Page 22 of Girl, Reborn

Ella took a beat to holster her weapon,palms out, expression arranged in something she prayed was close to harmless.

‘FBI. We didn’t mean to spook you.’

‘I – I'm sorry, you can't be back here.This is private property,’ she trembled.

‘We're well aware, ma'am,’ Luca said,smooth as Kentucky bourbon over ice. ‘I'm Agent Hawkins with the FBI, this ismy partner Agent Dark. We're investigating the murder of the gentleman who ownsthis property.’

The maid – housekeeper, domestic engineer,whatever – blanched at the comment. She swayed on her feet, blood draining fromher face so fast Ella wondered if she might faint dead away. ‘Murder?’

Ella gentled her tone, telegraphed hermovements slow and soothing as she ghosted closer. ‘That's right. Ricky Toledo.Found dead this morning. We think he might've been killed here.’

‘Mr. Toledo? He’s… dead?’

‘I'm afraid so, Miss...?’ Luca let thequestion hang.

‘Alma,’ she said faintly. ‘Alma Ruiz. I’mMr. Toledo’s housekeeper. Or…’

Her face crumpled, but she visibly gothold of herself. Smoothed out into the professional mask of the service class.

‘We’re sorry to be the bearers of badnews,’ Ella said. ‘Could we ask you a few questions about Mr. Toledo?’

Alma pressed two fingers against her eyesthen glanced up at the sun. She slid the door open further and gestured for theagents to come inside.

‘Come,’ Alma said. ‘We have a lot to talkabout.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ella followed Alma into the house, Lucaclose at her heels. She led them through a maze of gleaming hardwood andtasteful neutrals with unsure steps, like she was a stranger in this home she’dpresumably cleaned a hundred times.

But Ella couldn't blame her. The place hadan unlived-in quality, more mausoleum than man cave. They entered a gleamingkitchen that looked like it had been transplanted straight from a Pottery Barncatalog. Stainless steel and marble at every turn, with a professional gradeespresso machine hulking on the counter like a chrome gargoyle. Alma gesturedfor them to sit at the massive island, but Ella remained standing, too amped upto sit. Alma did the same, hugging herself or holding herself together. Ella couldn’ttell.

She gentled her approach, kept her bodylanguage loose and unthreatening. The last thing they needed was Alma boltinglike a spooked deer.

‘When was the last time you saw Mr.Toledo, Alma?’ Ella asked.

The housekeeper twisted her fingerstogether. ‘Two days ago. He was...he seemed fine. Normal.’ She shook her head,a ripple of dark hair escaping her severe bun. ‘I don't understand how thiscould happen.’

Ella bit back a sigh. Money might buy alot of things, but it couldn't stop a bullet or a blade or a pair of concreteshoes.

‘Did he have any meetings scheduled forlast night? Any events on the calendar?’

Alma's forehead creased. ‘I...I don'tknow. I only come by twice a week to clean and maintain the pool. I don't haveaccess to his personal schedule.’

Ella and Luca exchanged a weighted glance.If the pool was serviced that regularly, there was no way Toledo had beendrowned in it. The water would've been fresh as a daisy, not the stagnantcesspit that had clung to his bloated corpse.

Another dead end. Another thread snippedbefore it could even start to unspool.

Ella tamped down on the frustrationbubbling in her gut. Beside her, Luca shifted subtly, angling himself towardsAlma like a flower seeking sun. Laying on the golden boy routine like a secondskin.

‘I know this must be a terrible shock,’ hemurmured, ‘and we hate to press you at such a difficult time. But anything youcan tell us, anything at all...it could make a world of difference in findingwho did this.’

‘Look, I hardly saw Mr. Toledo. He doesn’tcome home until I leave, so we only saw each other in passing.’

Alma wavered. Her gaze darted to Ella,then skittered away. She watched the girl carefully, clocking the minutetremors, the flares of her nostrils. Alma was a delicate little fawn, with herfluttering pulse and liquid eyes. She was chewing on words unsaid, as thoughthere some secret was trying to claw free.

The woman had something she wanted to saybut didn’t.

‘Alma,’ she said, quiet but firm. A velvetglove over an iron fist. ‘Is there something you're not telling us?’

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