Silent Weapon Page 11

  I smiled to show my approval and appreciation.

  Mr. Conrad entered a message into my PDA: Let me know if you need anything else. I believe you already have your schedule and list of duties.

  “Thank you and yes, I have everything I need to get started.”

  He quickly entered another message: Mr. Hammond insists that you take the day to get settled and familiarize yourself with the house.

  That was a nice break. “I appreciate that.” If I said thank you again he would probably think I was a robot.

  Conrad left the room and I took my time getting to know the place. So far, the experience was way different than I had expected.

  Hammond was different. I’d seen pictures of him, but I’d somehow expected to sense an evil about him. I hadn’t picked up any vibes like that. Strange. Even watching Sawyer from a distance I’d felt that he was dirty somehow. Bad to the bone. But I didn’t get the first negative feeling from Hammond. Very strange.

  I shrugged off the nagging thought and decided to settle in. That’s what was expected of me. I sure didn’t want to make anyone suspicious.

  A little over an hour later I had unpacked my clothes. Only a few outfits. Jeans and casual blouses mostly. One dress, just in case. A half-dozen uniforms in my size with accompanying aprons already hung in the closet. I checked out the bed. Nice. Good sheets. Comfy mattress. The clock radio was outfitted for the deaf, complete with a small vibrating pad that went under my pillow. Lights on the phone and in various other places about the quarters, including above my door, would let me know if anyone rang my bell or called on my phone line. The phone, too, was equipped for the hearing impaired, not that I would be using it. Barlow had warned me that it would be monitored.

  I turned on the television and checked the channels. Closed captioning appeared on the screen for my convenience. Everything the local cable company had to offer was there.

  With my room taken care of, I decided to explore the house. I snapped my PDA onto its shoulder strap, draped it around my neck and let it hang to one side, then headed out. I knew the layout of the house by heart but I couldn’t wait to see it all for real. If the rest was anything like what I’d encountered so far, it would be a real treat.

  Downstairs I roamed around the kitchen some more. I discovered the cook and his assistant in the huge pantry. I wiggled my fingers at them and hurried out of their territory. Neither of them looked very pleased that I’d intruded on what looked like an inventory. I’d say a more polite hello later.

  The dining room seated twenty-four and reminded me of the White House dining room I’d seen on a Christmas special once. More glittering chandeliers and gleaming mahogany furnishings. The walls in the dining room were painted a deep emerald and were adorned with lovely paintings.

  A grand parlor that ran the entire width of the house on one side left me breathless all over again. I couldn’t imagine cleaning a house this size alone. It would take a whole week just to dust the stuff in this one room. I would have been remiss had I not peeked into the two powder rooms located downstairs. Both were sufficiently elegant with their gold embellishments and jeweled mirrors.

  I felt almost regal, even in my gray maid’s uniform, as I ascended the staircase. Talk about glitzy. Five or six people could stand side by side and walk up or down this thing. A lovely runner held in place by brass stops ran the length of the staircase.

  Upstairs I admired five bedroom suites. Enormous rooms with bathrooms the size of my living room back home. But the last one, the sixth one at the very end of the upstairs corridor, was the most special of all. A beautiful white canopy bed with pink linens and mounds and mounds of pillows and stuffed animals. Dressing table and bureau of matching white wood. A small table and chairs, complete with bone china tea set, sat in the middle of the room. Along one wall bookcases and a window seat had been built in. A book lay open on the cushions there. I wandered over and picked it up. The Secret Garden. One of my all-time favorites.

  A little girl was suddenly standing next to me and I jumped. Gasped loud enough to startle her. I didn’t have to hear it for myself, I saw the reaction on her little face.

  I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you the new maid who can’t hear?

  I opened my mouth to answer her and barely caught myself. My heart flopped. Close one.

  I smiled and offered her my PDA. I showed her how to enter what she wanted to say to me. She laughed and said something about her computer. She wasn’t looking directly at me so I missed part of it.

