by Dale Mayer
She stared down at the roast beef, mashed potatoes, and hot steamed vegetables with relief. “Thank you,” she said warmly.
He pointed to a corner of the kitchen where there was a small table for two. “Sit over there. It’ll be more pleasant for you than outside in the muggy heat.”
Obediently, she took her place at the table and sat down with her back to the kitchen staff. The last thing she wanted to do was watch them while they watched her. She knew they couldn’t be watching her with all the work they had to do, but it still felt like they were.
She ate slowly, not happy she was so tired. It wasn’t normal for her. Usually she was a high-energy individual. And, yes, the physical work here was taxing, but it shouldn’t be that bad. She lifted a hand and rubbed her forehead. She was feeling rough enough, maybe she needed to lie down. And how wrong was it that a healthy twenty-seven-year-old woman had to go lie down after doing housework?
She polished off her meal, wishing she could have more roast beef but not wanting to draw any more attention to herself by asking. She stood and carried her plate to the dishwasher.
The same young man smiled, grabbed the plate from her and said, “I’ll take that.”
She gave him a brief smile. “It was delicious, thank you.”
But he’d already turned away and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. Everybody else appeared to be busy too.
She hadn’t been offered any dessert, so she presumed that was all she would get. Then again that should be more than enough. She left the kitchen and went up to her room, thinking about a store not too far away. She could always walk down there and pick up some snacks to keep in her room. It would also get her out of here for a while. She only had a small bag of personal items with her because she wore a uniform every day. She had planned to grab some clothes from her apartment, but she hadn’t had the energy to get them.
She did have her wheels, parked on the side of the garage. She’d been planning on buying a new vehicle before her sister’s death, but that had put everything on the back burner. And the old small car was perfect for her role as the maid.
Sitting on the bed, she contemplated her next step. Her nerves had calmed down, but, at the same time, she didn’t think she would be safe staying here for much longer, and, if that was the case, why stay here at all?
Martha’s question about whether Mercy was going out tonight was unnerving too. She only had the one bag, but it would be hard to sneak out with it and not have somebody know. She did have a very large purse. She glanced around at the stuff she’d used and the clothing she’d brought but didn’t need. She quickly packed several books and reduced her belongings down to the bare necessities.
With the rest packed into her purse and a small plastic bag, she walked downstairs and outside to her car. She pulled out of the large parking space and headed toward the closest grocery store. As it had a coffee shop attached, she went there first and ordered a latte. Pulling out her laptop, she sat down in one of the corners and settled in to some alone time.
She went to her social media accounts to see if there was any word of her sister. There was nothing. As she enjoyed her coffee, catching up on the world news, an email came in. She clicked on it, not knowing who the sender was. The message was clear.
Don’t return home tonight. Michael.
She stared at it, puzzled, not even sure who Michael was. Did somebody realize she was here right now? Had she been followed from the estate? If so, then that person came from the estate too. Surely he could have told her face-to-face. Why didn’t he? And how had he gotten her email address?
She slammed her computer closed and sat trembling inside. She picked up her latte and held it close, trying to gain comfort from the drink.
She knew the security people watched her inside the house. How far outside on the property—and beyond—could they watch her? She quickly opened her laptop and hit Reply, typing, Why? Who are you? Why can’t you tell me this to my face? She glanced around the small coffee shop, hating to think somebody had followed her. Was sitting in here right now.
She’d driven her car from the estate and headed here, not giving a thought that she might be followed, that anybody from the estate might’ve understood where she was going. Why would they care? She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t even gotten her nose in anybody’s business by asking too many questions. She had worked damn hard, and yet what did she get? Everywhere she turned, people were telling her what to do—to mind her own business or to work harder or, like now, to not return.
Why the warning? Things were getting more and more shadowy instead of giving her the clarity she craved.
A reply was flashing on her screen. She read it aloud, under her breath, “You know who I am. I only want to help.”
She rested her fingers on the keyboard and began typing.
If you want to help, tell me what’s wrong at that place.
She wondered at her common sense and her need for this conversation with this nut job, even if he was trying to help. But she couldn’t resist hitting the Send button. When the answer came a few minutes later, she stared at it in pain.
Your sister was murdered as was someone else. Is that not enough for you?
So Michael was the gardener. Her fingers were already working the keyboard. She asked him where he was right now. If it was dangerous for her, it had to be doubly dangerous for him. Particularly if he was trying to find answers. If so, what had he found out, she wanted to know. She needed to know what had happened to her sister.
She waited and waited, but there was no answer. Frustrated, she sat back and studied the little coffee shop, drank a little more of her coffee and enjoyed the freedom of being away from the oppressive air of the estate. When she’d finally finished her cup, she rose, tossed the empty paper cup in the garbage, picked up her laptop, checking once more to make sure Michael hadn’t answered, shut it down and put it away.
