Wine, Tarts & Sex

Thirteen

Roman had interviewed the staff at Leo’s apartment. The housekeeper knew something. But apparently, loyal to Janie, she was unwilling to divulge anything, even when he threatened her with calling the immigration authorities.

“Call them,” she’d spat, meeting his hard stare. “I’ve seen worse than you before. Where I come from you can get killed for a chicken.”

It was plain she wasn’t going to talk. It was even plainer she disliked Leo. “Why do you work here?” he’d asked.

“Stupid question. For the money. I’m supporting my whole family back home.”

He’d given up, figuring he could always return and threaten her again if he had to. Then he’d gone back to his office and set about tracking Janie’s charge cards and phone records. (It wasn’t just the NSA who could monitor your calls.) A short time later, he understood he could have saved himself the trouble of interviewing the staff. There it was, plain as day on her Verizon account.

A call at seven that morning to a number with a Minnesota area code.