Dead Run by Erica Spindler Read Free Book Online

gaze from the spiral. “You want me to take another look around here?”
    â€œYou can, but I checked it out pretty well. The evidence guys will go over the place with a fine-tooth comb.”
    â€œGotcha.” She flipped the spiral shut. “After you, Lieutenant.”
    They made their way down the stairs to the central foyer. There they parted company. Carla found the housekeeper in the kitchen, sitting at the table, staring blankly at the doorway. She blinked when Carla spoke.
    â€œI’m sorry, what did you say?”
    â€œAre you all right?”
    â€œI don’t know what to do. There’s laundry. And shopping and…”
    Her voice trailed off and again Carla felt pity for the woman. “I think you can go home,” she murmured, tone gentle. “Before you do, I need to ask you a few questions.”
    The woman nodded, and Carla opened her spiral. “Your name?”
    â€œMaria Charez.”
    â€œHow long have you been in Mr. Bernhardt’s employ?”
    â€œA year last month.”
    â€œDid Mr. Bernhardt seem upset about anything?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œWas he depressed at all? Moody?”
    â€œNo, no, he seemed happy. He was good to me. Never a cross word. Generous.”
    â€œGenerous? In what way?”
    â€œWhen my daughter was sick, he let me stay with her. He still pay me my full wage.”
    â€œGo on.”
    â€œHe always say please. And thank-you.” She paused, eyes filling with tears. “He look at me when I speak. Most don’t.”
    Carla understood. The wealthy often treated their domestics like nonentities, wanting them to be seen but not heard, to take orders but not be acknowledged.
    The housekeeper looked down at her hands, then back up at Carla, expression anguished. “Why would he do this thing?”
    â€œThat’s what we’re trying to figure out. But I need your help.” The woman nodded and Carla went on. “I understand he was divorced. When was that?”
    â€œLast year, before Christmas.” The woman’s expression puckered with disapproval. “That one, she was very young. Very spoiled.”
    Carla cocked an eyebrow. “That one? There were other Mrs. Bernhardts?”
    â€œYes, a long time ago. The woman he had children with. The children, they are grown now.”
    Carla made a note in the spiral. “How about a girlfriend? Was he dating anyone in particular?”
    She shook her head. “He had parties. He invite many girls.”
    Girls. A bitter taste settled on Carla’s tongue. It seemed the older and richer guys got, the younger the woman they dated became. To them, thirty was over the hill. “You were here for these parties?”
    â€œNo, but I— Never mind.”
    Carla frowned. “What?”
    The woman folded her hands in her lap; Carla saw that they trembled. “Twice I came to work, and the girls, they were still here. And once I saw…pictures.”
    â€œPictures?” Carla repeated, straightening. “Of the girls?”
    The woman shifted her gaze. “I am ashamed… I shouldn’t have… Mr. Bernhardt, he would be very angry—”
    â€œMr. Bernhardt is dead. And anything you can tell me will help me figure out why. Where did you see these photos?”
    â€œI can show you.”
    The woman led Carla back up to Bernhardt’s bedroom and the highboy to the right of the bed. The evidence guys didn’t even glance up. She opened the top drawer, reached inside and pushed aside the neatly arranged rows of folded handkerchiefs. “I found by accident,” she explained. “I was putting away his things and…there it was.”
    â€œIt” was a false-bottom drawer. And now its compartment was empty.
    Carla frowned. “Did Mr. Bernhardt know you’d found this?”
    â€œNo…I was too ashamed and…what I saw—” Her face went red; she glanced at the officer