She checked her phone for messages. It looked like Michael wouldn’t give any more answers to her questions. Frustrated, and out of sorts, she walked to the grocery store. She bought fresh fruits, some granola bars, and a package of black licorice—a childhood treat she allowed herself every once in a while. At the checkout, she paid and left. As she approached her car, bag in hand, she caught sight of something she didn’t like one bit.
She stared at the gardener, leaning against her car, and frowned. “So you’re Michael.”
His piercing blue eyes studied her for a long moment before he nodded.
Relief coursed through her. “Why didn’t you say so? That first email terrified me.”
*
“I thought you’d know it was me,” Michael said, studying her curiously. “Who else would it be?”
Her disgusted look made him want to smile. But the words out of her mouth surprised him.
“I know you think I look like a completely stupid innocent who’s not aware of the dangers of the world, but you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Really? You work for a marketing company. That hardly gives you experience in the evil world of serial killers and drug cartels. Or bankrolling terrorists.”
She froze. “Is that what you think happened to Anna? She was involved with drugs when I knew her but small time. I have no idea what she was into since.”
“It’s a little late to be worried about her fate now.”
She winced. “That’s not fair. She took off and never came back. I spent years looking for her. And, when I found her a few years ago, I asked her to have coffee with me. But she didn’t want anything to do with me. I tried to keep tabs on her, sending her emails. I kept the door open in case she ever wanted to walk through it again. But …”
His voice softened. “But she never got the chance to.”
Mercy nodded. “Did you happen to look through her things?”
“The stuff I saw didn’t prove they were hers.”
Mercy nodded. “That’s what I thought. And that’s not normal. There should’ve
been something. I did find a notebook though.”
He straightened abruptly, glanced around the area, motioned at the coffee shop and said, “Come on. Let’s have coffee.”
She frowned. “I just had coffee. That’s where I was when you emailed me.”
But he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Instead, he gently grabbed her by the elbow and nudged her toward the coffee shop.
He ordered two coffees and led her to the table in the farthest corner. Realizing nobody was around so they could not be overheard, she sat down facing the room. She studied all the other patrons, wondering still if it was safe.
He nudged the ceramic coffee cup toward her and said, “This is for you.”
She nodded. “Why are you there if it’s that dangerous?” He studied her quietly but didn’t say a word, and she got it. “You’re there to find out something.” She narrowed her gaze and studied his jaw and full head of hair. “Are you undercover? A cop?”
His laconic answer came. “Yes. No.”
Shrewdly she said, “Undercover, yes, but a different division.”
He shrugged. “We’re on the same side. That’s all that matters.”
“Fine, we’re on the same side. We both want to get answers as to what happened to my sister and the last gardener.”
Michael nodded.
She gently swirled the contents of her cup. He watched her study the beautiful heart in the center. It made him feel good when she smiled.
Then she sat back with a heavy sigh. “It’s been hard, day after day, going through the motions, working to keep up to their nightmarish schedule and all they expect of me while knowing someone took my sister’s life. Knowing my hands are cleaning, wiping across the same walls as my sister’s hands did. Then I vacuum, holding the vacuum where her hands used to grasp it before me.”
He watched as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. She brushed them away impatiently.
He agreed. The time for tears were well past. Now she needed enough anger to get through the process of getting answers. “What notebook?”
Startled, she glanced at him, reached into her purse and pulled out the small notebook she’d found. She handed it over.
Michael studied it. The front page had Anna’s name and a number. He considered the number but didn’t recognize it. He glanced over at Anna’s sister and asked, “Do you know this number?”
Mercy shook her head. “No. It might be her phone number. I haven’t tried it.”
He pulled out his phone and punched in the numbers. He waited, and sure enough a pre-recorded answer came on.
“Hi, you’ve reached Anna. Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now.”
He hit the Stop button. “It’s her phone number. It went straight to her voice mail.”
“Of course it did. She’s dead,” Mercy said brusquely. “But why was there no phone found?”
“Whoever killed her probably took it and smashed it.”
“That’s possible.” Mercy raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask further.
For which he was grateful.
She smiled. “I would be happy to think she was busy and couldn’t come to the phone right now. It would be nice to think she had a life outside of that nasty place. I hate to think she was alone, working and going nowhere in a dungeon like that.” Then she frowned. “Who was Sammy? Maybe he was into drugs?”
Michael shook his head. “No. I knew Sammy. He wasn’t into drugs.”
He gave her a bland look as she stared at him in surprise. Then she leaned forward. “It’s the reason you took the job. Same as I did. You came to find answers.”
He gave her a clipped nod. “But I haven’t found anything yet. Where did you find Anna’s notebook?” He pulled out his cell phone and took several images of the pages of writing.
“Behind the bathroom medicine cabinet,” she answered.
His eyebrows rose. “Hmm.” He quickly flipped through the pages again. “Why would she hide it? Is something major in here?”
