“You don’t think he’s still here, do you?” Erwin’s eyes were huge with fear.
“I think we’d know it by now if he was.” They were making too much noise for an intruder not to hear.
Moving slowly since her balance still left something to be desired, Vera headed toward the kitchen to ensure the back door was locked, but the mess in her office snagged her attention. Someone had ransacked the room. She moved in that direction. Her desk drawers had been pulled out. A few bookshelves had been emptied. Family photo albums had been flung like damaged butterflies onto the floor. How the hell long had she been out? Surely not long enough for this. She closed her eyes and gave herself a moment, then opened them once more. The room was still in disarray.
“Son of a ...” The notes she had made during her research this morning were scattered here and there, but at least most appeared to be in one piece. She considered picking them up, but the ache in her head said bending over was not going to be a good thing. Better to wait until later.
Vera returned to the bench and sat down next to Erwin. She tugged out her cell to call Bent. Once that was done, she intended to learn the real reason this woman had shown up at her door.
11
Wilton Residence
Giles Hollow Road, 10:30 a.m.
The rest of the Wilton household staff had appeared as scheduled a couple of hours after Bent’s deputies began the search of the main house. He’d sequestered the threesome to the main living room since that area was done.
At this point, with the downstairs complete, he’d sent two of his deputies upstairs and the other two outside to get started on the many outbuildings. Nothing of consequence had been found, which wasn’t entirely unexpected. With what Bent had learned from his many calls to Wilton’s business associates and attorneys this morning, it looked more and more like these murders had nothing to do with Wilton’s business and everything to do with his personal life. Possibly Wilton suspected his wife of an affair, perhaps with Parson. Or Wilton’s wife wanted to get rid of her wealthy husband, and things had gone way wrong. Either way, when a crime of passion or greed was planned to the degree he suspected this one was, care was generally taken to ensure nothing was left to tell the tale. Luckily for law enforcement folks, few killers ever managed to cover all potential telling details.
The only way to find those little missed pieces was to question anyone and everyone close to the victims. Bent started with the gardener, one Jose Martinez.
“Have a seat, Mr. Martinez.” Bent gestured to one of the two chairs in front of the desk in Thomas Wilton’s home office.
Martinez was in the neighborhood of forty, looked fit. His chambray shirt and jeans suggested he chose comfort over anything else. The leather ankle boots said the same.
“When was the last time you were here, Mr. Martinez?”
“I was here on Thursday. I cut the grass. Took care of the shrubs. Once it was all done, I left for the weekend. Mr. Wilton wanted everything good shape and the staff gone by dark on Thursday.”
The man’s voice was deep, heavily accented. His demeanor proved straightforward. There was a sadness in his eyes. He had liked his employer.
“Mr. Wilton gave these orders personally?”
Martinez nodded. “Yes.”
“And you were to return to work when?”
“Next Monday.”
“How long have you worked for Wilton?”
“Since he built the place eight years ago.”
“Would you say the two of you were friends?” Considering the timeframe, that was a distinct possibility.
“Yes. We friends for sure.” Martinez nodded again. “Mr. Wilton was a fair boss.”
Bent had heard nothing less about Wilton’s business dealings. “Do you know of any reason anyone might want to harm him or his wife?”
A firm shake of his head this time. “No way. Mr. Wilton had no enemies. He never have trouble. Never.”
Having an employee of eight years think so highly of him spoke well of Wilton, for sure. “What about his wife?”
Martinez exhaled a big breath. “His first wife was good woman. Saint, you would say. This one different. She’s mean. Snob, you would call her.”
“How so?” Innuendos were well and good, but Bent needed facts and specifics.
“I did not trust her.” His head was wagging from side to side again. “She tell me a task she want done in yard, then if her husband didn’t like, she’d swear I misunderstood her. She did same thing to the others. Just ask them. They tell you. She lied all the time.”
