Page 13 of Ruthless Cross

"Does anyone else work here in the house?"

"There's another woman who comes in to do a heavy cleaning once a week. I don't know her name. There's a gardener." She shrugged. "I'm not sure if there's anyone else."

"I'll need to ask your mother."

"You could also ask Lois."

"Oh, I will. Speaking of your mother…was she happy in her marriage to Arthur? Were they having problems?"

"No. They're practically newlyweds. They're crazy about each other." She drew in a breath, giving him a troubled look. "Why are you so focused on us? Is it just that you always look to the family?"

"That's partly it. But there was also a personal element to Arthur's murder. The killer wanted drama and shame. Arthur's pants didn't just fall down, Callie."

"Maybe when he fell, his clothing caught on something."

"That's not what happened, and you know it."

"Then what do you think occurred?"

"I don't have enough information to answer that question. But as I mentioned last night, I know that Juliette and Arthur argued shortly before his death."

"She explained that."

"I don't believe for one second it was regarding their weekend plans. You came up with that story, and your mother went along with it."

"They were arguing about their weekend plans in the limo. I assumed that's what they discussed at the museum. That's why I mentioned it."

"Nice hedge. Try again."

She frowned. "Look, I don't know any more than you do. She said that's what it was about, and as far as I'm concerned, that's it."

"Did she think Arthur was having an affair?"

Callie paled at his question, which told him a lot.

"Like I said, they were very much in love," she reiterated. "I can't imagine that he would have been having an affair. But if he was, there must be some evidence of it—some text on his phone, charges on his credit card, something…right?"

"I would think so."

"Then maybe you should spend your time on that. Because my mother is grief-stricken. She just lost her husband. She's not able to help you right now. She needs to get herself together."

"What about you? Are you grief-stricken?"

"You don't seem to believe me when I answer you, so why should I bother?"

"You do know that lying to the FBI is a felony, don't you?"

She squared her shoulders and gave him a stubborn look. "Yes. I also know that I don't have to talk to you."

"Actually, you do have to answer my questions. You're a witness to the murder of a federal judge." He paused. "What are you afraid of, Callie?"

She stared back at him, indecision in her eyes. Before she could answer, a scream rang through the house.

Callie bolted toward the door of the study. He followed close behind, jogging up the stairs behind her. More deep, gut-wrenching screams came as they ran down the hall.

She stopped abruptly in front of closed double doors. "Please go back downstairs."

"Not a chance."

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