about her. Unbelievable.
“I’m a wealthy woman. My husband is an important man. My son has a big political career in front of him. People are jealous. Marissa was important to me—”
“Has anyone threatened you directly?” Dixon asked.
“Well, no, but—”
“It’s not about you, ma’am,” Mendez said bluntly.
She looked to Dixon again for interpretation.
“Most crime is pretty straightforward,” Dixon explained. “Most people are murdered because somebody wants them dead. Conspiracies only happen on television.”
“Most people don’t get a box like
“Can you think of anyone in your life who might want to kill you, ma’am?” Hicks asked.
“No! I don’t have any enemies.”
“We’ll start with your friends, then,” Mendez said.
Bordain turned to Dixon again. “What does he mean?”
“Most people are murdered by people close to them,” Mendez explained, irritated that she kept turning to his boss, as if he weren’t speaking English and she needed a translator. “We’ll start by interviewing your husband. Did he know Ms. Fordham?”
“Is he trying to be amusing?” she asked Dixon.
Dixon shot him another glare. “There’s nothing amusing about Detective Mendez.”
“Where was your husband over the weekend?” Mendez pressed on.
“He’s been in Las Vegas on business since Friday.”
“He’s still there?” Hicks asked. “Have you told him about Ms. Fordham’s murder?”
“Yes, of course. But there wasn’t any point in him coming back. He had important meetings to attend. He’s flying into Santa Barbara tonight. He’ll go to the Montecito house.”
Mendez arched an eyebrow and made a few notes. “Even after you tell him about the box? Even if you tell him you think your life might be in danger?”
“If I ask him to come here, he’ll come here,” she said defensively. “I called my son. He should be here shortly.”
“Your son’s name?” Mendez asked.
“Darren Bordain.”
“What does he do?” he asked just to insult her. He knew who Darren Bordain was. He just wanted Milo Bordain to realize not everybody gave a rat’s ass.
She huffed a sigh. “Darren runs our Mercedes dealerships. He stars in all the commercials.”
“I don’t drive a Mercedes,” Mendez said. “Did your son know Ms. Fordham?”
“Of course he did. Darren is also very involved in state politics. He’s going to be governor one day.”
“Were they friends?” Mendez asked. “More than friends?”
“They were acquaintances.” She turned to Dixon. “Is this really necessary? My son had nothing to do with Marissa.”
“We’ll need to speak with him,” Mendez said. “And we’ll need to have you come into the sheriff’s office so we can take your fingerprints.”
“My fingerprints?!” she said, shocked.
“For elimination purposes,” Dixon explained. “Your prints will be on the box.”
“I was wearing gloves when I handled it.”
“There’s also Ms. Fordham’s house,” Hicks said. “You were there frequently. It’s safe to assume your prints will be among those found.”
“I feel like I’m being treated like a criminal,” she complained to Dixon.
“Not at all, Mrs. Bordain,” Dixon said. “We’ll need to be able to identify your prints—and the prints of anyone else who spent a lot of time in Ms. Fordham’s home—so we can take them out of the mix and hopefully eventually end up with only the prints of the killer. You can come directly to my office and we’ll take care of it in private.”
“Thank you, Cal,” she said. “At least
Dixon turned the laser-blue eyes on Mendez, and he knew he was cooked. One poke too many at Her Majesty. “Detectives, can I have a word with you both outside?”
29
“Do you realize who she is, Detective Mendez?” Dixon asked, herding them to one side of the porch, away from the door.
“Sure. She’s a snobby, rude, narcissistic bitch.”
“You must be talking about my mother.”
Mendez felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
Darren Bordain stood up from the bent-willow bench on the other side of the door and casually put his cigarette out in a pot of his mother’s geraniums.
“Mr. Bordain, I apologize—”
Bordain waved it off. “No need. I’m well aware who my mother is. I’ve been putting up with her for thirty-two years.
“Did she treat you like a servant?” he asked. “Don’t feel special. That’s how she treats everyone except celebrities, conservative politicians, and people she wants something from.”
“Mr. Bordain. Cal Dixon.” The sheriff offered his hand.
Bordain shook it. “Call me Darren. No need to stand on formality. I try not to be my mother’s son whenever possible.”
Ironically, Darren Bordain was physically the spitting image of his mother—same height, same build, same straight blond hair, same green eyes, same square jaw. Every time he looked in a mirror, he saw his mother’s face.
His vintage silver Mercedes 450SL convertible was parked out by the sheriff’s car. But he had been in no hurry to come in the house.
“I was just trying to work up the energy to deal with her crisis du jour.”
“She’s pretty upset,” Dixon said. “She told you about the box?”
“Yes. She called my office and got my secretary and screamed at her until the poor girl came and got me off the golf course.” He took a pack of Marlboro Lights from the pocket of his leather jacket and shook one out. “I had two holes left to play, so I’m a little late. She told me she had already called you guys, so what was I going to do?”
Comfort her, Mendez thought.
“She’s concerned she might be a target,” Dixon said.
“I’m sure she is,” he said, lighting up. “It’s all about her, isn’t it?”
“You don’t think anyone has it in for her?” Mendez asked.
He laughed. “I’m sure a lot of people have it in for her. She’s not Miss Congeniality. But if she managed to push someone so far they would kill, why wouldn’t they just kill her? Why kill Marissa?”
“Did you know Ms. Fordham?” Dixon asked.
“Sure, of course. She was the daughter my mother never had,” he said sarcastically.
“She was included in your family?”
“Hell, no. A woman with an unknown past and an out-of-wedlock child? Marissa was more like a pet or a Barbie doll. Mother gave her a place to live, made a big show out of being magnanimous and a patron of the arts. But Marissa was never invited to Thanksgiving dinner.”
“What was your relationship with Ms. Fordham?” Mendez asked.
“We were friends. We ran into each other at functions, had a few drinks, had a few laughs at my mother’s expense.”
