Hide and Sneak

by G. A. McKevett

  “Yes, I recall. It’s lovely.”

  “He was on the phone, talking to somebody, yelling at them. Apparently, he didn’t like the way the conversation went, because as soon as he finished the call, he threw his phone into the rosebushes and swore like a crazy guy. He used words I haven’t heard since my uncle Billy died.”

  “Uncle Billy had a potty mouth, huh?”

  “The world’s worst. Well, except for Mr. Orman. I’d say they’re tied for the gold medal.” She laughed. “You should have seen him after that, bending over, trying to get his phone out of those roses. He was cursing those poor flowers, like it was their fault, and stomping on them so hard that he ruined a Mr. Lincoln bush and a John F. Kennedy hybrid, not to mention his Jimmy Choos.”

  Savannah reached for the half-eaten sandwich, took one more bite, and washed it down with the remainder of the iced tea. “Best sandwich ever, darlin’,” she told Amy as she stood, signaling the end of the interview.

  “Thank you very much for this conversation, Amy,” she said. “You’ve been a lot of help, and I appreciate it. I’m sure that Mr. and Mrs. Malloy would, too. You’ve done well by them.”

  Amy flushed a pretty pink and smiled, obviously grateful for the compliment and reassurance. “I’m glad. You’re very welcome, and if there’s anything else I can do . . .”

  “Actually, there is one more thing. I have an assistant who’s as good at her job as you are. Her specialty is Internet research. I know this is another one of those sensitive questions, but it would help her a lot if she could access Mrs. Malloy’s social media pages. You wouldn’t happen to know the passwords she uses for those, would you?”

  Once again, Amy seemed very uncomfortable, and Savannah knew she had gone too far.

  “Like I said before—ordinarily, I wouldn’t ask you to violate her privacy. I wouldn’t ask anyone to do such a thing. But this is an emergency.”

  “I understand. And I do know some of her passwords. But I feel like I need to ask Mr. Ethan first.”

  “Fair enough. You ask him and get his permission. But please, don’t take too long. Time is of the essence and all that.”

  Amy gathered up the plate and glasses. “You’re going to talk to Luciana now, right?”

  “That was the plan, yes. If she’s available.”

  “Oh, she’s available all right. She really wants to talk to you. She loved Pilar very much.” Amy choked on her next words, “We all did.”

  As Savannah followed the young assistant back into the house, she thought of Abel Orman, stomping his employers’ rosebushes into the ground and ruining his designer shoes.

  She decided to readjust her suspect list.

  She moved Orman’s Post-it upward, to sit beside Neal Irwin’s. Once again, Abel Orman was tied for second place, as he had been with Uncle Billy in the cursing competition.

  A rosebush stomper and a duck abuser.

  What an ugly pair they made.

  Chapter 13

  When Savannah and Amy reentered the mansion, and passed through the foyer, Savannah gave the massive bronze statue of Nidhogg the Terrible a wide berth.

  She couldn’t imagine that any woman would tolerate such a revolting thing in her house. Even worse, since the statue was supposed to represent a critter who chowed down on the corpses of those who had committed adultery, Savannah couldn’t imagine that Beth enjoyed passing by him numerous times a day.

  If a wife was, indeed, fooling around on her faithful, loving husband, she probably wouldn’t appreciate a hideous, mythical dragon-creature reminding her of it every time she shuffled from the living room to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee.

  No sooner had Savannah thought of that particular faithful, loving husband, than she saw him coming down the curved staircase. His hair was wet, as though he had just taken a shower, and he wore a different pair of jeans and T-shirt than before.

  But he still looked exhausted and as worried as any person she had ever seen.

  He greeted her with a lukewarm smile and a quick nod as he continued down the stairs. “I see you’ve graced us with another visit today, as promised,” he said.

