He nods. "We all have things we'd like to keep hidden," he says, and I look up at him. His eyes have clouded over slightly, and something about the way he's considering me sends a shiver straight to my core.
"Did you interview Jody?" I find myself asking.
"I did."
"What was she like?"
"She was sweet, eager to please, not intelligent like you…she tended to see things in black and white. There was something childlike about her…she didn't even drink." I notice that we're both referring to her in the past tense.
"You got all that from an interview?"
"She also worked here for a while after that, but I do pride myself on my ability to read people. I think it's why I've been so successful in business," he replies, looking down at his intertwined fingers.
"And what are you reading from me?" I ask quietly, and he glances up at me.
The air in the room suddenly becomes charged, as though there's a current running between us. He opens his mouth to speak, and I find myself leaning forward in anticipation. Just as his lips begin to form a word, the phone rings, breaking through the spell. He reaches behind him to the receiver.
"Yes?" he answers brusquely. There's a pause in which I can see him looking at me out of the corner of his eye. "I see. We'll be expecting you." He hangs up and stares at the phone for a long moment before turning to me. "That was the police. They found Jody Hall. She's dead."
Chapter Six
"Should I inform the rest of the staff and your mother?" I ask Mr. Redmond as he remains frozen on the edge of his desk. He frowns at me as though he hasn't heard my question. "About the police coming to the house?"
"Oh, yes. Good idea," he says, walking behind the desk and sitting in his high-backed leather chair. As I walk out of the room, I can hear him picking up the phone and asking for Mark Scanlon.
In the kitchen, I pause for a moment, watching Ms. Mueller work over a steaming pot on the stove. I didn’t think about the fact that I just took on the responsibility for telling her about Jody's death. I don't even know if they were close.
"Ms. Mueller?" I say, clearing my throat. She turns to look at me expectantly. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but the police just called. Jody…she's dead. They are going to come by the house soon."
"Oh…oh, dear," she says, leaning on the island. "That poor girl. Do they know how?"
"I don't know any details. Mr. Redmond just asked me to tell everyone to be expecting the police. Were you close?"
"Not very…just acquaintances, really, though she had worked here for a year and a half. It's hard to believe…"
"Is Mrs. Redmond in the guest house?"
"Yes, but I'll tell her," she says, snapping out of her pensiveness. "You run upstairs and tell Aaron," she adds, turning to switch off the burner behind her. I nod and head up the back staircase. Mr. Sarka has the last room in the hallway, which I haven't even had the chance to visit yet. His door is closed, and I knock quietly.
"Come in!" I hear, and push it open.
"Hi, Mr. Sarka."
"Aaron," he says with a smile from his bed, where he's lying on top of his covers, fully dressed, reading a book.
"Aaron. I'm sorry to tell you, but the police just called and they found Jody Hall. She's dead." He snaps his book closed and swings his legs onto the floor, his joviality gone.
"Any other details?" he asks as he pulls on his shoes.
"I don't know. I just happened to be in the room when the police called. I think they're heading over now."
"Maybe he'll finally get those cameras," Aaron mutters, almost to himself.
"Sorry?"
"Security cameras. Around the perimeter and gardens. Mr. Redmond thought they'd ruin the lines of the house."
"Oh." I reply dumbly.
"Where is he now?"
"Study." Aaron hurries past me, and I walk back down the hallway and peer quickly into my room, wondering what I should be doing. I look down at my suitcase on the floor, which I still haven't gotten a chance to unpack. After a moment of feeling useless, I wander back down to the kitchen and decide to make a large pot of coffee. It's probably a stereotype, but maybe the policemen will want some.
Just as the coffee begins brewing, I hear the doorbell ring and walk briskly to the front door to answer it. The police sure made good time, though I suppose a murder must take top priority. Murder…I suppose I just assumed that was how she died. There are, of course, other possibilities. I should know.
I fix my face into a polite but grim smile that I deem fitting for the occasion and swing open the front door. There's an older detective standing in the middle of the stoop, and next to him is—