Day Shift

10

The next day, Olivia turned onto Old Pioneer Street, which lay in the heart of Bonnet Park. Most of the houses on Old Pioneer had been built in the sixties and seventies, or earlier. They were positioned strategically on narrow, deep lots, and all had well-established lawns and plantings. Though many had been renovated, refurbished, and repaired, they had one thing in common: They were sizable, and they made a statement.

Eyeing the numbers on the brick pillar mailboxes, Olivia turned into the gravel drive of the third house on the right. Visitors were clearly supposed to take the right turn onto the circle around a large rosebed full of mature plants, all in bloom. Only the family or tradesmen would continue to the back of the house. Or a gardener, like the young man at work on the roses. He appeared to be Hispanic and maybe nineteen. He was snipping the deadheads and tossing them into a bucket. He was very curious about Olivia’s arrival. He turned to watch as she parked in front of the house.

Olivia’s feet crunched on the gravel as she went up the shallow steps to the double front doors and knocked. She was a blonde at the moment, and she wore blue contacts and bright red lipstick to complement her dramatic eye makeup. Her sleeveless blouse was a bright print, and her trousers were navy blue.

“Yes?” said the maid who answered the door. She was Hispanic, and short. Her hair was thick and long and still solid black, though the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes put her in her forties. “Can I help you?” She craned a little to the side to see the young man working in the rosebed.

“I’m Rebecca Mansfield from Home Health,” Olivia said, her voice solid with confidence. She waited.

“I’m Bertha,” said the woman, reluctantly. “I’m the housekeeper. What can I do for you?”

“Nice to meet you, Bertha. We got a signed application from Mrs. Goldthorpe about receiving our services.” She had a messenger bag slung across her chest, and a clipboard. The combined force of these authority symbols was just too much for the maid, who stepped back to let Olivia enter. The moment Olivia was inside, she moved swiftly to the center of the foyer, and her eyes got busy taking in everything. It was the scale she needed. To her pleasure, she found that Manfred’s floor plan had been more detailed than she’d ever expected.

Bertha, who was clad in scrubs in lieu of a maid’s uniform, said, “Miss Mansfield, Mrs. Goldthorpe passed away.”

“She what?” Olivia looked at the woman, apparently shocked.

“She died of pneumonia, or something,” Bertha said. “So we don’t need any home health care. You want to talk to her daughter, Annelle? She’s upstairs.”

“Of course,” said Olivia-as-Rebecca. “I’m so sorry. Ah, she did agree to our terms….” Olivia felt she might not make it past Bertha if she didn’t hint that money might be involved.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get her.” The maid turned to go up the stairs.

“I’ll just come with you,” Rebecca said. “I don’t want to drag her away from whatever she’s doing.”

Bertha looked at her doubtfully but led Rebecca up the stairs and into the large room that was the second left after the landing. Yes, Manfred had been right. This was clearly the master bedroom. A woman who must be Annelle was standing in the doorway of a walk-in closet, looking tired and sad. She was short and plump, though not nearly as plump as her mother had been, and her hair was dark brown and graying just a bit.

Annelle was surprised to see someone she didn’t know, and not pleased. “Who is this, Bertha?” she said, making a visible effort to pull herself together.

“This is Miss Mansfield from Home Health,” Bertha said carefully. “Your mom must have filled out some forms?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Annelle said incredulously. “What else is going to happen? Why’d she do that?”

Bertha remained, looking curious, too. “I didn’t know anything about it, Miss Annelle,” she said rather smugly.

“Miss Mansfield?” Annelle was looking at her doubtfully. “I’m Annelle Kling, Mrs. Goldthorpe’s daughter. I’m afraid you didn’t get the news that my mom passed away very suddenly.”

“Bertha just told me. I’m so sorry for intruding on your grief,” Olivia lied. “We had an appointment set up with Mrs. Goldthorpe a few days ago, but when we rang the bell, no one answered, and when we left a phone message, we didn’t hear back. So my office sent me by to do a wellness check. We get worried when we don’t get a response from an elderly client.”

“Even when they haven’t signed up for your service? That’s real customer devotion,” Annelle said, an edge to her voice. “Or are you trying to tell me that my mom’s estate owes your company money? Because I’ve got to tell you, my dad’s will wasn’t even out of probate, and now my mom’s passed away, and there’s just no telling when this will all be settled.”

“Not at all,” Olivia said, emphatically. “She had signed a preliminary contract, but of course under the circumstances we wouldn’t dream of trying to enforce… That’s not how we do business. Her insurance policy was going to pay for it in full, anyway.”

Annelle looked relieved, though Olivia got the impression it wasn’t over the money situation, but all about not facing any more paperwork. “Oh, okay, good,” she said. She took a deep breath, preparatory to telling Olivia good-bye, so Olivia babbled on.

“It’s just that almost all of our clients are elderly — your mother was relatively young! — and so often at that age memory is not quite what it was. We worry when people that age don’t respond, to put it simply.”

Annelle seemed to be taken aback. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you were being… overzealous. We’ve just had people coming out of the woodwork to try to claim my mother owed them money, and all those claims have been spurious. I apologize if I seem too suspicious.”