  There was a tinge of sarcasm in his tone, but Savannah didn’t blame him. She and Dirk were the people who were supposed to be helping him the most at this terrible time. But they had squeezed him through a pretty tight ringer today. She didn’t expect to be his favorite person. Or even his favorite private investigator, for that matter.

  He glanced at Amy and saw the dishes she was carrying. Giving her a much warmer smile than he had offered to Savannah, he said, “I see that Amy has fed you.”

  “Yes, one of the best sandwiches I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “That’s just one of the many kindnesses she does around here, making sure we don’t starve to death or get too bogged down with the annoyances of everyday life,” he said.

  He walked over to Amy and took the dishes from her hands. “I’ll deal with these. I’m going to the kitchen anyway.” He turned to Savannah. “Are you finished with Amy?”

  “I am,” she assured him. “She was most helpful, very forthcoming. She helped me a lot.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, but not surprised. And I suppose you want to talk to Luciana next.”

  “If that’s okay.”

  “It is with me. But I have to warn you she’s not feeling well. She’s really upset about what happened to Pilar. I gave her the rest of the day off. She’s resting in the maid’s quarters. Amy, could you show her?”

  “I’d be happy to.” She shot a quick glance at Savannah. “And then there’s something I have to ask you, Mr. Ethan.”

  “Sure. When you’re ready, I’ll be in the library.” To Savannah, he added, “When you’re finished with Luciana, before you leave, I need a word with you.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “Thank you. Tell Luciana I’m thinking of her.”

  “I will.”

  He left them, heading toward the kitchen, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped—the very picture of dejection.

  “I feel so sorry for him,” Amy said, echoing Savannah’s exact thoughts. “Mr. Ethan is such a good man, an awesome husband and daddy. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  “You’re right. He doesn’t. No one does. The problem is, we don’t even know right now what ‘this’ is.”

  Amy’s eyes searched hers. “Do you think there’s a chance that she might just pull into the driveway any minute, say she’s sorry, and give us some good explanation about what happened to Pilar?”

  Savannah thought about the white Porsche, sitting in the CSI garage, every inch of it being fingerprinted, scrutinized, and vacuumed. No, she didn’t think that Beth Malloy would be pulling it into the driveway any time soon, if ever again.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see,” Savannah told her. “Now, where’s the maid’s quarters?”

  She was surprised when Amy led her not to some designated part of the main house but out the front door and toward the rear of the property.

  “Actually,” Amy said, “she doesn’t live in the maid’s quarters. Pilar does—I mean, did. Miss Beth liked having the nanny inside the house at night, in case Freddy needed something, and Mr. Ethan wasn’t here to take care of him.”

  “Mr. Malloy does his share of childcare then?”

  “More than his share when he’s home. Miss Beth likes her sleep, and she figures since he’s gone so much of the time, it’s the least he can do when he’s here.”

  The longer Savannah listened to Amy, the more she realized that there were numerous troublesome issues in the Malloy marriage. She had seen couples split up for any one of those reasons, and lesser ones besides.

  “So, where are you taking me?” Savannah asked as they passed the turret tower, rounded the corner of the house, and proceeded down a cobblestone path toward what Savannah was pretty sure had to be the garage.

  Like the mansion, the building was stone and had a steeply pitched slate roof. Its three large doo
rs were arched and its few windows mullioned, like those of the main house.

  “She lives in there,” Amy said, pointing to the building.

  “They keep Luciana in the garage?”

  Amy laughed. “No, of course not. She lives in the chauffeur’s apartment. It’s above the garage. It’s actually much nicer than the maid’s quarters, which were designed for a single woman. They’re just a bedroom and bathroom.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not very well informed when it comes to this sort of thing. I haven’t had a lot of servants in my day.”

  “Me either. But I was with Miss Beth when the real estate agent first showed her the place. He explained it all. How, long ago, when the house was built, people’s maids weren’t expected to be married or to have a family, but the chauffeur was. So, his apartment has a living room, kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. It paid to be a guy back then. Now, too, for that matter.”

