by Dale Mayer
The memories triggered by being here had to be difficult. Hell, they were difficult for him, and Sammy wasn’t family. He was a team member, and that made him family, but, at the moment, Michael couldn’t think of Sammy as such. Michael had to stay detached.
He studied the dark side of the house now—the servants’ quarters wing, as Ice’s blueprint of the estate had revealed multiple tiny en suite bedrooms. Then a light at the bottom of the stairs turned on. He watched a shadow walk upstairs toward the maid’s room.
The security men had rooms on the far side of the building. The maids had housing on this side. At the moment there was only one on staff. Which was ludicrous for a house this size.
He frowned and shifted slightly for a better view. He didn’t know who else lived on the second floor, but no more lights were on, and only one window was on that side. He’d yet to see anyone other than the new maid use that entrance either. Thankfully she had the bedroom with the only window he could see. He waited and watched.
Suddenly the light turned on again in the maid’s room. He could see the woman wave at him. The stranger left, his shadow disappearing down the stairs. He glanced back at the woman, to watch as she turned on the light. Why would somebody come to the servants’ quarters at night? And why especially to her room?
“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath. Her getting mixed up in this would mess with his timetable. On these undercover ops, especially when slipping in so soon after the incident, it was best to take it slow, not draw unneeded attention, let things meander along as the bad guys lose interest in the new guys.
Now he had to work faster. It would put him in more danger, but it may take some attention off the new maid.
Chapter 5
Mercy waited in bed, the covers pulled up tight to her chin. Up until now, nobody had come up the stairs or passed her room over the five evenings she’d been here. Definitely nobody had come up and stopped. She could hear her heart pounding with every footstep she heard coming toward her door. She strained to hear if the person had moved on. Unfortunately it sounded like he—or she—still stood there. Why?
She cast her mind in a wide circle, figuring out why somebody would stand outside her door at night. She had engaged the inside lock, but it wasn’t a high-security thing. She imagined any number of people would know how to get in without too much trouble. She slipped out from under the covers and tiptoed toward the door. She heard nothing but was not breathing any easier. Then she moved quietly over to the window. Was there a secondary exit to leave her room to get away from someone? The fact that she couldn’t hear his movements made her more scared.
Surely he couldn’t have crept down the stairs without her hearing.
Her sole window was nice to have but was shut due to Houston’s hot muggy days and evenings. She looked out her second-floor view. There was no veranda, no fire escape or anything that would help her get down. As she looked down, she saw the grounds sloping away from the building, meaning this portion of the mansion sat on a hill, so her window was much higher than two stories.
She stared across the yard at the garage and saw a silhouette staring right back at her. She froze. It was the gardener. She pulled her robe tighter around her neck. Somebody stood at her door and somebody watched her from across the lawn? Neither was good. She glanced toward the door. The creaks she heard told her that whoever had come up the stairs was slowly making his way back down.
She sagged against the window edge in relief. Quickly she turned on her light. It took a little bit of the shadows away but still left her with a creepy distaste crawling all over her skin. There was no good reason for anyone to have come up the stairs to her door.
As she glanced back at the garage apartment, she wondered why the gardener remained at his window, still staring at her. He hadn’t waved; he hadn’t done anything but stare. Talk about unnerving. Finally she gave him a half wave, stepped away from the window, keeping a slight view of him, but just enough that he couldn’t see her and turned out the light.
After a moment he stepped away. Lying down in bed, she realized for the first time what a dangerous situation she’d put herself in. She curled up in a ball and shuddered. Her sister had been murdered, for God’s sake, yet Mercy had come and put herself in her sister’s shoes. Up until tonight, it all had been fine. She hadn’t had a second thought about her personal safety. But that fact had been brought home to her very clearly a few moments ago.
The night was long. She tossed and turned and woke up a half-dozen times, listening for sounds of somebody outside. There never was. But that didn’t stop her from straining to hear. Twice she got up to look out the window but didn’t see the gardener again that night.
Something was so different about him. How did he fit into this place? She could see him in the military or flying helicopters or doing something edgy as a career. Being a gardener … not so much. As it was, he was the image she carried through her twisted dreams, some gallant knight through her fantasies.
By morning she looked the way she felt. Haggard, bags under her eyes, and tired.
She was due a couple days off but wasn’t sure she’d get them, considering more company was coming. What more could be done in terms of cleaning, she didn’t know. Everything had been scrubbed from top to bottom.
She made her way down to breakfast, once again having two pieces of toast and a cup of coffee while the kitchen staff remained busy. She stepped outside to eat. Immediately, she felt the muggy heat, and she contemplated her options.
Physically she’d get through another hard day of cleaning, no doubt about that. But every day was wearing her down a little more. If she didn’t get her days off, she knew she couldn’t maintain the exacting standards and speed the housekeeper expected. If Mercy didn’t get fired, it would be suggested she quit on her own. Inasmuch as she liked that idea right now, the creep outside her door last night reminded her all too much of what her sister must’ve gone through. Surely something here would help Mercy find Anna’s killer.
