by Dale Mayer
When he turned his gaze to look at the door behind her, it was as if he had released her from some invisible thread.
He inclined his head and said in a low voice, deep and soft, “Good afternoon.”
His voice was so at odds to what she expected that she was startled for a moment. “I just arrived here myself,” she said. “We started a day apart.”
His gaze softened ever-so-slightly. He nodded. “Congratulations on the job.”
“You too.”
He bent down and pulled up a minuscule weed that had dared to pop up through the layer of heavy rocks, then walked away.
Mercy stood and stared at the gardener. There was something about him, like he was ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. His movements were controlled and yet casual. She couldn’t quite explain it, but something was so very powerful about his physique. She wondered how it could be so opposite to what she had imagined a gardener would be like. For some reason she thought the gardener would be lanky, relaxed, easygoing—nothing like him at all.
He hadn’t told her what his name was either. Still with time left on her break, she picked up her plate to return inside. Once in the kitchen and under the eagle eyes of the chef, she winced as she loaded her dishes into the dishwasher.
With an apologetic smile she asked, “Is there any coffee?”
At that his face broke into a smile, and he pointed to a coffeepot on the side. “Help yourself. Cream’s in the fridge.”
“Black is fine for me. Thanks.” She poured her coffee and, with a small nod, she said again, “Thank you.” And she walked back out onto the veranda.
She’d return to work early but not too early. It was pretty damn hard to look at the walls she’d be scrubbing next and find any kind of enjoyment in the task. She understood lots of woman found satisfaction in cleaning houses, but there was clean, and then there was being stupid. This wasn’t a hospital. It didn’t need to be scrubbed down the same way, but that was what she felt she was doing. Then again, maybe this was a normal seasonal cleaning event. Or were they erasing signs of somebody having been here, like her sister?
*
Michael headed to the garden shed where he replaced the shears. Normally yard work was something he enjoyed. But nothing was enjoyable about this job. Something was seriously wrong on this estate. Sammy must’ve known. How could he possibly have let his guard down long enough to be caught up in a web that took his life? Michael also didn’t understand the relationship he had with the woman killed alongside him.
The new maid appeared shy, quiet. Then that was probably the right personality for the position. Whereas, he had to work at being deferential. But years in the military helped. Having completed his circle of the large yard, he headed to the huge Lincoln he was supposed to drive the owner around in. It needed a good wash and a vacuum. He set about moving it to where the drains were and brought up the hoses and the sponges. Even though it was lunchtime, and he had yet to eat, he started scrubbing the vehicle on the inside. This gave him an excellent opportunity to examine the vehicle completely. He hoped to find something in the seats or pockets.
By the time he was done, he had found a few pieces of change that had fallen from various pockets, a couple receipts—one for gas and another for something from a local lingerie shop—which he tucked away for further scrutinizing, and a little bit of garbage that wasn’t helpful. When he had the inside of the vehicle vacuumed and wiped down, he turned his attention to the front seat. There he carefully went through the glove box, wiping inside and outside, checking for anything suspicious as he went.
He was hoping Sammy might have left a message of some kind to say what the hell had gone wrong. This was Michael’s second day. He’d moved into the servants’ quarters but had spent the initial part of his first day getting his marching orders from both Bruce, his direct boss, and Martha, the head housekeeper. Afterward, Michael spent the bulk of his day in the gardens, acclimating himself to the layout here while performing his gardener’s duties. Also looking for ground level access to the two lower floors of the mansion that Ice had been able to verify via blueprints and subsequent building licenses for add-ons. He hadn’t found any yet, but he wouldn’t stop looking. So Michael hadn’t had a chance to check out Sammy’s rooms too intently. But they were pristine and empty.
Apparently, there had been a high turnover of staff here. Was it possible that Sammy’s belongings might still be here? Michael hoped they hadn’t been packed up and disposed of yet. It could be on his list of jobs to do, in which case he had no intention of dumping it off just anywhere but going through it all. Still, that job hadn’t been given to him.
He finished detailing the inside of the car, turned on the water and worked on the outside of the vehicle.
The Lincoln was brand-new. It was in great shape, and not a speck of dirt was found after a careful check. Michael was sure no fingerprints were inside. But he also couldn’t find any fingerprints in the back, the passenger section. So somebody had recently wiped down the vehicle. Why?
He still had to do the trunk, but the key was jammed in the lock, making him all the more interested in getting inside it. He quickly finished shampooing the vehicle and rinsed it down again. With a light wax he gave it a good shiny coat. Then he popped the trunk with a screwdriver. After a few minutes of playing with the mechanism, he extracted the broken-off key and got the lock to work again. He turned his attention to the empty trunk.
He took his time fixing the carpet—that looked like it had been pulled out at the back—as he carefully checked under it for any bloodstains. He could only use his experienced eye. To do anything else would raise suspicions from the many security guards about the property. Someone would notice. Hell, it felt like he was watched as soon as he’d arrived. The back of the trunk was cleaned out, and he couldn’t find anything here other than a few scratches but after closer examination they weren’t made by fingernails as he’d feared. More from suitcases or boxes having been loaded and unloaded by someone who hadn’t been as careful as they could have been.