  “True. But then, we gals have a few advantages, a few tools of the trade, so to speak, that the guys don’t have.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. Emphatically. Figure out what your tools are, girl, and how to use them to your best advantage. Do it with all of your considerable might. Rock your world, Amy, darlin’, and everybody else’s around you.”

  The young woman didn’t reply, but she giggled, and Savannah was satisfied that her seeds of wisdom had fallen on fertile soil.

  “Just be careful,” Savannah warned her. “Female power is potent stuff. Make sure you only use it for good, not evil. You don’t want to hurt yourself or anyone else in the process of getting what you want out of life.”

  “Thank you, Savannah. I’ll keep that in mind. I want to be a director someday, so I’m sure I’ll need that advice, sooner or later, in this tough business.”

  They had arrived at the garage and Amy showed her a staircase on the side of the building that led from the ground to the second-story apartment door.

  “You go ahead,” Amy said. “I’ll go back to the house and ask Mr. Ethan about that password business.”

  “Okay. See you later.”

  Amy headed back to the main house, and Savannah began to climb the stairs to Luciana’s apartment.

  She was only halfway up the steps when she heard someone crying inside the building. Crying hard.

  Ethan wasn’t kidding when he said Luciana isn’t feeling well, Savannah told herself as she continued up the stairs.

  The upper half of the door was a stained-glass window, depicting a beautiful red rose on a curving vine. Savannah knocked gently on the wood surrounding the glass.

  When the crying continued and no one answered, she knocked again, a bit harder.

  It took four series of ever more vigorous rapping before the sobbing inside ended.

  Eventually, she heard the sound of footsteps, as someone inside approached the door.

  Slowly, it opened, but only a few inches.

  One tearful eye peeked out through the crack.

  “Luciana?” Savannah asked.

  “Yes” was the tentative reply.

  “My name is Savannah Reid. I believe Mr. Malloy told you about me. He probably mentioned that I was going to be dropping by to speak with you this afternoon. Is that right?”

  “Yes, he told me.”

  “I know this is a really bad time for you, but could I please come in just for a few minutes and ask you a couple questions?”

  When Luciana said nothing and did nothing but stare at her with tearful eyes, Savannah added, “I think it might help Miss Beth and Freddy if I could talk to you.”

  Those were the magic words.

  In two seconds, the door was wide open, and Luciana was waving her inside.

  “Thank you very much,” Savannah said. “I’ll try not to take too much of your time on such a sad day.”

  Luciana was a bit older than Savannah had expected. Her black hair was sprinkled with silver, and her cinnamon-colored skin had a few wrinkles. But Savannah could tell that she had been a beautiful woman in her youth.

  She still was.

  She moved across the room with an almost regal elegance, even in the midst of her grief. Her back was straight, unbent by the many years of hard work she must have done.

  There was something about the woman, an air of strength possessed only by those who had suffered the deepest sorrows and endured the most arduous challenges life had to offer.

  Something told Savannah that the loss of her friend Pilar wasn’t the first deep sorrow to cross this woman’s path.

  Luciana waved an arm toward a simple but comfortable sofa. “Please,” she said, “sit down. Would you like some water? Some coffee? Some milk?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine. But you have some if you like.”

  Savannah took a seat on the couch and glanced around the simply decorated room. Almost everything in sight was functional, necessary to daily living. There was hardly anything in the room that could be considered a work of art or even a humble decoration.

  Except one thing.

  In the middle of the coffee table—a plain, nondescript coffee table—lay a beautiful leather album. The cover had been hand-worked in fine detail, decorated with roses and trimmed with rows of silver studs. In the center of the design was a cabochon of jasper agate, framed with silver.

  “What a beautiful book,” Savannah said.

  She looked up at Luciana and saw an expression of great pride on the woman’s face. No one needed to tell Savannah that this book was Luciana’s most treasured possession.