Not suspicious enough, Olivia thought. “No problem,” she said. “Your mother seemed to be such a sweet lady. I’m very sorry to hear of your loss. I don’t want to cause you any further trouble, but might I visit a ladies’ room before I go to my next appointment?”

Annelle did her best to hide her exasperation. She was clearly anxious to get back to the painful but necessary task of cleaning out her mother’s closet. “Sure,” she said. “Since you’re in here, you might as well use Mother’s, behind that door.” She pointed to a door in the north wall of the room.

“Thanks so much,” Olivia said, pushing open the indicated door. She closed it firmly behind her, dumped her bag and clipboard on the vanity, and looked around. Since there was no way she would get to search the bedroom, she would look around the bathroom as long as she dared. She actually sat on the toilet while she searched the area, and after as thorough an examination as she could assay in a believable length of time, she flushed the toilet and started the water in the sink, while giving the inside of the medicine cabinet and the storage cabinet quick but intensive scans.

Nothing. Not a crack or crevice that wasn’t normal building practice. No false back or revolving shelves or little holes in the floor. Though she didn’t have time to go through the lower cabinet, below the sink, she had a super-quick look to verify there was nothing suspicious.

Dammit.

When she came out of the bathroom, wiser only in a negative way — she was fairly sure nothing was hidden there, and she hadn’t learned anything more interesting besides the fact that Rachel Goldthorpe had had a great Mary Kay saleswoman in her neighborhood — Olivia made her good-byes and renewed her condolences to Annelle Goldthorpe Kling before going down the carpeted stairs and out to the front courtyard. She was not a hell of a lot wiser than she had been when she drove up. At least she felt more familiar with the layout. She’d confirmed that Manfred was a good observer, and she felt more comfortable with the plans he’d made of the house.

Now she had to decide what to do next.

The young gardener was still at work, though in a leisurely way, when she reemerged onto the gravel. Olivia was conscious of his stare as she opened the car door to let some of the trapped heat escape from the interior before she got in. She tossed in the messenger bag and clipboard, when her wandering thoughts were recalled by the sudden appearance of an unprepossessing and angry man. He didn’t come from the front of the house, but came around the house on the gravel driveway from the backyard… perhaps the guesthouse? Her inner alarm system told her there was something to watch out for in this man, and she always listened to that system with great attention.

This must be Lewis Goldthorpe; he looked enough like his sister to make her guess almost a certainty, even if the first words out of his mouth hadn’t been, “I’m Lewis Goldthorpe. This is my house. What are you doing here?”

Her hands clenched. It was almost impossible to resist the urge to kill him. She could do it so quickly, so cleanly, he wouldn’t even know what had hit him. And that would be a better end than an asshole like this deserved, Olivia thought. Just a hard thrust of her fingers to his throat would silence him and bring him down, and then a quick twist and it would all be over. Manfred’s problems, and hence the Rev’s problem, would vanish. With no one to bring charges against him, Olivia was sure the missing jewelry would be found and all would be well for Manfred… if only this man were dead. It was a happy daydream. But there was the young gardener, who was staring for all he was worth. And then Annelle Kling was standing in the open door.

“Lewis!” Annelle called sharply. “Come here.” She appeared to be biting back a long litany of things she wanted to say to her brother, and none of them were friendly.

“What’s this woman doing here?” Lewis demanded. “I want to know!” He was about five foot eight, bespectacled like his sister, and blessed with a thick head of blond hair. From its careful styling, Olivia could tell it was his crowning glory. He also wore a long-sleeved dress shirt and bow tie. Olivia could see a white T-shirt underneath, through the little gaps between buttons. He was a plump man. How did he bear the layers in this heat?

“She’s from a home health care agency,” Annelle said, enunciating every word with care. “Evidently Mother had called them while she was ill.”

“Preposterous. She would have told me. I took care of her.” He turned his challenging glare to Olivia, trying and failing to look her directly in the eyes. He turned on his sister. “Have you gotten Mother’s suite cleaned out yet?”

“You’re not moving into the house,” Annelle said, exasperation in every word. “We’ve gone over this and over this. We’re going to sell it. God knows, Rosie and I don’t want to live in it, and you can’t afford to buy us out. You can stay in the pool house until we sell this place.”

The gardener was as rapt as though he were watching his favorite reality show.

“You may go,” Lewis told Olivia, in a patronizing way. “None of this is your concern.”

The gardener was shaking his head silently, trying not to laugh.

It wasn’t Olivia’s concern, true, but it was interesting. Olivia smiled, making sure she looked completely benevolent. “Yes, I have to get to my next appointment.” She glanced at her wrist to check the time. “I’ll be late if I don’t get moving.” She maintained the smile as she got into the car and buckled up, relieved to feel the blast of the air-conditioning after she turned on the ignition. She managed a cheerful little finger wave at the three people staring after her as she circled the round rosebed and left the property.