Breakfast over, Mercy walked across the front hall toward the laundry room when the house phone rang. As part of her duties, she picked it up and answered it in a formal tone, announcing the Freeman residence.
“This is Detective Sanders. I’m trying to locate the personal belongings of Anna Gardini. We have the belongings of Sammy Leacock, but those of the maid haven’t arrived. We’d like to send somebody out today to pick them up.”
“I’m not exactly sure where they are.” She glanced up to see the housekeeper striding toward her. “Here’s Martha. She’s the housekeeper. She will know.” Mercy held up the phone and said, “It’s a detective, looking for the former maid’s belongings.”
The housekeeper gave him a frown as if he could possibly see it through the phone. By the looks of it, she would give it a darn good try. “Everything was handed over to the police. I already told you that,” she said in a testy voice.
“I suggest you take another look, or we’ll come search ourselves. Today.” The detective’s voice came through the phone clearly. “This is a murder investigation, and we need all the woman’s personal belongings. You are obstructing an official police investigation. Not to mention the fact the family has the right for closure. We will get a warrant if need be.”
The housekeeper gave another frown but grabbed the landline phone and took it with her a short distance down the hall. “I’ll see if they’ve been accidentally left behind.” She opened a large storage closet in the front hallway. “I don’t believe they’re here, but I will look again.”
Mercy couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation. But, if the detective had said the belongings hadn’t showed up at the police station, maybe, with the recent change of staff, Anna’s personal things were still around. Mercy knew this detective’s name was Sanders, and it was not the same one she’d been dealing with. It gave her hope to think two people were still working on this case. She carried on through to the laundry room to get to work.
While she was in the middle of folding, Martha opened the door and said, “We found the missing belongings of your predecessor, but they are a mess. Fold them so the gardener can take them to the police station.”
Mercy followed, excited she would see her sister’s belongings.
On the outside picnic table were two garbage bags. Off to the side were several empty boxes. The housekeeper motioned to them and said, “Pack them into the boxes so they can leave here in ten minutes.” She walked back inside.
Not sure she could be done in the ten minutes Mercy had been given, wishing she had much longer to enjoy reconnecting with her sister, she was glad to have even this small moment of bonding.
Mercy opened up the first bag and pulled out clothes. She folded several pairs of jeans, a couple capris, two pairs of yoga pants and one pretty dress. She packed everything away in a box. In the bag, under the clothes, she found a collection of shoes and socks. She placed them at the bottom of the second box and opened the second bag to find more generic clothes, a heavy sweater and a jacket. She checked all the pockets but found nothing and realized the housekeeper had likely checked everything before placing them into the bags.
Disappointed and feeling rushed, she packed up the rest of the second bag. There was nothing personal of any kind in this assortment. These clothes could’ve belonged to anybody. There wasn’t even a certain style here; they were all just clothes. Nothing that said they belonged to her sister, nothing that reminded her of her sister. Then it had been twelve years, so how would Mercy know? These clothes could have been her sister’s. As she shook out the garbage bag, a small toiletry bag fell to the ground. She opened it and saw a hairbrush, a few items of makeup and a toothbrush and toothpaste.
Feeling bereft, heartbroken, and disappointed at not finding more, she closed the tops of the boxes as the gardener arrived. She folded up the garbage bags and said, “These two boxes are all I was handed of the maid’s belongings.”
“It’s all there?” He gave her a sharp look, picked up both boxes and walked away.
She grabbed the two empty garbage bags and headed inside to the kitchen. Was it her imagination or did the chef shift his gaze away from her and back to his food? Had he been watching her out the window? This place was getting to her with its deep dark foreboding shadows and the constant sense of being under surveillance. Of course last night’s visitor had to be the worst of it.
She put away the garbage bags and returned to the laundry. There she tried to catch up so she could still attempt to meet her regimented timeframe. She knew the housekeeper wouldn’t give Mercy any extra time for the extra job done. Instead, she was expected to go faster and get it all done regardless.
And she made the effort to speed things up before lunchtime came around, but she was more tired than ever. She also needed something more substantial than additional servings of bread.
In the kitchen she found a new assistant to the kitchen staff. “Can I have something for lunch instead of sandwiches?” Mercy asked.
The guy looked at her in surprise. “Of course. What would you like?”
She shrugged. “Something that’s not white bread. I’m very low on protein and veggies at the moment.”
He smiled, opened the fridge and pulled out a big salad. Beside it was a plate of dates and another plate of sliced ham. He made her a big salad with all of the above.
She smiled with joy. “That looks delightful.”
He handed her a knife and fork. She smiled again and stepped out to the little eating area as the door was closing behind her. He caught the door before it closed. “You don’t have to eat out there all alone, you know?”
She glanced back. “I was told I was allowed to eat here.”
He shook his head. “You can sit at the end of the dining room.”
