Page 13 of Little Last Words
“I’m a private chef. I travel a lot. Last night I was catering a gig in Oceano.”
“That’s, what, about an hour from here,” I said. “So not far.”
“It was supposed to be a one-night thing, but they offered me double my usual rate to stay and cook breakfast for them this morning, so I did. I just got home about an hour ago.”
“Where did you stay in Oceano?”
“In my client’s casita.”
“And you just happened to take overnight clothes with you?”
“I always keep a duffel bag packed in my trunk. This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked to stay. I can show it to you if you want.”
“Why not?” Foley said.
I hung back while they walked across the street. Foley looked inside the trunk, they talked for a minute, and then he started walking back toward me. I assumed he’d thought Becker wouldn’t follow, but he did.
“Duffel’s there,” Foley said, “and I’ve taken down the names of Becker’s clients from last night.”
Even if his alibi checked out, something about the guy’s energy was off. The way I saw it, even if his clients provided him with an alibi, he could have slipped out of the casita, murdered Penelope, and returned without being spotted.
“What time did you leave for Oceano yesterday?” I asked.
“Late afternoon, I’d say.”
“Did you notice if Penelope was home when you left?” I asked.
He considered the question. “I’m not sure if she was or not. She always parks in the garage, and most of the time, she keeps the curtains closed at night. She has those blackout ones in the living room, so it’s hard to tell if she’s around or not.”
“How do you know they’re blackout curtains?” I asked.
“Lucky guess. You can’t see through them.”
Lucky guess? Or …
“Have you ever been inside Penelope’s home?” I asked.
“Not since she moved in.”
I turned toward the house. “The curtains are all the way open.”
Becker glanced over my shoulder, noticing the same thing. “Huh. I guess they are.”
I’d asked the question knowing the curtains had been closed when I’d arrived that morning. It was plausible the forensics team had opened them while they were processing the place. But I wanted to turn up the pressure a little and see what Becker would say when I pointed it out.
Foley gave me a look indicating he wanted us to wrap things up. Becker had offered a few interesting tidbits of information, but Foley was right. It was time to cut the cord. No matter what kind of weird energy the guy was putting out, I didn’t have a good enough reason to suspect him of any wrongdoing yet.
If something came up, I’d circle back later.
“I appreciate the time you’ve taken to answer our questions,” Foley said. “But we need to get going.”
I glanced around. Several of Penelope’s neighbors had started to gather outside in small, huddled groups, all of them focusing on Penelope’s house. A woman a couple of houses away was even brazen enough to stare at us through a pair of binoculars. We stared back, and it was obvious she cared less that we’d caught her snooping. The street was seeing a major increase in activity for a change, and many of Penelope’s neighbors seemed eager to be part of it.
“It was nice to meet you Georgiana, and you Chief Foley,” Becker said.
As we watched him jog back to his place, Foley muttered, “He didn’t take his eyes off you, even when he was addressing me.”
“Trust me, I’m not his type. All the women I’ve seen leaving his house look the same. Early twenties, size zero, straight-bodied model types. I have curves, and I’m twice their age, which doesn’t seem to be his thing.”