When she’d reached a more mundane street, she drove through a Wendy’s to get some iced tea with lemon. It tasted absolutely wonderful. She sipped it on her way to her motel, which was a far cry from Vespers. She parked around the corner from the stairs to her room and looked the lot over carefully before going to the second floor. No one had been in her room; the maid had come before she’d left that morning.

Olivia was used to being disguised, but it was a special relief to pull off the wig that had turned her into Rebecca Mansfield. She washed her face in the sink, scrubbing it with the skimpy washcloth. Divesting herself of Rebecca’s clothes, she threw herself on the bed to think. Instead of plotting her next move, she thought of the almost hysterical hostility Lewis Goldthorpe had thrown at her, though he hadn’t known who she was or why she was at the house. Olivia grimaced, imagining living with someone that angry and unrealistic, day after day, especially if you were elderly and sick and worried. It would be exhausting.

Olivia felt a rare moment of empathy for Rachel Goldthorpe.

She wished she had killed Lewis. What a useless waste of oxygen.

She decided to search the house that night. She had looked very carefully at the alarm system. She’d worked at an alarm company for a while, and she knew what to look for.

Olivia was certain that the maid, Bertha, didn’t sleep in. A woman as unpretentious as Rachel (going by Manfred’s description) would not have sleep-in staff. But Olivia hadn’t survived until now without double checking, so she drove back to Rachel’s neighborhood at four thirty that afternoon in her own car. At one minute after five o’clock, she watched Bertha drive away in an old Subaru. Interestingly, the gardener was with her, and they were having an animated discussion. Mother and child?

As a bonus, a moment later Olivia saw Annelle depart in a Lexus. Presumably, that left only the odious Lewis in residence in the pool house. She wished she’d managed to see the garage in back, find out what he drove. She returned to her humble motel to finalize her plan, but it remained very basic. She would break into the Goldthorpe house and search for the jewelry. And if Lewis interrupted her? Well, people got killed when they confronted burglars just about every day. No one could blame her for that, right?

Hours later, Olivia parked blocks away from Old Pioneer Street. She’d leave her car, the rental, on a more modest street, one where there were occasional pedestrians and a few other cars parked at the curb. She was still in Bonnet Park, though, so she’d taken care to be appropriately camouflaged in black jeans, a flowered T-shirt, and high-end sneakers. Her hair was braided. She strode away confidently, the messenger bag slung over her shoulder. In it were some innocent items: a thin dark sweater, a wallet (with the identification of Rebecca Mansfield, which she’d used when she’d rented the car), some keys, a broad knit hair band, things anyone might need. She had had to include a few things no innocent person would carry, though, so this was definitely the vulnerable part of her evening.

Nobody seemed to be curious tonight. A casually dressed, attractive woman out for a walk was not anything unusual in the neighborhood a few streets from Old Pioneer. Perhaps the bag was a little odd; most women wouldn’t choose to take their evening walk carrying a bag. Apparently, if any of the inhabitants noticed her, they didn’t find anything suspicious in her progress toward the fancier area where the Goldthorpe house stood.

Olivia didn’t see a single patrol car as she walked.

In fact, she didn’t see that many moving vehicles, period. Though it was Friday, Olivia estimated at least ninety percent of the people of this Dallas suburb were home. At least two or three percent of the rest were gone on their summer vacations. And a percentage of the remainder were at the movies or out having drinks. By the time Olivia reached the Goldthorpes’ street, she was completely unobserved. When she reached the right driveway, she simply turned in to walk up it.

After her confident entrance, her path became more circumspect. She stepped off the crunchy gravel right away and moved silently across the grass to hide in the shadows created by a clump of bushes. She crouched and listened, closing her eyes to aid the process. Nothing moved in her immediate vicinity. After a moment, a car passed on the street, but it didn’t slow or turn in. Olivia’s lips turned up in a smile. Manfred had warned her there were surveillance cameras, but she had noticed this afternoon that the two in front were stationary, mounted on the front corners of the house. They were both aimed toward the front door. That left Olivia plenty of room to approach the house unseen. In her pool of shadow, she pulled on the dark cardigan and buttoned it to conceal her T-shirt. She slid the broad hair band across her forehead and neck to keep her braid from swinging. She tugged it down low over her brows. She tucked dark thin plastic gloves into her waistband. She’d need them soon, along with her lockpicks. She exhaled deeply and almost silently before she began her creepy-crawl up to the main house.

This was what Olivia lived for. Her heart beat faster, and though she didn’t realize it, she was smiling. Since she knew the cameras were pointed at the front door area, she kept to the hedge as she worked her way toward the left side of the house. One of those windows would be her first attempt at entry. She hoped the front room, the formal living room, would provide her access, because that room had no furniture drawn up to the windows, a glance had told her.

If everything was tight as a drum on both sides, she’d resort to the lockpicks on one of the doors. But Olivia felt optimistic; the evening had had a good beginning. She drew parallel to the living room windows and had to leave her cover to cross the driveway and reach the shelter of the foundation plantings. The camellia bushes (she thought that was what they were) had ample space between them for her to hug the wall below the window. With some excitement she reached up to feel out the situation.

Then everything went to hell.