  Tiffany Hammond sat down on the window seat, the strap of my PDA dragging me down with her. When she showed the screen to me it read: How does it feel to be deaf?

  Typical question from a child and some adults. I thought about the question a moment, though I had answered it before. I had to remember to think about all my answers now. I was undercover…careful had to be my middle name.

  “It feels like when you’re in the bathtub and you stick your head under the water. Know what I mean?”

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  “You can almost hear things,” I went on, “but it’s more a vibration than a sound and it has to be really loud. Otherwise I don’t hear anything but silence.” I shrugged. “Except maybe the blood roaring through my veins when I get scared.” I actually wasn’t sure I really heard either of those things. Memories, my doctor had said.

  She pursed her lips for a bit and thought about what she wanted to say next, then she tapped the keys: Does being deaf make you scared?

  It was my turn to do some real thinking. My first thought was to say an unequivocal no…but that wasn’t entirely true. Instead, I admitted, “Sometimes.” I remembered the first time I’d gone for one of my runs and I’d kept feeling as if someone was watching me. I would stop every so often and turn all the way around. I couldn’t see anyone and I’d wished so badly that I could hear. But I couldn’t…there was only silence and, of course, the rush of fear in my blood.

  At her expectant look I added, “Sometimes at night I wake up. You know, the way you wake up when some sound interrupts the night?” She nodded, her eyes wide with understanding. “’Course I can’t hear anything so I just lie there wondering if I should have.”

  She chewed on her lower lip and I wondered if I’d said too much and frightened her. I definitely didn’t want to screw up this early. Nor did I want to frighten a child.

  The next thing I knew she was reaching toward me. She touched my ear. I sat very still and let her. Then she touched the other one, taking her time, performing a fairly thorough exam. When she’d examined her own, she looked straight into my eyes and considered what she saw for a time.

  You don’t look different or feel different.

  I refrained from responding since she hadn’t entered the comment into my PDA.

  You look pretty.

  My lips twitched with a smile. I bit down to quell it and forced my gaze back to hers.

  She frowned and terror sliced through me. Her frown morphed into confusion. Can you read my lips?

  Working hard to keep my hand from shaking, I offered her the PDA.

  She accepted it but didn’t look convinced. She typed in her question and handed it back to me. I shook my head, forcing a smile.

  But you look at my lips when I talk, she argued aloud.

  She suddenly looked away and I knew someone had come into the room. I turned, praying that whoever had walked in hadn’t heard her last statement.

  The woman who’d entered the room gifted me with a smile. I recognized her from her pictures. Cecilia, the au pair. When she’d smiled sufficiently at me she scolded Tiffany, Don’t be a nuisance, Tiff. You know she can’t hear you. How rude is that, Tiff?

  I stood awkwardly. Was the maid supposed to fraternize with the family? God, what if I’d already over-stepped my bounds?

  Cecilia reached for my PDA without waiting for an invitation and entered a message: I’m Cecilia, Tiffany’s au pair. Nice to meet you.

  I managed
another smile. “Merri Walters.” I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  She brushed her palm lightly against mine, not a real handshake but that was fine by me.

  Cecilia entered another message: Tiff loves to ask questions. You’ll have to overlook her.

  I certainly understood that. Having been a teacher of children just her age, I knew it well. But I didn’t bother saying any of that. Instead I smiled and nodded, like the poor deaf woman I was.

  Come along, Tiff, we have piano lessons in the parlor. Cecilia flicked one last smile in my direction and started for the door.

  Tiffany hesitated, forcing her au pair to slow before reaching the door. See you later, Miss Merri.

  Don’t be silly, Tiff. Cecilia tugged the child toward her. She can’t hear you.

  Tiffany just smiled, as if she knew some secret no one else did.

  I hoped like hell she didn’t voice that secret suspicion to her father or anyone else.