“She mentions crates of guns being unloaded on the property,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers clutching her coffee cup until her knuckles turned white. “And she was unsure about trusting Sammy but loved him and hoped she was making the right decision.”
His gaze locked on hers as if looking for confirmation. Then he quickly flipped through the notebook until he got to the pertinent page. Most of the book was empty, but, as she watched Michael, he snapped a photo of every page that had writing. He flipped to the back of the notebook. “Too bad there isn’t more.”
“It’s got to be why they were killed. They must have been seen or mentioned the guns to the wrong person.”
“It’s possible. The notes do confirm something shady is going on,” Michael said quietly.
“I’m hoping she wasn’t involved, but I’m not kidding when I say I knew nothing about her life. She wouldn’t let us in ever again.”
“Sammy wouldn’t have left until he got to the bottom of this, so I’m presuming he was close if he and Anna were making plans to leave.” He switched on his cell phone and typed out a message to Levi. “I’m sending these pages off to be analyzed,” he told Mercy.
“I wish I could ask someone here about her. All I’ve been told is to watch myself, to stay away from people and to not talk.” She shook her head. “I’d be starving if it wasn’t for the one young cook in the kitchen. He’s been nice.”
“Your room and board is included with your wages?”
She nodded. “And, speaking of which, I need to be back before ten o’clock as they lock the gates.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s nine-thirty already.”
“Don’t return,” he said suddenly. He didn’t know how to convince her to leave, but he had to try. It was too damn dangerous.
She glanced up at him. “I know it’s bad, but is it that bad?”
“Who was that at your door last night?”
She winced. “They never knocked,” she said slowly. “I have no idea who it was. I figured maybe they’d hired somebody new, and they had the room next to mine, but I think they stood outside my door the entire time.”
“He did.”
She leaned forward. “You saw him? Who was it?”
He shook his head. “I saw the shadow through the window in the hallway, standing at your door for a long time. Then he left, and you turned on the light right afterward.”
“I saw you watching me while he was outside my door.” She studied him for a long moment. “I wondered if you were watching me or watching him. Then I couldn’t help but wonder if the two of you were working together.”
He stared at her, both eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. “I had nothing to do with it. Unfortunately I couldn’t see who it was.”
“It goes along with all the other shit happening throughout the day.”
“Like?”
She quickly explained, and he went silent, considering this new information.
Chapter 7
Mercy thought about what he had said. She thought about the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, and held a heartfelt belief that what he had said was what she needed to hear. She dropped her gaze to study the tabletop. “I have to go back. I made a promise to my sister, to myself. I promised I would get to the bottom of this, and I would find out what happened.”
He picked up her hand. She stared at his suntanned, calloused fingers as they gently stroked her soft white hand.
“And you are doing it. But you should be doing it in a way that doesn’t put you in danger,” Michael said. “And you won’t know how much danger exists until it’s too late. Two people have already been murdered. For all I know, other staff members have disappeared as well. The detectives are looking into both murders. We have to give them a chance to do their job.”
“Then you should leave too,” she said. “Sammy was there before you. For all the owner knows, you’re involved in whatever Sammy was involved in too.”
“Same for you
as one of the two new hires.”
She studied the hard glint in his gaze. “But I don’t know anything about Mr. Freeman. And nobody at the estate knows I’m Anna’s sister. Nobody talks to me about either of the dead employees. I can’t ask questions. I can’t do anything. The minute I do, I’m told to be quiet and to do my job.” She turned her gaze to study her coffee cup. “Did my sister ever get time off? Did she ever come here to relax, just to get away? Was that job nothing but hell for her?”
“I’m hoping she found something enjoyable in life with Sammy.”
“What was he like?”
“Full of fun, full of laughter. He was always playing catch-up,” he said abruptly. “Capable, determined to be better. Sometimes he needed help where the rest of us didn’t, but he was funny. He was heartwarming and good-natured.”
“Then I’m happy for her. If she found somebody like that, then it’s a whole lot better than what she left home with.”
“Explain?”
Mercy shrugged and settled back into the comfortable chair. “She took off with a local bad boy. He ran with gangs, rode a bike, did drugs, sold drugs. He was suspected of pimping out high school girls.” She shook her head. “We did everything we could to stop her, to save her, but she wouldn’t listen to us.”
“She had a child.”
Mercy stared at him, her jaw dropping. She leaned forward and hissed, “What? How do you know? Where is the child?”
He shook his head. “I ran her numbers, license plate, and talked to a cop friend of mine,” he said. “Years ago she gave it up for adoption.”
Mercy sat back up, stunned by the news. “Giving her child up for adoption is something I can see her doing. It was likely much better for the child at the time.” Her heart leaped and soared at the thought of a child, a piece of her sister still on the planet. “Is there a way to find out the details on the adoption?”
He shook his head. “Not until the child’s eighteen. Some states allow parents to post notices on websites that they’re looking for the child, but, more often than not, it has to be the child who goes looking for the parents.”