Deadly Blessings (16 page)

I resisted the overwhelming urge to exclaim
disgust. “And you’re telling me that Father Bruno isn’t aware of
all this going on under his nose?”

Sophie’s eyes were wide. “I will tell you
this. Miss Knowles has made it clear. Very clear. If any of us ever
say anything to Father Bruno, she will make sure we are sorry. He
brings many girls to her from Poland. She knows that he will stop
if he ever finds out the truth.”

“
She’s threatened
you?”

Again, another shrug. “She has shown her
displeasure with some of the girls.”

“
How?”

Sophie shook her head. “We just know
better.”

The coffee had been strong, and hot, exactly
the way I like it. I’d sipped as we spoke and had made it about
halfway down the mug. Sophie spied the emptiness and jumped up to
get the pot for a refill. It gave her something to do and I didn’t
mind the extra buzz from the caffeine. I could use it.

When Sophie returned to the table, I saw
that she brought my card along with her. Fingering it, she bit her
lip in concentration. I felt an unexpected pang at the look on her
face. I remembered how much she and Matthew had resembled each
other. And now he was gone.

Sophie kept her eyes on the card as she
spoke. “I know you aren’t the kind of investigator who goes after
criminals. I understand that. But I need to find out who killed my
Matthew. And I’m not able to go to the police. Not with my …” She
took a deep breath, then looked up. “… my occupation. But I know
you have ways of finding things out. Will you find out who killed
Matthew? Please?”

The request shocked me. But my reaction
shocked me even more. Pure temptation; I wanted to do it. “I work
for television,” I said, cautioning her. It was only fair to let
her know the risks. “If I do look into this, you understand that a
lot may come out? And there’s no guarantee that I can do
anything.”

She nodded slowly, once. Then compressed her
lips. “If I tell the police, they will only take me and use me to
uncover the other girls. Then what? Miss Knowles will disappear and
start all over again. Milla is dead. Matthew is dead. I can’t let
this happen any more. I want Miss Knowles and Rodero to be
uncovered. They are the guilty ones here. And …”

I looked at her. “And … ?”

“
And now, I am very afraid.
Will I be next?”

Chapter Eleven

I nearly turned the car around. Twice.

What the hell was I getting myself into?

Considerably west of LaGrange Road, I was
far enough south to have had cornfields as my companions for the
past several miles. A developer’s sign on my right told me it was
just ten minutes further to the Noble Ridge subdivision, featuring
custom-built homes and Chicago water.

Houses out this way were bigger than their
urban counterparts—sprawling, mansion-like structures, so far apart
that their owners probably took the car to visit the next-door
neighbors. Some of these homes, with turrets, three chimneys, and
walk-out basements were so magnificent that if I didn’t know
better, I’d have thought they were small hotels. I thought about my
little house with its tiny bedrooms and single bath. What did these
people do for a living anyway?

Gravel kicked up to ping under my car as I
pulled over to the side of the road. There were no other cars in
any direction. Just miles and miles of brand-new homes dotting the
expansive land. It was quiet. So quiet that all I could hear was
the steady rumble of my car engine and the wind making soulful
sounds as it plucked leaves from the outstretched arms of nearby
trees to dance across my windshield.

Through my open window I caught the
unmistakable scent of burning wood, which, coupled with the poofy
white clouds in an otherwise clear sky, suddenly made it feel like
fall. The time of the year I liked best with its sweaters in
subdued colors and caramel apples with nuts—curling up with a
favorite author’s book at night, the breezy wind rattling my old
windows. Knowing I was safe inside.

Life didn’t get much better than that.

But right now, hands gripped on the steering
wheel so tight my knuckles were white, I knew I was anywhere but
safe. I stifled a little shudder, more from nerves than cold.

I had Lisa Knowles’ address and phone number
on a small scrap of paper, even though I memorized them both. Her
home was nearby, but I wanted to verify the street before I got any
closer. I wiggled the note out of my back pocket with effort. My
jeans were a little too tight, my shirt a little too low-cut. I’d
pulled these clothes out of the far reaches of my closet searching
for just the right look. I couldn’t believe they still fit.

