AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“She can’t talk,” Cook said.
“Does she have photo ID?” D.D. hated addressing her questions back to the cook. It felt disrespectful, especially as she was convinced the girl understood everything just fine.
The cook shrugged. “No driver’s license, since she can’t drive. But there’s probably a birth certificate. Mrs. Counsel...” For the first time, the cook wavered. If D.D. hadn’t believed the woman was carved of granite, she would’ve thought the cook was upset. “Mrs. Counsel kept track of those sort of things. She took care of everyone.”
D.D. wasn’t sure what to make of that. Genuine care? Or control? Because employees who didn’t have access to their own ID raised red flags in the law enforcement world.
“She has my papers,” Hélène spoke up suddenly. Her voice was hoarse, as if she didn’t use it much. D.D. realized Mayor Howard’s niece had turned slightly, the side of her hand lightly touching Hélène’s. Lending strength? A show of unity? D.D. quickly returned her attention to Hélène’s face, before she gave them away.
“Do you know where she keeps them?” D.D. asked.
“No. My full name is Hélène Tellier,” the woman delivered with an exotic lilt that spoke of faraway lands and hot, sandy beaches.
“Why did Mrs. Counsel have your papers?” Kimberly spoke up. She had moved all the way behind them, forcing the three interview subjects to twist awkwardly. The cook glowered, clearly not liking such tricks in her own kitchen.
“Our rooms...” Hélène didn’t seem to know what to say. She glanced timidly at the cook. “Our rooms are simple. We don’t have any place to store... valuables.”
“Your rooms aren’t safe?” D.D. pressed.
Hélène shook her head quickly, then gave up and stared at her feet. Another small movement: the niece covering the trembling maid’s hand with her own.
“All right.” D.D. squatted down until she was eye level with the silent niece. “I’m not calling you Girl. Do you have a name? Maybe we can find it in Mrs. Counsel’s papers.”
The girl shrugged, as if D.D.’s guess was as good as anyone’s.
“Do you remember your family?” D.D. asked softly. “Your mother, your father?”
Another small shrug. D.D. glanced to where the girl’s hands rested on the bench. But the girl didn’t offer any fingers in coded reply. She just looked sad and hopeless. A child resigned to her fate.
“Bonita,” D.D. said softly. “It’s the Spanish word for pretty. What do you think? I’ll call you Bonita.”
Another harrumph from the cook.
The girl kept her gaze on D.D. She reached up and lightly touched her own face, brushing her hand across the ridged scar furrowing into her hairline, then her drooping left eyelid, sagging lip.
D.D. didn’t need a code to understand what the girl was trying to say. She captured the girl’s hand between her own.
“Bonita,” she said firmly, then held the girl’s gaze until she finally nodded.
D.D. straightened to standing. “I will need to see the records Mrs. Counsel had for all of you. This is a murder investigation. All details matter.”
“Murder investigation?” The cook’s arms fell to her sides in clear shock. “But the mayor—”
“What did you hear last night?” Kimberly, ambushing beautifully from behind.
“We didn’t, of course—”
“The mayor and his wife fight?”
“No, never. Two most loving—”
“Did you know about the kidney transplant? Tell us about Mrs. Counsel’s kidney transplant.” Kimberly, her voice stern.
“What? I mean, of course. The operation was a long time ago. Afterwards, I worked with Mrs. Counsel to prepare a renal friendly diet. No pesticides, no red meats, or added salt and sugar,” the cook rattled off, seeming to check off each item on her fingers. “High in fiber, lots of beans and leafy green vegetables. I’m a real cook, you know. Got a degree from a culinary institute and everything. I could work at some fancy restaurant if I wanted to. But I like it here. And the mayor, Mrs. Counsel, they take care of their own.”
“So you heard nothing last night?” D.D., forcing the cook to turn back around to address her. “No sounds of disturbance, perhaps an altercation?”
“Absolutely not.”
