"Did you go to the station?" he finally asks.
I nod. "They think Jody was killed in the house. Maybe even in my bed. Or her bed, I mean."
"I know. Mark stopped by. He told us the theory the police are working on now." He pauses for a moment, studying his hands. "Are you leaving?"
I shrug, staring up at a bare-limbed tree. "It would probably be wise. I've never been very wise, though."
"I can promise you, you'd be safe."
I give him a long look, trying not to get lost in his eyes. "I bet Jody thought she was safe, too," I whisper.
He sighs. "You're right. Well, I can tell you that Aaron has increased the security three-fold; the cameras, more sensitive motion detectors, and a security guard patrolling at night." He pauses. "And you'll have a new room."
"A new room?" I ask frowning, thinking that neither Ms. Mueller nor Aaron are going to want to switch with me.
"In the main part of the house. I was thinking the blue guest room. I imagine you don't want to stay in Jody's old room now."
"Are you trying to give your mother a heart attack?" I ask, imagining what Mrs. Redmond would think of the maid sleeping in the room right next to her son, in one of the most lavishly appointed guest rooms in the house.
"She'll have to deal with it. It's not like we don't have the space."
"Is this just because you'll never be able to find a new maid at this point?"
"No," he says simply. I stare at him, drawing my knees up to my chest. He looks back at me with an expression that makes my stomach clench, but he doesn't elaborate. My brain is screaming at me to be smart, to be safe, and leave. But the rest of my body is reminding me that I haven't felt this alive in over three years, not until I met the man sitting in front of me. I find myself nodding.
"But when we see each other in the hallway, after I'm finished working, are we friends then, or am I still the maid?" His mouth twitches. "Just because it seems easier when it's more…separated."
"Easier for you, you mean."
"Well, you're the one who brushed me off when I told you about Jaime. Was that because I was on work time?"
"Do you want to hear about my ex-girlfriends?"
"I…I don't know."
"There was this one, Patricia, she always smelled like vanilla, and we—"
"OK! Point taken," I interrupt him. He smiles and spreads his long arms out on the back of the bench.
"That was quite the drawing you did. I had no idea you were so talented." I bring my thumb up to my mouth and begin gnawing on my cuticle. "I'm sensing you're about to change the subject."
"No need," I reply, nodding over his shoulder at the house. Whitney's traipsing down the hill toward us.
"You're wearing your hair down!" she exclaims as she approaches.
"It's my day off."
"Ah, hence the jeans. Doesn't she have the most beautiful hair, Brent?"
"Yes," he replies with a grin, not looking away from me.
She drops down onto the bench next to her brother. "I thought I should tell you, Mom's talking about firing Ms. Mueller and Aaron. Plus she keeps referring to them as 'the help,' which seems pretty rude to me."
Mr. Redmond rubs his nose between his eyes. "And why does she think that's a good idea?"
"Oh, she thinks one of them has to be the murderer. Actually, she thought it was you until I reminded her you didn't even work here then," she adds, nodding toward me. My mouth drops open as Mr. Redmond groans. "She's working herself up into quite a state. Do you think the police will suspect me?" she asks, cocking her head.
"I'm sure you're pretty far down the list," I assure her.
"But it's a pretty short list," Mr. Redmond says sadly. I glance over at him, realizing what it means for him if the police are right about how Jody died. He trusts every one of the other five people in the house that night. For someone who prides himself on reading other people, he judged someone very wrong. Of course, I'm not even considering the possibility that he could have been the one who…no. No, not possible. "Do you want help moving your things?" he asks, turning to me.
"What? You're not leaving!?" Whitney cries, with a level of emotion that surprises me.
"No, she's just moving into the blue guest room. I didn't want her to have to stay in Jody's room anymore."
"Huh," Whitney murmurs, looking at me. A slight smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but she doesn't expand on her thoughts. "I'll help, too."
An hour later, and all my belongings have been moved into the blue guest room, so called because of its vibrant blue bedspread and damask curtains. Whitney runs out of the room as I finish hanging my clothes in the large closet, and returns carrying a basket of art supplies.