And I couldn’t believe I was about to apply
for a job as a prostitute.

“
Heaven help me,” I said
aloud.

The wind whipped up again, sending a blast
into my car, mussing my hair. Not that it mattered. I was going for
the out-of-work young woman look. And I hoped my meager acting
skills would carry me through.

With a quick look in the rear-view mirror, I
put the car in drive, and headed for my interview.

* * * * *

I turned right onto Shade Lane, deep into
the brand-new subdivision. Young trees, set at precise intervals,
lined the parkways of the homes set far back from the street. The
numbers were easy, single and double digits, which had to be tough
for emergency teams if they ever got called out here. How the hell
do you find Six Shade Lane out in the middle of nowhere? If it
hadn’t been for Sophie’s explicit directions, I’d have been
lost.

While Lisa Knowles’ home wasn’t the most
opulent residence on the expansive, curvy street, it had a unique
look. The home was done completely in white brick, with all sorts
of detail work at the structure’s corners and above the windows.
The bricklayers had spent lots of time designing the curves and
patterns, and that hadn’t come cheap. It was a two story home with
a backyard that sloped away from the house, offering a walkout
basement. I caught a glimpse of a white vinyl fence and the edge of
a sparkling in-ground pool as I pulled to the curb. Still open,
even this late in the season. It must be heated.

A horseshoe-shaped driveway wound past a
four-car garage. We were talking some big bucks, here. Not bad for
the owner of a lone hair salon that never had any customers.

What set this home apart from the others was
the color combination. The rest of the neighborhood made do with
cream color, brown, or the obvious favorite, red brick. And all had
coordinating roofs of either shingle or tile. Tile roofs equaled
big bucks. Even I knew that.

The bright white brick of Lisa’s home was
topped with an equally bright pink tile roof. I’d love to know what
her neighbors said about it behind her back. It resembled a garish
birthday cake and I wondered if she’d had it designed that way
because scantily clad women popped out of it so often. Personally,
I didn’t think I’d like living next to a pink and white house. Just
looking at it gave me the heebie-jeebies.

Showtime
, I told myself. Quelling the nervous energy that made my
stomach jiggle and my breath come faster, I pressed the doorbell
and bit my lip, too late remembering the double dose of red that
I’d caked on my mouth before I left. Lipstick has an unmistakable
flavor, one I detest. I wished I had a stick of gum.

With all this grandeur, I expected a maid or
butler to attend the door. But the chimes that had rung so loudly
that I could hear them, were answered by Lisa herself.

She in no way fit the mental picture I’d
conjured up.

I put her in her early forties, maybe even
older. She had clear, tanned skin, and brown eyes that drooped a
little in the center. Pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, her
dark hair, streaked with red and gray, was curly and thinning. She
was a big girl, a head taller than me and probably fifty pounds
heavier. Czech, I thought, or maybe Russian.

She tilted her head, with a smile that
didn’t reach her eyes, striving for “friendly,” but I could tell
she was busy formulating assessments already.

“
Alex?” she
asked.

“
Uh-huh. Are you Lisa?” I
asked, with a look I hoped telegraphed both young and eager. On a
good day, I could pass for mid-twenties and I worried that there
was an upper age limit on the girls she’d hire.

“
Yeah,” she said, her eyes
raking me from head to toe and back again. “Come on in.”

She wore a stretchy dress of deep red in an
African pattern. Rows of minuscule beige animal silhouettes started
at the low gathered neckline, growing in size until a parade of
hand-height giraffes marched across the calf-length hemline. Her
bare feet sported purple polished nails and she wore a silver toe
ring with attached charm that jingled as she walked.

She led me through the marble-floored
hallway with a soaring staircase that headed up into an expansive
second floor loft. To the right of the hall was an enormous living
room with white leather furniture accessorized in an Oriental
motif.

I kept listening for sounds of others in the
massive structure. But heard nothing. No sign of husband, kids, or
even an annoying little dog. Maybe these digs were hers alone.