  Chapter 9

  I made it through day two without any glitch to speak of. Mason Conrad had gone over Mr. Hammond’s expectations with me just to be sure I understood my responsibilities. I’d spent the rest of the time, until 6:00 p.m., fulfilling those obligations. Not so difficult. Then I’d retired to my room and taken some time to mull over the people I’d met and the reactions my presence had garnered. All in all, I felt comfortable with how things had gone. I’d watched television, soaked in the tub, then watched some more TV until 10:00 p.m. had rolled around.

  Unable to sleep I flopped over onto my side, fluffed my pillow and pulled the cover up closer around my neck. The room was completely black with the plantation shutters closed and the drapes shut tight. The dark hadn’t ever really bothered me, not even when I was a small child. I had always understood, even before choosing to go undercover to get the goods on bad guys, that it was what was in the dark one had to be afraid of, not the dark itself.

  Thinking of that now gave new meaning to the idea. In this house, this grand palace, resided not one but several men known for evil deeds. I couldn’t help feeling the irony of it. Every person I had met, male or female, had seemed…normal. Other than the ball of nerves in my tummy based on what I had read in the profiles Barlow had provided, I’d encountered no reason to feel uncomfortable. Everyone had been polite, kind, very businesslike so far. My only awkward moment had been with the child.

  Since her au pair, Cecilia, had played off the little girl’s comment, I wasn’t actually worried. Yet a part of me recognized that it could happen again with one of the adults. Somehow I hadn’t thought of that. In order to eavesdrop on conversations I would need to read the lips of those speaking. I couldn’t very well do that without actually looking at their mouths. I wondered vaguely if Barlow had thought of it and had simply chosen not to mention it considering I was determined to go through with this assignment.

  I damn sure wouldn’t ask him. Giving him another excuse to pull the plug on this operation would ruin everything.

  Rolling onto my back, I lay there and stared at the ceiling, not that I could see it but I knew it was there. After a quick inventory of my feelings I admitted that yes, I was afraid on some level. I’d be stupid not to be. But Hammond and his associates had no reason to suspect me. That was the beauty of the plan. Any background check they ran on me in addition to what the cleaning service offered in the way of my history would be clean, with the exception of the fact that I had two brothers in Metro. That didn’t make me guilty of anything. Neither of my brothers was in Homicide or Narcotics. Simple beat cops, happy to do the grunt work required to keep the city clean and safe.

  My work file at Metro had been taken care of. And even if, by some remote chance, one of Hammond’s people discovered I’d worked there as a file clerk, the cleaning service had been instructed to plead sympathy. The owner would insist I’d been fired and he’d felt sorry for me. Some detective had taken advantage of me and I’d been fired and the incident banished from the files to protect Metro. If anything, Hammond should consider that a good thing since that would make me bitter toward Metro. Barlow had gone as far as to suggest that I might lay a little groundwork on the issue. If the opportunity arose to make some negative comment about cops in general and the like.

  I could definitely do that. Between my macho, overprotective brothers and Barlow’s penchant for arrogance, I had myself a cache of irritation to draw upon.

  Barlow’s image bloomed in my mind before I could stop it, and I allowed myself to ponder what he might be doing right now. For the first week I wasn’t supposed to contact him unless I had something significant to pass along. After that I would make up an excuse to go into town every three days. I would call him once I was halfway down the mountain and he would provide a rendezvous point. I had to smile at that. Imagine, me, the deaf ex-school teacher working undercover. My heart picked up an extra beat. This was more like it. I just couldn’t spend the rest of my life in that dungeon of a workspace filing and retrieving cases.

  Not that there was anything wrong with that line of work. It was a great job for the right person, just not me. I wanted to do so much. Wanted to make a difference. Maybe it was a side effect of growing up with four brothers who all turned out to be the hero types. Maybe I suffered from hero envy. I’d accused my brothers of being adrenaline junkies. Could I be addicted myself?

  Deciding the subject was far too deep and complicated to go into without a carb boost, I threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. I’d nibbled at my dinner, a little uneasy in the presence of the cook and his assistant. They were friendly enough, just a little nosy. I’d been so busy making sure I gave the right answers that I lost my appetite. Well, it was certainly back to full form now.

