Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville 4)

“He and Mike knew each other in high school. Tim made it clear he didn’t like him,” Jake said. “We need to find out more about Tim and Mike and their relationship. And I’d bet money Amber plays into this somehow.”

“Where’s the housekeeper?” Rick asked.

“She’s in the living room,” Georgia said. “Very shook up.”

“Thanks, Georgia,” Jake said.

She nodded, turning back to her job as if they were simply two coworkers working a crime scene.

Jake and Rick moved to the living room where he found the petite Hispanic woman holding a rosary rocking back and forth in a chair. Her dark hair was peppered with white and the skin around her eyes lined. “Ma’am, I’m Detective Jake Bishop. This is my partner, Detective Rick Morgan. Can we get you a glass of water?”

“No water for me, but thank you.”

“We’d like to ask you a few questions. Are you up for that?” Jake asked.

“Yes.”

He sat across from her in a sleek leather club chair and kept his voice low and even as he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Maria Torres.” She looked up at him, mumbled a prayer, and fingered a delicate gold cross around her neck. “I never seen a dead body before.”

“It’s not easy, I know.” He pulled a notebook and pen from his breast pocket. “What time did you find Mr. Marlowe?”

“Just after seven. I come every morning at six to make Mr. Marlowe his breakfast.”

“You don’t live on the property.”

“No. I got my own place that I share with my daughter, Rosa. But if there’s a party and I have to stay late, there’s an apartment over the garage.”

“How old is Rosa?” Jake’s tone was easy, conversational and anyone listening at this moment would have thought he was talking to a friend.

Her eyes flickered with pride. “She’s twenty-one. She’s in school. Very smart.”

“How long have you been working for Mr. Marlowe?”

“Since my Rosa was one year old.”

“So you knew the late Mrs. Marlowe?”

“I did. She was a lovely woman. Very sweet. Intelligent. She used to buy treats for my Rosa.”

“You must have known Mike Marlowe?”

Her expression grew guarded as if an old habit of hiding secrets kicked into play. “Yes. I knew him.”

“What can you tell me about the boy?”

She glanced toward the kitchen almost as if she feared Marlowe was standing there listening. She sat straighter and mumbled another prayer.

“He can’t hear anymore,” Jake said with an assuring smile. “You can speak freely.”

She crossed herself. “I knew Mike since he was a baby. He was a hard boy to take care of. Always getting into trouble. Always looking for something that would bring him pleasure no matter what he hurt.”

“How old was Mike when his mother died?” Jake asked.

“He was fifteen. It was a sad day for everyone in the house. We all wept for the lovely lady.”

“I understand she was sick.”

“Sí. With the cancer. But it was the fall that killed her.”

“One of the teachers at Mike’s school mentioned the fall.”

“Mr. Marlowe didn’t want anyone to know about it. He said it would do no good.”

“Were you here when it happened?”

“I was in the kitchen. I heard her arguing with Mike, and then I heard her fall. I found her at the bottom of the main staircase.”

“Where was Mike?”

“Hurrying down the stairs toward his mother. He said she lost her footing. Said it was an accident.” A long breath shuddered between her teeth. “She passed two days later. She never woke up.”

Jake glanced at Rick whose stark expression telegraphed what Jake thought. Mike had been at the top of the stairs before his mother fell. They had argued. Had it been an accident or had he pushed her?

“What was it like for Mike after she died?”

“He was hard to deal with before, but after she died, he was impossible. He and his father fought all the time. He was running wild, drinking, and sneaking out of the house. His girlfriend was here whenever Mr. Marlowe wasn’t.”

“Amber Ryder?”

“Yes. Mike adored her.”

“What did you think of her?” Jake asked.

“Very pretty. Polite. But . . .”

“But what?”

“Always watching.”

“She was a poor kid and this is a rich man’s house.” As a teen, Jake went into nice houses with his dad on summer construction jobs. Hundred-year-old brick mansions on Beacon Hill that made his Southie row house look no better than a toolshed. He remembered being in awe as well as jealous.

She slid the cross back and forth on the gold chain while she spoke. “It was more than that. Yes, there have always been pretty things in this house, but she was most fascinated by the pictures.”

“What kind of pictures?”

“Of the family. She especially liked the pictures of Mr. Marlowe holding Mike when he was a baby.” She shook her head. “In the pictures, he looked like such a sweet baby.” She crossed herself. “My Rosa said Amber was always flirting with the boys whenever Mike was not around. Rosa would see them all at football games and parties. Amber she said could make any boy do whatever she wanted. Rosa called her a witch. Mike was bewitched. Always sneaking out of the house to see her.”

Rick rested his hands on his belt. “How did he sneak out of the house?”

“There’s a window in the basement. He didn’t think I knew, but I did. He used to sneak out of it when he was a teenager. He would also bring in his friends that way.”

He imagined the tall wrought-iron fence that circled the property. “What about the fence around the house?”

“There’s a small gap in the

corner behind the cypresses. It’s hidden, but a few know about it.”

“Can you show me the basement?”

“Yes.” She rose and, turning her face from the kitchen, made the sign of the cross before moving toward a side staircase. She switched on a light and descended the carpeted staircase. Jake’s parents had a basement but it wasn’t the kind of place anyone wanted to spend time. Dark and dank, it had a low ceiling and poor lighting. No one went down there unless it was to do laundry or store something for the season.

This basement had tall ceilings, richly paneled walls, and spot lighting that lit a collection of photographic images of shadowed outlines of a naked woman. The furniture was sleek, elegant. One hell of a space.

The maid moved past the kitchenette area where a small window looked out over the side of the yard. She tested the lock. It worked. “When Mike snuck out, this was always unlatched until he returned.”

As she stepped back, Jake moved toward the window. It was small, but big enough for a man to squeeze through if his build was slight. Like Tim. But the killer had not used the window.

Tim had come through the back door and he left the same way. “You said the gap in the fence is where?”

“On the north side of the fence behind the cypresses.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Torres. Why don’t you go upstairs? I’ll call you if I need anything else.”

She crossed herself. “Yes, thank you.”

Jake and Rick followed and found Georgia bagging the victim’s hands. “Georgia, can you have a look at the fence out back? There’s a gap.”

“Sure.” She rose and grabbed her fingerprinting kit.

The three walked out the back door. The air was cool but the sun bright. Jake moved to the north corner of the yard and pushed through the trees, holding the branches back for Georgia and Rick. The gap hadn’t been apparent until now.

“You think he came in that way?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Well, the killer was good about not leaving prints in the house, but let’s see if he was as smart when he wedged through the fence.”