If any DNA was on the inside or within those scratches, they needed to know. Forensic evidence went a long way to making a conviction. On the other hand, how he would get that evidence so it would be admissible in court was a completely different story.
That wasn’t his problem—that was the prosecutor’s. Michael’s problem was to find out who the hell had taken Sammy’s life. If that asshole was still alive by the end of this special op, Michael would be very surprised.
A shadow came from the corner of the house. He shut the lid, turned to see the housekeeper, accompanied by one of the men who worked in the house who had brought down several boxes. Michael walked over to get the housekeeper’s instructions.
“Take all this to the police, please. You’re expected to pick up Mr. Freeman here at four. You’ve enough time to drop them off and return.”
Michael nodded, grabbed the keys, walked over to the Lincoln and backed it up. There he popped the trunk again, having no trouble with it now, and quickly loaded the boxes. He knew already about the tracker on the Lincoln, so he was limited as to how far he could travel without being questioned about any detours. As soon as he pulled out of the driveway, he picked up his phone. Rather than making a call that might be overheard, he sent a text.
He didn’t know if the boxes contained Anna or Sammy’s stuff or something completely different, but Michael wouldn’t have much time or opportunity to check it out. What he needed was somebody to meet him at the police station and take possession of the material.
At the station, he pulled into the back of the building. He hopped out and froze at the sight of two people he hadn’t expected to see here.
One man stepped out from the open doorway of the building. The man waiting off to the side joined him.
Michael nodded his head at Merk and Levi and took several steps off to the side as he punched the button on his key to open the trunk. He knew them by sight, by name and by professi
on. They had gone private after leaving the military, stepping out of all of it. The fact that the commander had brought them in too was very interesting. He must really need to keep this low-key.
The two men pulled out the boxes from the back of the vehicle and opened the flaps on one.
Michael pointed to a small paperweight, saying, in a low and hard voice, “I recognize that. It’s Sammy’s.”
In a louder voice Levi said, “Thanks for bringing this by.” With a curt nod, he slipped Michael a small piece of paper, grabbed a box and walked into the station.
Michael placed the rest of the boxes on the ground, knowing he’d get any details about their contents later. Now that he’d confirmed at least some of the possessions were Sammy’s, Michael could only hope there’d be something helpful to this op, but he doubted it. It wouldn’t be Sammy’s way. Any information would be well hidden. And that meant in his own apartment. He’d searched it several times, but he’d look again.
Time was running out for him to pick up Mr. Freeman by four o’clock. Michael got back into the vehicle and started the engine. He drove to the parking lot exit and sat there for a moment, letting the traffic pass. When there was an opening, he pulled out.
He thought about all the avenues one could take when one left the military and about all the damn good men he had met over the years. Levi and Merk were two of them.
At the next light, Michael opened the folded note Levi had passed on and read the message. “Good to see you back. Come to work for us when this is over.”
Michael shook his head. I’m not ready for that, Levi.
He drove back the way he’d come to the estate. He’d only re-entered this world because of Sammy.
It wasn’t what he wanted to do again.
And the nightmares … Sometimes the nightmares were crippling. Unless Levi could give Michael a lifestyle that allowed him to move forward with a personal life and still help others while keeping the nightmares to a minimum, then Michael wasn’t interested. On the other hand, it was pretty hard not to see how the adrenaline coursing through his system was what he loved, how much he enjoyed being in the field, how much this lifestyle suited him. He was good at what he did. He was just burned out.
Besides, this wasn’t the time to make decisions about his future. Everything was certainly on hold until he got justice for Sammy.
Chapter 3
Two days later, Mercy had a lot more respect for her sister and others working in this career and a whole lot less respect for the employers who they worked for. Such a cold atmosphere surrounded Mercy that she didn’t understand how her sister had handled it. It took a couple days for Mercy to get accustomed to the physical work and to the sheer drudgery of it. Without mental stimulation, it was more difficult for her. She loved a challenge, but dusting faster wasn’t one she could get behind. Still, she was no slouch and could do the work, but she was grateful she was only here temporarily.
Added to that was the frustration of being here for several days now and not finding anything of interest. How was she supposed to learn anything about her sister’s murder when all she did was dust and clean and scrub?
She’d gone over her own bedroom top to bottom but hadn’t found anything saying her sister had ever been there. Surely someone here at the mansion knew something. Yet no one talked to her.
Mercy hadn’t had a chance to contact the detective again either. So much tension was in this house that it made her look around every corner as if she were watched. Yet she never saw anyone. But the feeling remained.
She was very mindful of the fact cameras were likely everywhere, giving her limited places to search unobserved. She tried to be friendlier to the staff, but that was like butting up against a wall of ice. Knowing her behavior was monitored, her actions watched and her words analyzed, she stuck to herself more and more. She ate alone; she worked mostly alone and had very little social contact with the outside world. If this was her sister’s life, she pitied her.
