quiet.â
âWithdrawn?â
âNo. Just hesitant to talk.â
âSo you tried to talk to him?â
âNot exactly. I was polite. I thought he wanted his words to be perfect.â
âAnybody give him a hard time about his English?â
âNot that I know of.â
Rich scribbled something in his pad without taking his eyes off Lila. âWas he close to anybody in the office?â
âI have no idea.â She shifted her weight in the chair.
âWhat else can you tell us about him?â
She thought for a second, wanting to help. âHe dressed really well for a janitor.â
âSo you noticed what he was wearing?â
âBecause he seemed like he was trying to look prosperous. Janitors donât usually wear sports coats and ties.â
As Rich made another note, a delivery truck sped around a curve on Cristinaâs winding mountain road. Her grandfather clock struck two.
Joe crossed his arms over his paunch. His shoulders brushed Cristinaâs silver candlesticks on the mantel. âTell us about your conversations with Makov,â he said, like he was trying to nudge Rich to more fruitful questions.
âThereâs not much to say,â Lila said.
âYou mustâve talked to him,â Joe said.
âRarely. When I started working at Weatherby, I was more aware of him as a service than a person.â
âSo when did you notice him as a person?â Rich asked.
For a second Lila searched her mind. How was she supposed to answer that? âA couple of months ago, I guess. He showed up in my office after work.â
âWhatâd he say?â Rich asked.
She leaned deeper into her chair and wrapped her good arm around her chest. She told herself there was no reason to hide the truth. âHe asked if I liked his valentine.â
Richâs face stayed blank. Joeâs caterpillar eyebrows arched their backs toward the cathedral ceiling, and his earlobes turned pink. âWhadaya mean , valentine? You . . .â
âTell us about it,â Rich interrupted.
Lila squirmed and wished she were at her easel, mental miles from these men. A plane flew overhead with an irritating hum. For days sheâd been wondering about the card. Should she have responded to it differently? âI found it on my desk.â
âMakov write anything?â Rich asked.
âJust âyours alwaysâ or something like that. I had no idea whoâd left it.â
âMakov mustâve had some reason to think youâd know it was from him,â Joe argued.
âI donât know what he thought.â But now, thanks to this interrogation, Lila did know how an animal felt when men poked sticks at it.
âYou still have the valentine?â Rich asked.
âI threw it away.â
âThatâs too bad.â Rich glanced at Joe.
âI had no reason to keep it. It meant nothing to me.â
âYeah, sure.â Rich leaned closer, as if he were about to have a whispered, confidential chat over a beer. âMakov have any reason to, uh, think you had a . . . relationship, or something?â
The question soured Lilaâs stomach. âI hardly knew him.â
âHe mustâve thought youâd be glad to hear from him. Why else would he leave you a valentine?â Joe demanded.
Even though Lila wanted this conversation to go smoothly, she did not have the energy to speculate. Her head felt like a small crowbar was prying off her scalp, and the questions were making her woozy. âIâd really like to help you, but thereâs no more I can tell you. Honestly,â she said, then wished sheâd not said âhonestly,â like she was guilty of something.
âYou said you talked to Makov several times. What about the others?â Joe asked.
Lila pulled Gregâs flannel shirt tighter over her chest and looked out the window at the redwoods, whose soothing power was gone.