is trying to hide his acts of charity."
"But…Aaron? He's so…"
"Nice? And Eugenia Mueller, there's no record of her before around 1990."
"That…" I shake my head, unable to process what they're telling me. "But what if someone broke in? I mean, what if…what if…"
"What if someone jumped the ten foot tall fence, broke through the alarm system without anyone knowing, found Jody Hall, killed her, put the alarm system back on, then threw her body over the fence and escaped?" Donohue asks drily. "Even though he didn't have cameras, the alarm system is state-of-the-art. Apparently he's got some fancy paintings to worry about."
"That he does. Well, surely you can cross off Mrs. Redmond."
"Why? Jody was five foot one and a hundred pounds soaking wet. It would have been tough, sure, but I think any of those women would have been capable of picking her up and bringing her into the garage."
"Why the—oh. Into their car, you mean. And then you think they just drove out the next day like nothing happened."
"And with the next day being her day off, no one even noticed she was gone until Monday."
I sit up, excited by a sudden idea. "What was she wearing? If she was in her day off clothes, then—"
"She was found naked," Donohue interrupts me.
My stomach churns. "Was she…?"
"No sign of sexual trauma."
I lean back, frowning. "Well, the how of it aside, I'm just saying that I've met all those people."
"And what do you think of them?" Donohue asks.
"Oh, so that's what this is," I realize, glaring back at the two of them. "I'm not a spy. I don't think any of them are murderers, alright? And I signed a non-disclosure agreement when I first started working there, anyway."
"This is a murder investigation. I don't think some little NDA is going to hold up."
"Fine. Then why would any of them kill her?"
"Like you said yourself, no one ever notices the maid. Could be she saw something she wasn't supposed to."
I take a deep breath. "You made a mistake before. Maybe you're making a mistake now," I finally say.
Jaime leans forward. "Cora, I understand that you like these people, but the last maid there was smothered to death in that house, maybe even in your room."
"Smothered…you're sure? Because I noticed this brown spot on the carpet next to my desk, and I thought it could be blood."
"It wasn't. No, if we'd found blood, this whole investigation might've been a lot easier. As it is, with only finding the body a month after the murder…it's going to take a long time to unravel everything. But she was definitely smothered."
I feel like something is tapping at the back of my brain. "With what?"
"We don't know, but we're working on a warrant now so we can get into the house to look. Redmond's attorney is putting up quite the fight."
The thought at the back of my brain surges to the front, I begin to pick nervously at my cuticles, wondering if I should say what I'm thinking. I did sign an NDA, and I'd probably be breaking it, but on the other hand, a woman was murdered. That has to take precedence.
"There's this linen closet in the hallway just outside my bedroom. Jody was really well organized. Everything is laid out in rows so you can just grab what you need when you're doing laundry. It's the linens for the staff, not the rest of the house—those are a higher quality, and in the upstairs hall by the rest of the bedrooms." I look up to see them frowning at me and realize I'm rambling. "Anyway, it's probably nothing, but there's a pillow missing from the closet. I wouldn't have noticed, but there's always five of everything else, and only four pillows."
"Maybe someone likes to sit up in bed a little," Jaime says with a shrug.
"No. I do everyone's laundry, clean everyone's room. It's not in the house. And Whitney didn't take it to school—I asked. It's just…you said she was smothered."
Donohue leans back in his chair and looks at me with a smile. "I can see why you liked her, Sullivan." Jaime throws his partner an annoyed look. "I'm going to go call the D.A. Maybe that'll help with the warrant. "He gets up and heads to a desk across the room. Jaime leans over the desk toward me.
"You need someplace to stay while you're looking for a new job?" he asks quietly.
I shift in my seat. "Jaime, there aren't a lot of jobs out there right now. This was the only one my agency offered me."
"And now that you know someone was fucking murdered there, you've realized that it would be crazy for you to keep it."
"I don't think I'm in any danger."
"That's… that's beyond ridiculous. The last person who had your job is dead. Is this because of Grace?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Maybe you feel some lingering guilt over her, so now you're feeling protective over some dead woman you didn't even know."
"Now who's being ridiculous?"
"The second Grace died, you stopped caring about what happened to you. You think I don't see that?" I frown down at my hands. He's not wrong. He takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair. "Or maybe it's him. I can see the way he looks at you."
"Mr. Redmond is my boss. That's it."
"And yet you didn't even ask me who I was talking about." I bite my lip, feeling trapped.
"Come on, we'll give you a ride back," Donohue says as he walks back over. I stand abruptly, happy to get away from Jaime and the past.
Chapter Thirteen
I sit in the gazebo in the backyard, finding myself unable to get over Jaime's words. Is it crazy of me to keep working here? One of those six people…it just seems impossible to imagine one of them murdering someone. True, I don't know all, or most, of them well. Even Aaron, who I thought was so friendly and…dad-like, used to be some badass military-type guy. I wonder who else around here is hiding a secret or two. Well…there's me. Maybe that's why I feel a strange sense of belonging. I'm surrounded by a bunch of other people with something to hide.