  After turning on the bedside lamp I tugged on my robe. I padded over to the door and stood there a moment before opening it. I couldn’t think of any way my going into the kitchen for a snack would be construed as aggressive or covert. It would seem normal, wouldn’t it?

  I drew in a deep breath and reached for the door, unlocked it and pulled it open in one quick action to ensure I didn’t change my mind. The hall was empty but not quite so dark as my room had been. A lamp on a side table about midway down the corridor provided a soft glow sufficient for maneuvering. Once in the kitchen, muted under-counter and baseboard lighting gave the room a pleasant glow.

  The room was massive with two refrigerators, one being a walk-in type, along with a walk-in freezer. I shivered at the thought of being locked in that freezer. I’d definitely watched too many movies.

  Intricately detailed cherry cabinetry topped with gleaming natural stone counters filled the space, including an island that was about the size of my entire kitchen back home. The limestone floor felt cool beneath my feet. I liked all of it, though I never even hoped to live in a place like this. As ostentatious as the house was, it actually felt homey in a big-bucks sort of way. The scents of fresh fruits and lingering olive oil from the enormous Italian-style dinner the cook had prepared still permeated the room. I inhaled deeply, thinking of my favorite restaurant downtown.

  I hoped Connie, the cook, had stored the leftovers. Connie was a guy and definitely didn’t look like any Connie I’d met before. He stood about six-four and probably weighed a little more than a hefty side of beef, but he had the sweet sense of humor you’d expect in a guy a third his size who possessed absolutely no testosterone. His assistant, Marjorie, looked to be about fifty and did most of the unglamorous work like peeling potatoes and onions and cleaning up after Connie prepared his masterpieces. I’d seen the kitchen after he’d completed one of his creations. Thank God kitchen cleanup didn’t fall within my sphere of responsibility.

  I was in luck. Plenty of salad was stored in a clear plastic container in fridge number one. I’d learned that servable foods belonged in fridge number one, while food-prep items were kept in fridge number two, otherwise known as the walk-in. Made sense to me.

  Along with the salad and vinaigrette, I decided o
n lasagna. I flipped on the light above the island and rounded up a plate and eating utensils. As quietly as possible I scooped out a portion of the lasagna and popped it into the microwave for a warm-up. I hoped the hum and final ding of the timer didn’t wake anyone. Who was I kidding? In a house this size it would take a minor explosion in the kitchen to shatter the quiet of the luxurious suites tucked away upstairs.

  With a heaping pile of salad in my bowl, I re-covered the container and turned back to the fridge. The breath evacuated my lungs in one sudden whoosh.

  Mason Conrad stood in front of the fridge, about two feet from me. He still wore the elegant black trousers, but his crisp white shirt now lay unbuttoned and open, showcasing a sculpted and tanned chest.

  For about ten seconds I couldn’t move or speak. He stared at me for the same, then dropped his gaze to the container of salad in my hands. Finally, when I’d about decided if I didn’t make a move no one would, he reached for the container and took it from me. He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he held the bowl in one hand and patted his flat stomach with the other. The smile on his lips told me he’d meant the gesture to be a message.

  “I’m starved, too,” I admitted.

  He turned toward the microwave. I noted the line of zeroes on the digital readout and realized the timer had just gone off.

  I went to the microwave and removed the plate loaded with steaming lasagna. I bit my lower lip to hold back an ouch when I scarcely made it to the counter without dropping it. The plate had gotten a lot hotter than I’d expected. After pouring myself a glass of iced tea, I scooted onto a stool and dug in. I was pretty sure there was leftover garlic bread around somewhere but I didn’t bother with it. Deciding to pig out had been before I’d had male company. Now I felt embarrassed by the sheer size of the portion I’d spooned out. As if reading my mind, Conrad scrounged up the bread and placed his bounty on the island directly across from me, then straddled a stool as if he’d done the midnight-snack thing a million times.