Cleanup (5 page)

“We can talk when I see you,” I said again. “Not over the phone.”

“Sure,” she said. “But Connie, you're a lawyer. When they let me out of here—”

Hadn't she heard Mr. Mason? There was no way she would get bail.

“—they'll deport me for sure. What do you think? Can I can still inherit from him even if I live in another country?”

If I was right about what would happen to her when she was deported, she wouldn't have time to worry about inheriting.

“Maria, we really shouldn't—”

“Just tell me, Connie.”

“Yes, you can inherit,” I said. “If it's a valid will. And if his son doesn't contest it.”

“Contest it?”

“Go to court to challenge it,” I explained.

“How can he do that? It's up to Mr. Richard what he wants to do with his money.”

“Yes and no,” I said. “His son could argue that his father didn't know what he was doing when he made the new will. Or that you manipulated him into changing it and then killed him to get the money.”

“I would never do such a thing!” She sounded shocked.

“It's not a good idea to talk about it on the phone, Maria.”

“I would never kill Mr. Richard. I would never kill anyone. I would never manipulate anyone either.”

I wondered about that. I'd thought I knew Maria. I felt sorry for her situation. But obviously I didn't know her as well as I thought. I'd had no idea that she had asked for rich male clients. She hadn't told me that she had quit Mike's agency and that Mr. Withers was paying her directly. Or that she was sleeping with Mr. Withers. I wondered if she really was surprised to find she'd been in his will.

“I'll come and see you the day after tomorrow, Maria,” I said. “We can talk then.”

* * *

I spent the next day scrubbing the huge penthouse apartment that belonged to Enid Withers's friend. Some bribe, I thought. I had to work hard to earn it. When I finally finished, it was time to pay the Witherses a visit.

Nobody—neither Mike nor Enid Withers—warned me about the roadwork that was being done near the entrance to the subdivision where Charles and Enid Withers lived. I had to sit in a line of traffic for a full ten minutes before it was my turn to pass.

The subdivision was relatively new. It was filled with large houses, landscaped properties and late-model cars. Charles and Enid obviously weren't hurting for money. But their house wasn't nearly as magnificent as Richard Withers's house. The son had done well for himself, but not as well as the father.

Enid answered the door. She looked confused when she saw me. Mike obviously hadn't explained to her who I was. I had to do it myself. To be polite, I also thanked her for the day's work at her friend's condo.

“Come in,” she said. She didn't even try to be welcoming. “Charles!”

Charles Withers appeared from the back of the house. As he stood beside his wife, I noticed that she looked at least ten years older than him.

“You must be Connie,” he said. His smile reminded me of his father's. “I hope you didn't get too tied up in all that roadwork. There's a shortcut you can use. I'll give you directions before you leave.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Soft music was playing in the background. I smelled fresh coffee, as well as perfume and cologne. The perfume was strong and overpowering. The cologne was soft and mellow. They both had an immediate reaction on me. I felt my sinuses start to close and my head start to ache.

“Please come in,” Charles said.

I stayed where I was.

“Your perfume and cologne are really strong. Would you mind washing them off ?” I held up my wrist to show him my MedicAlert bracelet.

Enid's mouth twisted down, as if she couldn't believe what I was asking.

“I'm sorry, but I really can't come in if you smell like that,” I said. I didn't care if she thought I was being rude.

“Of course,” Charles said. “Of course.”

Enid scowled. Charles looked pleadingly at her. They left me standing at the door while they disappeared. I heard their voices—hers furious, his soothing. When they came back, the only aroma I detected was the faint scent of soap. It would fade fast.

“Thank you,” I said.

Charles started to lead me into the living room. Enid stopped him.

“I'm sure Ms. Suarez would be more comfortable in the kitchen,” she said. “I made coffee.”

Charles opened his mouth to say something. Maybe he was thinking the same thing I was: Why did she think I would be more comfortable in the kitchen? Because I was a maid? Because my name was Suarez?

“This way,” Enid said, her voice insistent. Charles's mouth closed and he trotted after her. I followed.

The kitchen was large and bright and looked out through a wall of windows to a backyard patio and garden.

“Please sit,” Enid directed.

I did as I was told. She set a cup of coffee in front of me without asking if I wanted it. She and Charles waited until I had added a little milk before Charles said, “You're probably wondering why we asked you here.”

“I am,” I admitted.

“I understand you worked for my father for the past six months. You and Ms. Gonzales.”

“That's right. I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Withers,” I said. “Your father was a good man. And an interesting one.”

“How would you know that?” Enid demanded.

“He liked to talk,” I said. “He was curious about my country. And Maria's. He asked us a lot of questions, and I think he must have started reading about them because—”

“Charles, get to the point,” Enid said, cutting me off. “Ask her.”

I looked at Charles.

“Ask me what?” I asked.

“I don't know if you're aware of it, Ms. Suarez, but Ms. Gonzales claims that my father intended to marry her.”

“Of course she's aware,” Enid said.

“My father was eighty-three years old,” Charles said.

“Really?” I was surprised. Mr. Withers had told us he was seventy-one. I wondered if Maria knew his real age. If she didn't, had he lied to make himself more attractive to her? “He was very fit for his age.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Enid demanded.

Charles sighed. “Enid, please.” Enid slouched in her chair like a resentful teenager. “My father may have seemed fit, but he was old and sometimes forgetful—”

“—and confused,” Enid added quickly. “He was always losing things.”

“Who was always losing things?” a voice behind me asked. Enid jumped.

I turned and saw a tall, lean man in jeans and a snug T-shirt. He was handsome, with sandy hair and green eyes and a smooth, tanned body. He dropped a small suitcase onto the tiled floor.

“Andrew, when did you get back?”

“Aren't you glad to see me, Mother?” he asked. He dropped a kiss onto her cheek.