She glanced around the corner to the massive room where the owner sat sitting at the far end, paperwork everywhere, and shook her head. “No. I don’t think I’d be welcome there but thanks.” She gave a quick smile and stepped back outside, sitting down to enjoy her lunch.
She wondered how the kitchen assistant could be so opposite to everybody else in this place. It was the first time she’d met him. Had he been here before? Maybe not. She’d ask when she went back in. If he was new, they hadn’t beaten that friendliness out of him yet.
With her only half-joking thought still in her head, she worked her way through the salad, loving every bite. Such a lovely change to have fresh food.
As she finished the last bite, she heard a sound around the corner of the house. Thinking it might be the gardener again, she stood up and collected her plate and cutlery, casually walking to the end of the patio as if to look out at the view.
Instead it was one of the security men, digging up the line. She glanced at him and frowned. “I don’t think the gardener will like what you’re doing,” she joked.
He gave her a hard glance. “It won’t matter if he likes it or not.” He motioned toward the inside of the kitchen. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She held up her plate and with a touch of defiance said, “I just had my lunch.”
“You’re new here,” he said quietly. “Are you nuts? You’re not to see or watch or interact in any way with the rest of the property.”
Her shoulders slumped. She had been given that lecture on her first day, but she’d been so excited and secure in the position and so full of hope of finding information about her sister that she’d glossed over how absolutely final the lecture had intended to be. She nodded. “I keep forgetting,” she confessed.
“Head inside then before you get into trouble.”
With a grateful smile she turned and walked back in. “That’s two today,” she murmured to herself.
Inside she rinsed her plate and put it in the dishwasher. There was no sign of the younger, friendlier kitchen assistant. Now that was too bad. She’d have loved a piece of dessert. She knew her meals were included with her job, but that didn’t give her free right to rummage through the fridge.
She’d taken for granted her freedoms—when she had her own place to go to she could eat when she wanted to. Do what she wanted to and when she wanted to. Here these people made a science of making sure she ate only when and what she was given. If she wanted something more, she doubted it would be granted.
She walked to the far side, to the kitchen storage closet where her schedule was, and took note of where she was heading next.
*
Michael drove out of the estate without looking back. If they’d handed over the clothing, then nothing was worth looking at. Still, he’d take it all to the police station as ordered.
And would continue to look around the estate.
He knew the commander wanted an update. But, if Michael hated one thing, that was to have nothing to show for his time. Except someone was a little too interested in the new maid for his liking. She was an innocent in all this. Misguided, perhaps, in her search for answers but still innocent.
He had to find a way to convince her to leave before more trouble found her.
Meanwhile, the security line remained broken, and the repairmen frantically tried to fix it. Michael had been watching for an opportunity to sabotage it further, but the security guards had been doubled. Michael didn’t dare do anything that would put the new maid in danger, and Michael and Mercy were the only two unknowns on the estate. If Michael continued with his sabotage of the security system, then the owner would regard Michael and Mercy as the two most likely culprits. Michael was fine if the owner took a closer look at him. But Michael would be damned if he would let the owner hurt another innocent woman.
Chapter 6
The rest of the afternoon went by fast as nobody said a word to Mercy. But she assumed they all spoke about her. Anytime she saw someone, they sent a narrow gaze in her direction, assessing, wondering what she was up to. She understood she was getting more paranoid by the minute, but, by the time dinnertime rolled around, it was all she could do to contemp
late food. Because, for the first time, she wondered if maybe she should run away in the middle of the night.
If that set off some alert within the security system, she’d get promptly stopped. Her stomach was in knots. She no longer had any sense of calm or of I can do this; she needed to get out. She couldn’t blame this on her overwrought nerves as she’d never been the nervous high-strung female type. So it was very odd to see herself in that role now.
She put away the last of the cleaning supplies, stood the vacuum in the far corner and, with a last look around, closed the kitchen closet door. She found Martha studying her. Mercy raised an eyebrow and said, “I think I got everything done.”
Martha nodded. “You look tired.” And said it not in an empathetic way. More accusing. Judgmental.
Keeping everything inside, it was all she could do to not scream at her and say, “Of course I’m tired. Anybody would be with the schedule you put me through.” Instead she bit back any retorts and nodded. “I am actually.”
“Well, get some dinner and rest up.” As she walked away, she glanced back and said, “Do you have plans?”
“Plans?” Maybe she was so tired she didn’t get the question, but it seemed something was hidden in Martha’s question.
Martha nodded. “Are you going out anywhere tonight?”
“Maybe for a walk again.”
“Okay. Don’t be late. The security gates close at 10:00 p.m.”
“Good to know. Thank you.”
Because it was dinnertime, and she was expected to go for a meal, she headed in the direction of the kitchen. Before she got there, she glanced back. Sure enough Martha was still there, phone in her hand, talking, but her gaze was on Mercy. She slipped into the kitchen to find a little more chaos than normal.
The same chef’s assistant she’d spoken to earlier smiled at her, pointed and immediately scooped up a plate that had been set off to the side. “This is for you.”