Make Me Melt(11)

Still on his haunches, Jason turned to look at his deputy. “Yeah, we’re good. I’m going to take Ms. Banks to the hotel and get her something to eat.” He shifted his attention back to Caroline. “Are you feeling up to a drive?”

She didn’t think she’d ever eat again. The image of the bloodstained threshold haunted her. She stared at Jason with a growing sense of respect.

“How do you do this?”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand, and his eyes softened fractionally. “By doing whatever it takes.”

Before Caroline could respond, Deputy Black stepped toward the car, his entire body on full alert. Immediately, Jason rose to his feet, pushing her into the car and closing the door, before planting himself directly outside her window.

One of the police officers quickly crossed the lawn toward them. “That’s Marisola Perez, the neighbor’s housekeeper. We’ve already cleared her.”

Caroline peered through the window to see a woman walking down the driveway that bordered her father’s property. She looked to be in her forties, and she wore a simple cotton dress with an apron that reminded her of the uniforms worn by hotel maids.

The woman clutched her purse and walked with her head down, clearly uncomfortable with the activity going on next door and the attention that was suddenly focused on her. When she reached the end of the driveway and turned onto the sidewalk, she cast one quick glance toward Jason and the car.

“Have a good evening, ma’am,” Deputy Black said.

She gave a jerky nod, and Caroline watched as Ms. Perez quickly crossed the road and climbed into an older model sedan, then drove away. Only when the car was out of sight did Jason and Deputy Black relax.

“Freaking rich people,” the police officer said in a disparaging tone. “Every house on the street has a gardener, a housekeeper, a cook and a personal assistant. I guess when you have money, you lose the ability to do anything for yourself.” He shook his head in disgust. “Christ, there’s more hired help on this street than there are actual residents. Just questioning them is going to take us days.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, and the officer suddenly became aware of Caroline sitting in the car, staring at him in astonishment through the open window.

“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” he mumbled, and twin splotches of color appeared high on his cheeks.

With an embarrassed glance at Jason, he turned and hurried back to the house. Jason and Deputy Black exchanged quiet words that Caroline couldn’t hear; then the deputy strode toward his own vehicle.

Troubled by the man’s words, she looked around her at the houses on the street. Many of the nearby residents had come to stand on their front porches or lawns, drawn by the excessive number of police officers and news reporters. She knew from experience that this was a quiet neighborhood. Nothing exciting ever happened in Sea Cliff, unless it was a black-tie dinner party and the governor was invited. To have a prominent and respected member of the community gunned down on his own front steps was beyond shocking.

As Caroline noted the residents who stood watching, she realized that what the police officer had said was true. She could easily spot the housekeepers and nannies who had come out to the street to watch, conspicuous because of their uniforms.

She’d never considered it odd to have hired help while she was growing up. As a child, they’d had a live-in cook and a woman who came to the house twice a week to clean. There was a man who took care of the landscaping and another who took care of their swimming pool. Her father had an assistant who spent most of his time at the house. Even when William had been at work, Caroline had never been alone.

But what must that kind of lifestyle look like to a guy whose career was in public service? Caroline didn’t blame the officer for what he’d said. From his perspective, it probably did appear that the residents of Sea Cliff were incapable of caring for themselves.

After a moment, Jason came around to the driver’s side. He’d taken off his sports coat at the hospital, and he made no effort to hide his gun, which he wore in a shoulder holster. She wondered if he was sending a deliberate message to anyone who might be watching the house, or her. She admitted to finding this new Jason a little intimidating. He’d always been the strong, silent type, but combined with a don’t-mess-with-me attitude and a firearm, he was positively forbidding.


He started the car and then turned in his seat to look at her. “I’m sorry about what that officer said. You shouldn’t have to listen to that. Everyone has the right to earn a living, and the people in this neighborhood provide good jobs and income for a lot of families. Sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. And he has a right to his opinion. That woman—” She stopped, feeling foolish.

Jason waited, expectant. “Yes?”

“Your men interviewed her?”

“Both the police and the FBI did, yes.”

“I see. I was wondering...have they already interviewed my father’s housekeeper? And gardener? I mean, they’d have opportunity. They know his schedule, right? They know when he’s home alone.”

“The police and the FBI have spoken with his housekeeper. Her name is Consuela Garcia, and she’s about seventy years old. She’s worked for your father for almost five years, and she has a rock-solid alibi for last night. He also has a gardener, who happens to be Consuela’s husband.” He paused. “They’re good people, Caroline. You don’t have to worry. They’d do anything for your father, and they’re devastated by what happened to him.”