“My stepson,” Charles explained to me. Enid gave him a sharp look.

“Our
son
,” she corrected.

Andrew smiled at me.

“Aren't you going to introduce me, Mother?” he asked.

“Ms. Suarez—” Charles began.

“—is a maid who worked for your grandfather,” Enid said.

“Really?” Andrew said, his eyes still on me. I felt myself blush. “Lucky Grandpa. He sure knows how to live.”

“Didn't you tell him?” Charles asked.

“Tell me what?” Andrew said.

“About what happened to my father. He—”

“It can wait,” Enid said. “Andrew, your father and I need to talk with Ms. Suarez. Why don't you go and unpack. We'll talk later.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said with a wry smile. He kissed her on the cheek again and left the kitchen.

“I'll be plain, Ms. Suarez,” Enid said once he was gone. “My father-in-law was a forgetful old man who should not have been living alone.”

I had suspected why she had asked me here. Now I knew I was right.

“He seemed fine to me,” I said. “He read a lot. He listened to music. He liked to talk about his books and music. He didn't seem at all forgetful.”

“To you and Ms. Gonzales,” she said, her tone making it clear that she didn't believe me.

“Yes,” I said. “I spoke to him almost every day. Is this about the will, Mrs. Withers?”

“What do you know about that?” Enid asked.

“I know he left a lot of money and property to Maria Gonzales. If you want me to say that Mr. Withers wasn't thinking straight when he made that will, I'm afraid I can't help you.”

Enid leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. “Were you in on it with Ms. Gonzales? Did she promise you something in exchange for helping her to pressure that poor old man into cutting his own son out of his will?”

I stood up.

“Whatever happened between Mr. Withers and Ms. Gonzales is their business, not mine,” I said.

Charles jumped to his feet.

“My wife didn't mean to insult you, Ms. Suarez,” he said. “It's just—” He sighed. “As I'm sure you can imagine, it was quite a shock to discover that my father had changed his will and left everything to a woman he barely knows.”

“Love is sometimes difficult to explain, Mr. Withers,” I said. “Men have done stranger and more foolish things.”

“So you agree it was foolish?” Enid said.

“I didn't mean—”

“Especially when they weren't married yet,” she said, cutting me off. “Especially when there was every chance that he would eventually see that little tramp for what she really was.”

“Enid, please—”

“Oh, he was smitten with your little friend,” Enid continued, ignoring her husband. “But he was a successful man. He got rich by his wits and hard work. Do you know that Ms. Gonzales has a boyfriend and a child back home in Honduras?”

“Honduras?” What was she talking about? “Maria is from Colombia.”

“Originally,” Enid said. “But she was living in Honduras before she came here. That's where she left her child.”

“I don't believe it,” I said. But what if I was wrong? What if this was one more thing Maria hadn't told me?

“It's true,” Enid said. “I knew it and Richard knew it. He's no fool. He obviously had her investigated.”

“How do you know that?” Charles asked her.

“I saw the report the last time I was there.”

I remembered seeing her in Mr. Withers's study. “You snooped,” I said.

“The police didn't mention any of this,” Charles said.

“That's because that little tart probably destroyed the report after she killed your father,” Enid said. “And I bet he didn't find out the truth about that little gold digger until after she got him to change his will. I bet he called off the wedding, and that's why she killed him.”

“Did you tell the police?” Charles asked.

“Of course I did,” she snapped. “But the report is missing and there's no indication of who prepared it.”

I stood up. My head was spinning. Was this true? Had the old man discovered the truth about Maria? Had he called off the wedding? Had Maria—?

“I should go,” I said.

“Do you like being a maid, Ms. Suarez?” Enid asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Do you like being a maid?”

“Enid—” Charles began.

She waved a hand to silence him.

“My father-in-law was a wealthy man,” she said, her eyes drilling into mine. “I am sure that he would have wanted to compensate you for your loyalty. That can be arranged.”

I looked evenly at her.

“Are you trying to bribe me, Mrs. Withers?”

“I am just pointing out what we would be able to do for you if my father-in-law's will were carried out as he intended.”

“In other words, you'll pay me if I tell the police that Maria coerced Mr. Withers into changing his will,” I said.

She smiled thinly. “Your English really is excellent,” she said.

“I am not going to ask how much you are prepared to pay me, Mrs. Withers,” I said. “Because if I asked you that and you answered, that would be a bribe to get me to lie to the police. And I would have to report it. I don't know anything about what went on between Maria and your father-in-law. All I know is what I saw with my own eyes, which is that she made him laugh and that he treated her with dignity.”

With that, I let myself out of the kitchen and out of their house. I was shaking with rage—at Enid and at Maria. I glanced in the rearview mirror as I drove away. Enid was watching me from the open door.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

A
ll I wanted was to get home. But I got stuck in traffic again. The road crew was long gone, but there was only one lane open. Cars were taking turns passing, first in one direction and then the other. I wished I had asked for directions to the shortcut Charles had mentioned.

It was dark and I was tired by the time I pulled into the parking lot behind the building where I lived. Most of the lights in the parking lot were burned out and had been for months. Usually I tried to park near the road where there was light from the streetlamps. But tonight there were no spaces. I had to park way over to one side near an empty building that had been for sale for months. It was dark over there.

I locked my car and had just started across the dreary lot when someone or something slammed into me from behind. When I tried to turn, something hit me hard in the face. What was going on? Was I going to be sexually assaulted? Was I going to die here in this parking lot? I felt my purse being ripped from my shoulder. I opened my mouth to scream. A fist hammered into my belly. I sank to my knees, gasping for air and clinging to the strap of my purse. My attacker punched me again. I refused to let go of my purse. I clung to it with one hand and grabbed my attacker's gloved hand with the other.