Surely there was a boyfriend, someone who cared. As far as anyone here knew, Mercy Romano was not related to Anna Gardini—she hoped. Therefore, Mercy had no right to ask questions outside of morbid curiosity into a dead person’s life. And that was likely to draw attention to her. More attention she didn’t want. It seemed like everyone knew she was failing to live up to the housekeeper’s expectations as it were. Maybe it was nerves, but it seemed like people were watching her.
Several times she’d spun around sure that she was being watched—only to find no one was there.
She walked into the kitchen storage area and put away the dusting rags and other materials. It was time to work on the windows in the dining room. She grabbed the cleaning supplies she needed, the small ladder and headed to the dining room. And stopped. It wasn’t empty. In a low tone she said, “I’m scheduled to clean windows in here. Will that bother you?”
Mr. Freeman, the owner, looked up, a harried look in his eyes as he glanced from her to the windows and back again. “No, that’s fine. Go ahead.”
She hurried to the first of the three huge windows to set out her short ladder and climbed up. As she cleaned, she glanced around, noting the cameras on the far side. Of course. She couldn’t look for anything in this room, even without him here.
She was working on the second window when one of his associates walked in and said, “We’re having trouble with the security cameras inside the house.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“They keep flickering off and on.”
“Well then, call the damn security company.”
“I have. They’re sending a man out.”
“Is it affecting the outside security?” This time Mr. Freeman’s voice was harder.
His associate nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Mercy turned her gaze away after catching the conversation. She didn’t want to remind them she was here. But a problem with the security system could be a great thing to help her snoop around some. However, the main outage seemed to be on the grounds of the estate. So the “flickering off and on” inside the mansion didn’t really give her a precise window of opportunity. Her chances of successfully using this interruption in security were obviously extremely small.
“Double the perimeter security,” Mr. Freeman said.
“Already done.”
Mr. Freeman nodded. “The individuals in the security room must watch all the time, in case the new man is outside. Make sure he’s sticking to his job and not to my business.”
The associate said, “That I can do.” He turned on his heels and walked out.
Mercy finished the second window and moved her ladder to the third one. There she climbed to the top of the ladder and scrubbed down the window.
“How are you finding your new job?”
His tone of voice and words directed at her startled her enough she almost lost her footing. She grabbed hold of the ladder. When balanced again, she looked at Mr. Freeman and said with a small smile, “It’s fine.”
His gaze was piercing as he studied her face. She swallowed hard and dropped her gaze, hopefully appropriately subservient. When she glanced back up his head was already down, looking at the papers on the big dining room table. He had a huge desk in his office, and she wasn’t sure why he was here, but binders and documents were all up and down one side of the long table.
She finished the window, folded her ladder, grabbed her cleaning supplies and walked past him. And she paused. “I don’t know if you have an assistant or not, but I do have a little experience helping my mother with paperwork … She had a small sewing business.” To her horror the lie rolled off her lips naturally.
He looked up in surprise.
She gave a small smile and kept walking. She’d thrown out the bone. Whether he did anything with it or not was up to him. Back in the kitchen storage closet, she put away the cleaning supplies and looked at the schedule the housekeeper had set out for her. Mercy was scheduled for laundry. Awesome. She was behind. She shook her
head. What’s new? In the back of her mind, she wondered if Martha was intentionally setting up Mercy to fail so she would be fired.
This job left her feeling inadequate, and yet it was just damn cleaning. With her shoulders already slumping at the thought of the ten loads still to be washed, dried, folded, and put away. She walked into the large laundry room to find a couple loads already started and several piles ready to be sorted and more to be folded. There was even ironing. Who ironed in this day and age?
These people had more money than God. Surely they could afford to buy no-iron shirts. But bellyaching never got her anywhere. She buckled down and folded the towels. She’d already had a lecture on the proper way to fold them and how everything was to be placed correctly in the cabinets. She had to admit they looked nice, but they sure weren’t worth the extra work when she had so much else to do today.
This was only her second time in the laundry room on laundry duty, so she struggled to get through the instructions in her head. She looked around to see if instructions were posted on the wall in here. A piece of paper had been dropped by the door, so she walked over with a towel in her hand to pick it up, but it wasn’t what she was looking for. She frowned, glanced around again and then shrugged. Minutes later the door opened, and the housekeeper walked in. “What are we looking for?”
Mercy raised her eyebrows. “Sorry?”
“Security called to let me know you were looking for something in the laundry room,” she said coolly. “What were you looking for?”
Wow. I didn’t realize I was under such tight observation. “The written list of instructions you verbally told me as to the exact amounts of detergent for each different load. I had hoped that”—she pointed to the sheet of paper on the floor—“was the instruction sheet.”
The housekeeper gave her a penetrating look and said, “I’ll write them down and bring it in.” She walked from the room, closing the door firmly behind her.