“Stay,” Jenna told them. “Please.”
“What the lady says, that goes,” Zia said.
Banks shook his head. “That is unacceptable.”
“Which is a decision you don’t have the power to make,” Amos replied.
The agent turned to Jenna. “Maybe we should continue this interview in our Santa Barbara offices.”
“Here is fine,” Jenna replied. “With them.”
“Ms. Greaves, it would be in your long-term interests to cooperate,” Banks told her. “We can make this a lot more uncomfortable for everyone concerned, believe me.”
Zia bristled. He asked Amos, “Did that sound like a threat to you? Because I definitely picked up on something.”
“Carried a bit of that flavor, sure enough.”
Zia turned back to the agent. “This coming from a fed whose agency let a guy slip for sixty-plus years.”
Amos added, “Which brings us to the real point. Why is this guy, currently deceased, of any interest to the FBI?”
Banks had eyes the color of dirty snow, dark gray with black flecks, and blank as a steel door. “See, this is why we at the FBI love working with local law enforcement.”
“Oh, the feeling is mutual, believe me,” Zia replied.
“Ask your questions to the lady,” Amos said. “So we can usher you right on out of here.”
Jenna directed them to the trestle table, partially shaded by the barn. Banks watched the three other men take their places, his expression pinched, like he was being forced to munch on a bad lemon. Jenna did not look directly at Noah. She didn’t know if her feelings would be evident. But she didn’t want to show the agent what it meant to have Noah settle down beside her. Close enough she could feel his comforting strength. And heat. She liked that enough to ask, “What can I do for you?”
Banks was seated across from her. He set his phone on the table between them. “You mind if I record this conversation?”
“Not at all.”
Amos was stationed farther down, Zia in a chair at the far end. Amos set his phone on the table. “What an excellent idea.”
Banks’s features tightened further. But he did not look over. “You were with Mr. . . . Vicenza for how long?”
“Almost nineteen months.”
“After his demise, you remained in the house another . . .”
“Fifteen days. Until probate ended.”
“And this happened because . . .”
“Dino, Mr. Vicenza, asked me to remain. Serve as co-executor of his estate. I didn’t want to. But Dino made it his dying request. I didn’t feel I could refuse.”
“Why didn’t you want to perform this final duty, Ms. Greaves?”
“I assume you’ve already spoken to Dino’s family.”
He nodded. “I understand you were well paid for what was apparently a very easy duty.”
“Two thousand dollars a day,” she confirmed. “Just the same, I wish I had refused.”
“Because . . .”
“You’ve met them. Dino’s survivors.”