The dining room sat on the left of the hall.
It too, was decorated with a Japanese theme. Lisa, however, was a
brisk walker, I didn’t get much time for the kind of scrutinizing
observation I like best.

“
If you come back here
again, I’d appreciate if you’d use the alternate entrance.” She
turned toward me and smiled. This was not a happy woman. “Did you
see that door, set back next to the garage?”

“
No, I didn’t.”

“
I’m surprised Helena
didn’t tell you about that. She’s been here often enough.” Tiny
frown and then the insincere smile returned. “Don’t worry, though.
It’s okay … this time.”

“
Sorry,” I said, already
beginning to feel like the hired help.

She ignored my apology, wending her way to a
sizeable office area that, by my estimation, sat directly behind
the garage. She passed through open double pocket doors, turning to
slide them shut behind me once I stepped into the room. It gave me
a moment to make my own assessments. Lisa Knowles was either a
clean freak or she kept a maid on retainer. The place was spotless.
Even this office, her work area, was pristine.

This room had two entrances. The one we’d
used, and an outside door, which I figured must have been the
entrance she mentioned. I never would have noticed it from the
street.

Furnished like any typical
office, the room was spacious enough to handle the massive desk and
accompanying chairs, a wall full of filing cabinets and a meager
bookcase full of accounting textbooks. I caught sight of only one
novel, a well-worn copy of a paperback titled
Sandra
. I sat down in the chair
where she gestured.

She sat behind the desk and I felt her eyes
on me again. Assessing me. Shrewd. This woman had an intense air
about her. I’d have to be cautious.

Behind her, a bright picture window had been
painted with bold sweeps of color. The faux stained-glass had a
religious feel to it and while it provided privacy for her, it did
nothing to keep the afternoon sun from shining directly into my
face, effectively blinding me. She must have sensed my discomfort,
but she didn’t offer to pull down the shade.

I switched seats. It helped. Lisa appeared
amused.

“
Your name is Alexandrine
Szatjemski?”

I nodded, “Yes.”

“
Helena tells me you’re
looking for employment. She gave me a call, suggesting I interview
you right away.” Lisa’s voice matched her body to perfection. Low
and raspy, she sounded like a heavy smoker, but she didn’t look
like one, and I neither smelled, nor saw, any evidence of
cigarettes in her home. “But when I started to ask her about your
qualifications, she really had no idea about anything. How long
have you two known each other?”

I gave a nervous, self-effacing laugh. “Not
long. I really just met her. I’m actually a friend of Sophie’s.
Sophie Breczyk?”

Lisa nodded. I thought I saw one eye squint,
just a bit.

“
Well,” I said, launching
into the spiel I’d rehearsed, “I just got fired about a week ago
and I don’t know what to do. Sophie’s always been good to me and
she always seems to be able to make things work, you know?” I
widened my eyes, trying to look like I’d given the matter deep
thought. “She’s always got—not a lot of money—but enough. And she’s
helped me out some. So, I thought maybe, if there were any openings
where she was, I could give that a try. And I wanted to ask her to
kind of introduce me and all, but then …”

I purposely let the sentence hang.

Lisa raised her eyebrows, but stayed
silent.

“
This whole thing happened
with her poor brother and now Sophie’s all broken up—not that I
blame her—” I shook my head and shot her a sincere expression, then
grimaced, for effect. “But I got a bunch of bills and I don’t know
how I’m going to keep my head up if I don’t find something soon.
You know?”

When she nodded again this time, I sensed
she’d accepted the story. At least in a grudging way, so far.

Lisa picked up a pen and played with it a
moment before pulling out papers from her desk drawer. From the
manner in which she held it, this was one heavy pen. Gold and
silver designs snaked up and down the barrel and they formed a
picture, but from my vantage point, I couldn’t tell what it
was.

In a way, I was surprised at her hands.
Long-fingered and smooth, their nails were manicured and polished
in a shade that matched her toes. I’d originally put her in her
early forties, but her hands were young and supple.