  “Thank you,” Luciana replied. “Miss Beth gave it to me for Christmas last year. She knew I was keeping all of my family’s pictures in a shoebox. She said I needed a special place for them, because they were such special people.”

  Luciana sat beside Savannah on the sofa, reached over, and touched the album lovingly. “Would you like to see them?”

  Savannah nearly said, “No.” With Beth Malloy and her child missing, she was reluctant to waste time. Yet, Luciana’s heart was shining in her eyes, and Savannah couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

  “Yes, I would like to see your family, Luciana,” she said. “Very much.”

  “This is my Ecuador family.” Luciana pulled the book closer and opened the ornate cover. “Miss Beth, Mr. Ethan, and Freddy are my American family. So was Pilar. But now . . .”

  “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  Luciana drew a deep, shuddering breath, then pointed to the first photos in the album. “These are of my son, Angelo. He is my angel. He was only three years old when I left my home in Ecuador to come to the United States. Now he is a man.”

  “He’s so handsome. El guapo!” Savannah said, studying the clear, dark, friendly eyes of the young man in the photo. “How often do you get to see him?”

  Luciana seemed surprised at the question. “See him? Not since I left. Not since he was three.”

  “You never get to go home to see your son?”

  “No. It is too far and costs too much money.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “But I knew it would be so when I left.”

  “What a terrible sacrifice for you. That must have been awfully hard to leave your child, your home, and your family, and go to a foreign country.”

  “It was. But my husband was killed. The bus he was riding to work went off the road and down a cliff. Everyone died. Even my handsome husband.”

  Savannah winced, thinking that sorrow had knocked hard on this woman’s door.

  “We had no money. We had no home. We had no food. Someone had to go. It was necessary. But my mother and father were too old, and my sisters and brothers too young, so I went. I came to America so I could work and send money to them so they could live.”

  She turned the page and showed more pictures of her son, going back in time, a series of over twenty photos. “My mother takes a picture of him every year on his birthday and sends it to me. He is big and strong and is getting married next month. I am so proud
of him.”

  On the next page, she pointed to a picture of an older couple, looking happy and content, sitting on the front porch of a lovely brick home set in a verdant tropical forest. “These are my parents,” she said. “That is the house I bought for them.”

  “You bought them a house?” Savannah couldn’t hide her surprise.

  “I did.” Luciana didn’t bother to hide her pride. She smiled broadly and turned the page. Two other pictures showed women closer to Luciana’s age, who bore a strong familial resemblance to her. They both stood in front of fine, brick homes.

  “These are my sisters, Mayra and Silvia,” she said. “Those are the houses I bought for them.”

  “You bought houses, brick houses, for your whole family?” Savannah was amazed. Apparently, the Malloy family paid their servants most handsomely.

  “You are surprised.” Luciana seemed to be enjoying Savannah’s astonishment. “You think a maid’s money is too little to buy houses?”

  Savannah was embarrassed by her own ill-informed, preconceived notions. But she decided to be honest about it. “Yes, I guess I am.”

  “A maid’s little money would not buy a good, rich life here in the United States. But in Ecuador, a little money buys much. My family doesn’t starve anymore. My family has strong houses that don’t fall when the winds blow, and cars that don’t break and go over cliffs and kill them. I take care of them, and they send me pictures of my son. Someday, he and his wife will have children. My grandchildren. And they will send me pictures of them, too. I think about that, and it makes me happy.”

  Savannah thought of all the people she knew, including herself, who found it difficult to be content with so much more than this lady had.

  She promised herself that, when she found time—no, she would make time—she’d think about the lessons she had just learned, sitting in Luciana’s humble living room.

  “Thank you, Luciana, for showing me your photos. I’m sure your family loves you very much and are most grateful for all you’ve done for them.”

  “It was because of Miss Beth. She helped me.” Tears began to stream down Luciana’s cheeks. “She sponsored me. She helped me take classes and learn English and learn about the United States. She helped me study for the test and become an American. I owe her much.”