I pull my fleece a little tighter around my neck. There's certainly a chill in the air, the winter digging in its claws before letting spring take over, but I don't want to go inside. I don't want to step foot back in my bedroom now, or ever again. . If she was smothered with that missing pillow, she might have actually been in my bed at the time. I don't believe in ghosts or lingering energies or anything, but that's still horrifying.
"Excuse me," I hear Mr. Redmond's voice behind me and turn. "Oh, Cora. You…I've never seen you out of uniform, and with your hair…I thought maybe you were a friend of Whitney's."
"It's my day off," I say, even though he knows that. He walks toward me, looking like a model in a J. Crew ad in his dark grey pea coat and navy khakis. I notice him glancing over me and self-consciously tuck my hair behind my ear as he sits across from me on the wood-slatted bench. We remain in silence for a moment, each looking over the other's shoulder at the lawn spreading out around us and the guest house looming on the right.
"Did you go to the station?" he finally asks.
I nod. "They think Jody was killed in the house. Maybe even in my bed. Or her bed, I mean."
"I know. Mark stopped by. He told us the theory the police are working on now." He pauses for a moment, studying his hands. "Are you leaving?"
I shrug, staring up at a bare-limbed tree. "It would probably be wise. I've never been very wise, though."
"I can promise you, you'd be safe."
I give him a long look, trying not to get lost in his eyes. "I bet Jody thought she was safe, too," I whisper.
He sighs. "You're right. Well, I can tell you that Aaron has increased the security three-fold; the cameras, more sensitive motion detectors, and a security guard patrolling at night." He pauses. "And you'll have a new room."
"A new room?" I ask frowning, thinking that neither Ms. Mueller nor Aaron are going to want to switch with me.
"In the main part of the house. I was thinking the blue guest room. I imagine you don't want to stay in Jody's old room now."
"Are you trying to give your mother a heart attack?" I ask, imagining what Mrs. Redmond would think of the maid sleeping in the room right next to her son, in one of the most lavishly appointed guest rooms in the house.
"She'll have to deal with it. It's not like we don't have the space."
"Is this just because you'll never be able to find a new maid at this point?"
"No," he says simply. I stare at him, drawing my knees up to my chest. He looks back at me with an expression that makes my stomach clench, but he doesn't elaborate. My brain is screaming at me to be smart, to be safe, and leave. But the rest of my body is reminding me that I haven't felt this alive in over three years, not until I met the man sitting in front of me. I find myself nodding.
"But when we see each other in the hallway, after I'm finished working, are we friends then, or am I still the maid?" His mouth twitches. "Just because it seems easier when it's more…separated."
"Easier for you, you mean."
"Well, you're the one who brushed me off when I told you about Jaime. Was that because I was on work time?"
"Do you want to hear about my ex-girlfriends?"
"I…I don't know."
"There was this one, Patricia, she always smelled like vanilla, and we—"
"OK! Point taken," I interrupt him. He smiles and spreads his long arms out on the back of the bench.
"That was quite the drawing you did. I had no idea you were so talented." I bring my thumb up to my mouth and begin gnawing on my cuticle. "I'm sensing you're about to change the subject."
"No need," I reply, nodding over his shoulder at the house. Whitney's traipsing down the hill toward us.
"You're wearing your hair down!" she exclaims as she approaches.
"It's my day off."
"Ah, hence the jeans. Doesn't she have the most beautiful hair, Brent?"
"Yes," he replies with a grin, not looking away from me.
She drops down onto the bench next to her brother. "I thought I should tell you, Mom's talking about firing Ms. Mueller and Aaron. Plus she keeps referring to them as 'the help,' which seems pretty rude to me."
Mr. Redmond rubs his nose between his eyes. "And why does she think that's a good idea?"
"Oh, she thinks one of them has to be the murderer. Actually, she thought it was you until I reminded her you didn't even work here then," she adds, nodding toward me. My mouth drops open as Mr. Redmond groans. "She's working herself up into quite a state. Do you think the police will suspect me?" she asks, cocking her head.
"I'm sure you're pretty far down the list," I assure her.
"But it's a pretty short list," Mr. Redmond says sadly. I glance over at him, realizing what it means for him if the police are right about how Jody died. He trusts every one of the other five people in the house that night. For someone who prides himself on reading other people, he judged someone very wrong. Of course, I'm not even considering the possibility that he could have been the one who…no. No, not possible. "Do you want help moving your things?" he asks, turning to me.
"What? You're not leaving!?" Whitney cries, with a level of emotion that surprises me.
"No, she's just moving into the blue guest room. I didn't want her to have to stay in Jody's room anymore."
"Huh," Whitney murmurs, looking at me. A slight smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but she doesn't expand on her thoughts. "I'll help, too."
An hour later, and all my belongings have been moved into the blue guest room, so called because of its vibrant blue bedspread and damask curtains. Whitney runs out of the room as I finish hanging my clothes in the large closet, and returns carrying a basket of art supplies.
"Here. From my room."
"Oh, that's OK. Thanks, though."
"But Brent said you're really good. You even helped the police identify someone."
"It's not that…" I demur, as she continues to hold them toward me.
"Whitney, if she doesn't want them…" Brent says, leaning on the edge of the bed.
