“How do you know that’s her study?”
“Oh, I’ve seen her working in there many times. Adam and I used to take evening walks around the neighborhood. Sometimes she would wave to us. That was when she was married to Mr. Ring.”
“Did you see the man again, the one who parked across the street?”
“Not for some time.”
“How much time?”
“It must have been half an hour or more.”
“Could you tell where he came from?”
“No. He was just there when I glanced up, in the shadows. He seemed to be in a hurry, now that I think of it. Very long strides. Adam used to walk that way-long, swinging strides. I had to practically run to keep up with him.”
“What kind of car did he have?”
“Adam?”
“No, ma’am. The man, the stranger.”
“I don’t know very much about cars, I’m afraid.”
“Small, large? Two-door, four-door?”
“Well, it was small. Sort of… what’s the phrase? Low-slung?”
“Yes. A sports car?”
“That’s right. A sports car.”
“Dark or light colored?”
“Light colored. There was a bit of moon and its hood and top gleamed and I remember it made me think of quicksilver.”
“So it could have been silver.”
“Yes. Yes, it could.”
“About the man himself. Did you get a clear look at him?”
“Not very clear, I’m afraid. His coat collar was pulled up.”
“Did you have an impression of height, weight? Big, small, thin, fat?”
Mrs. Conti worked her memory, one hand stroking the old cat on her lap until Big Girl made a burbling sound like water boiling. “Well, he wasn’t fat. Tall? No, not really. But not short, either… I’m sorry, the only image I have in my mind is of a moving shape.”
“Could you estimate his age?”
“No… except that he seemed young to me. He moved the way a young man does, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, ma’am. Did you tell the police about him?”
“The police? Why, no. No one from the police came to see me.”
No surprise there. A woman dies from a fall inside a locked house, with no signs of forced entry. Verdict from the beginning: accident. None of the investigators had seen a need to canvass the neighbors, so they hadn’t bothered.
Mrs. Conti said, “Should I call and tell them?”
“No, that isn’t necessary.”
“But if you believe that man had something to do with poor Mrs. Mathias’s accident… That is why you’re investigating, isn’t it?”
“It’s part of my investigation, yes. If I find out that the man you saw was responsible, I’ll contact the police myself.” Before I got to my feet I reached over and rubbed the tortoiseshell’s ears. “Thanks so much, Mrs. Conti. You’ve been a huge help.”
“Have I? I’m so glad. I don’t have much opportunity to be helpful to anyone since Adam passed on. My children don’t need me anymore. It’s I who need them. Isn’t that sad?”
Very sad.
And very lonely.
G aunt. Overworked. Nervous. Those were the three descriptive adjectives that came to mind on my first look at Philomena Ruiz. She was not much more than forty, but her black hair was already streaked with gray and the lines in her face were etched deep. She hadn’t been home long when I got there a couple of minutes past seven; she still wore work shoes and a twinged expression when she moved, as though her legs bothered her and she hadn’t had a chance to sit down yet.
In the doorway, after I explained that I was working for Celeste Ogden, she said, “I told everything I know to the police. And to Mrs. Ogden when she came to see me.”
“I’m sure you did. I just have a few questions-I won’t take up much of your time.”
She let me come in, with a certain amount of resignation, and conducted me into a tidy living room packed with old, well-used furniture. The chin-whiskered teenager hovered around us, but not in a protective way. When Mrs. Ruiz and I were seated, the kid said rudely, “No te pases tanto tiempo con ese anglo viejo y gordo. Tengo hambre y quiero mi comida.”
My Spanish is rusty, but not that rusty. What I said to him came out pretty quick, if not particularly fluid: “Ciudado con lo que dices, jovencito. Deberias mostrar mas respector a tus mayors.”
He blinked at me, openmouthed. Mrs. Ruiz seemed to be trying to hide a smile behind a raised hand. In sharper terms she told him the same as I had, to show some respect for his elders, and also to go fetch his own dinner for a change. He beat it out of there in a hurry. When he was gone she used more formal language to apologize for his rudeness and to say, politely, that I spoke Spanish very well. I thanked her; but my command wasn’t all that good, I said, and would she mind if we had our conversation in English.
“What is it you wish to know?”
“Well, to begin with, how long did you work for Mrs. Mathias?”
“Nine years. One full day, one half day, every week.”
“Was she usually home when you were there?”
“Not when she was married to Mr. Ring. She was very busy at that time-she had many friends, many activities.”
“And after she married Mr. Mathias?”
“Then she was home often when I came.”
“What did the two of you talk about?”
“My work.”
“Personal matters? Did she confide in you?”
“No. Never. We spoke only of my work and things of no importance.”
“She never said anything about her relationship with Mr. Mathias?”
“No. Never.”
“What’s your opinion of the man?”
“I do not know him. I met him only a few times.”
“How did he treat you?”
No response.
“Mrs. Ruiz?”
“As some men treat their servants,” she said. She said it without inflection, but there was an undercurrent of bitterness in the words. “As if only he was a child of God.”
“Did he treat Mrs. Mathias as a man should treat his wife-as a friend, an equal?”
“No. I do not think so.”
“Yet she never complained about him.”
“She was a woman in love. Women in love do not complain to those who work for them.”
“Do you think she was still in love with him at the time of her death?”
Long pause before Mrs. Ruiz said, “Perhaps not.”
“Do you have any idea what happened to change her feelings toward her husband?”
“No.”
“The last few times you saw her,” I said. “Did she seem different to you, as if something was weighing heavily on her mind?”