"You're both so silly," she declares. "Look, I'll just leave them in the corner of the closet here, so that you don't have to look at them, god forbid, but you can use them if you want." I have to laugh at her level of exasperation. "I mean, you could even do a portrait of me, if you wanted. Or Brent," she adds, barely able to contain a smile. I widen my eyes at her, knowing she's teasing my about that picture of her brother she found.
"Where is everyone?" We all turn to the door at the sound of Mrs. Redmond's voice. She walks in and stops short at the sight of us. "Oh. What's going on?"
Mr. Redmond stands. "This is going to be Cora's bedroom now. She can't continue to stay in Jody's old room." I shift my weight from foot to foot as Mrs. Redmond struggles to maintain her composure.
"I see. And whose idea was that?" she asks politely enough, though she's looking right at me.
"Mine," Mr. Redmond says. "And I'm very happy that Cora agreed to it."
"Yeah, me too," Whitney pipes up with a grin. I think she just enjoys seeing her mother's feathers ruffled. I watch Mrs. Redmond take a deep breath.
"Well, I suppose there's a new normal now. And I know I can be a bit old-fashioned." Whitney snorts at this statement and Mrs. Redmond quiets her with a glare. "I'm glad that you'll be staying with us, Cora. Ms. Mueller says you're a hard worker, and it would be simply impossible to find anyone else now."
Well, there was a compliment in there. "Thank you," I murmur.
"We'll let you finish getting settled in," Mr. Redmond says, signaling to his family that it's time to leave. I watch them go, Whitney sticking out like a sore thumb between her dark-haired mother and older brother. Mr. Redmond pulls the door shut behind him, pausing at the last minute to smile at me before closing it.
I sigh as I feel my heart tug toward him, as though he's walking away with it down the hall. I still want him. Desperately. More every day. I shake my head at myself and glance around the room. It's beautiful, really, with a four-poster bed made out of dark wood and sumptuous details everywhere. I've always counted it as my second favorite bedroom in the house, behind only Mr. Redmond's. His is actually less cozy that this one, I think, but his smell is everywhere. I always spend a bit more time cleaning his room than I need to.
I don't know if I'll ever be able to feel like this room is really mine. I walk over to the window overlooking the front of the house. The sun has just set, leaving a pale remnant of its light in the sky. I start as I look down to the lawn and see a strange man walking around the side of the house. I squint at him, then remember that Mr. Redmond told me there's a nighttime security guard now, and the man is indeed wearing a uniform.
I shiver as the reality of the situation sets in and turn around to look at the bed. Not even these Egyptian cotton sheets will help me fall asleep tonight.
Chapter Fourteen
"Cora! Cora!" I feel a strong pair of hands gripping my upper arms, shaking me out of the darkness enveloping me. I try to breathe but can only manage a deep, gasping sob. "It's alright, you're alright," the voice says, and my panic recedes as strong arms wrap me into a tight hug. I concentrate on trying to breathe for a moment, allowing my body to relax into the warmth against me.
My fingers twitch slightly, and I become aware that my palm is resting on a man's bare chest. My eyes open slowly and I look up in confusion and shock as I see that I'm being cradled in bed by a half-naked Brent Redmond.
"I heard you screaming…you must have been having one hell of a nightmare," he whispers down to me. My eyes shut again as I remember what I was dreaming about, and tears begin to flow down my cheeks.
"Oh god…I saw Jody's body being pulled from the lake…all swollen and pale from being in the water…and then suddenly I was above her, and they were turning her over, and it wasn't Jody anymore…it was Grace," I explain, burying my head against his chest, any idea of decorum forgotten.
"Who's Grace?" he murmurs, stroking my hair.
"My sister…my little sister," I reply.
"Just try to take a deep breath," he says, his mouth hovering just above my head. I obey, feeling my body rattling as oxygen flows through me. "There you go," he says soothingly, taking my next few breaths with me. Feeling myself rising and falling on his chest calms me, and I begin to take stock of the situation. Mr. Redmond is sitting upright against the wooden headboard, shirtless but wearing pajama pants, and he's holding me against him. I'm splayed out immodestly in a plain cotton nightie that's barely covering the essentials. And I have no inclination to move.
"Did I wake you?" I murmur.
"Yes, but it's alright. I thought at first…I thought you were in danger." I feel his hand move up to my cheek, wiping the tears from my skin and then tucking damp, stray hairs behind my ears. A thrill of pleasure runs through me at his touch, washing away the lingering anxiety from my dream. I feel his hand stop at my jawline for a moment, and I freeze as it continues down my neck. His fingers trace over my throat, then run the length of my collar bone.
I quiet my breathing and try to lie as still as possible, even though my body feels like one massive live wire. I don't want to move and risk breaking the spell. His fingers lift the thin strap of my nightgown for a moment, and then drop it as they continue down my arm. I stay silent as his hand glides back up the inside of my forearm, my elbow, and then over the top of my ribcage, sending vibrations of pleasure running throughout my body. His fingers pause again, poised in the center of my chest, several inches above my breast. I watch them through half-open eyes, praying that he isn't going to stop.