“You wouldn’t know her last name? My sister had a team of cleaning women about eight years ago. One was Christine or Catherine or something like that, and the other was Loreen. I was thinking maybe Loreen’s the same person.”
“Why you asking about Loreen?” came Dolly’s unexpected voice from my bedroom doorway. She’d climbed those stairs as quiet as a coon stalking a crawfish.
I turned. “No reason. Just making conversation.”
She stared past me at Angela, who looked like she wanted to jump into the shower and hide. “Angela, you haven’t even changed the sheets. What the heck have you been doing all this time?”
“She’s been doing a very thorough job on my bathrooms,” I said. “They really needed attention.”
“Right.” Dolly looked at her watch. “Not much time, and you got three bedrooms and a hall to clean. I know you don’t want to miss lunch, Angela.”
Dolly gave me a look like I had a houseful of manure that had to be cleaned up-but no. She wouldn’t touch “animal waste.” Had to be me.
The plan to get anything out of the maids seemed to have hit a roadblock, but I wasn’t defeated-not yet. I had another idea. They drove company vans, and that meant they had to drop them off at the end of the day. Fiona Mancuso must do the same, and since I had her mug shot, a stakeout at the Purity agency might work. A stakeout. I’d never done one of those before. I’d like being the follower rather than the followee for once.
After the maids finished and went on their way, I got busy. Since I didn’t know Mancuso’s schedule, I couldn’t risk waiting until later in the day to show up at Purity. Though it was unlikely, she could be working a short shift. Besides, I was too antsy to wait around. We were having a real fall day after yesterday’s rain, so I changed into cotton drawstrings and a long-sleeved T-shirt, packed up a few Diet Cokes in a small cooler and took along a package of potato chips. I remembered how Jeff said stakeouts were boring as hell ninety-nine percent of the time while you waited for something to happen. I almost forgot the binoculars and had to go back for them. What was a stakeout without binoculars?
The agency office was north, off Shepherd Drive, and I soon realized there was more to a stakeout than I planned. You had to find a place to park. Duh. Stakeout equals parking. I finally chose a busy Mexican restaurant, but my first spot did not offer a view of Purity’s fenced-in lot, where several minivans sat. This made me anxious. I might miss Loreen coming and going. But I shouldn’t have worried. I found a parking place facing the street fifteen minutes later-a good five hours before I needed to.
By the time Purity vans started arriving to end their day, I’d used the restaurant bathroom twice, and both times felt obligated to buy takeout, waiting and watching outside while it was prepared.
Tex-Mex is not user friendly, and I figured this stakeout had cost me about two thousand calories by the time I picked up my binoculars to watch as each van drove into the lot. I was tired after doing nothing for hours. Even the excitement of finally seeing action seemed dulled by the day’s inactivity and the fatty food I’d eaten.
If I’d had to rely on the mug shot alone at this distance for an ID, I would have been out of luck, but Emma’s description of the bad dye job paid off. I spotted the raven-haired Mancuso leaving the passenger side of a van about five thirty. Emma mentioned she was small, but I’d say gaunt was a better adjective.
She went into the office with her partner and soon came out alone, purse slung over her shoulder. She lit a cigarette and started walking, probably toward the bus stop I’d noticed when I arrived, just beyond the Shepherd intersection. Damn. I knew she rode buses. Why hadn’t I anticipated that she would today? Now I had a problem: I couldn’t see the bus stop from where I was parked. The best solution was to follow her on foot and get on the bus with her before she disappeared.
But then I’d have to leave my car, and it might be towed by the time I got back. I pulled out of the lot and idled on the side of the road, watching up ahead for a bus to pass through the intersection. I waited ten minutes for this to happen, and when it did, I quickly put the Camry in drive and pulled out in front of a driver who made sure I knew I’d pissed him off.
The light favored me, and I made a right onto Shepherd just as the bus lumbered away from the stop. Mancuso was not sitting on the bench, and I could only hope she was on that bus and hadn’t decided to do a little shopping at the gas station/convenience store on the corner. Following Metro would be a new challenge-especially for an impatient person like me. But if I had no luck today, I could always come back tomorrow-and I’d wait on Shepherd to make sure she climbed onto the bus.
The bus couldn’t have traveled more than two miles before Mancuso got off. This surprised me. I had it in my mind that she lived in Emma’s neighborhood because of the bus stop visits, but we were more than ten miles away. I followed the bus through the next intersection and merged into the left lane, but I kept her in sight in my rearview, thinking maybe she might wait for another bus.
But no. She’d lit another cigarette and was waiting for the light to cross the street. I made a U-turn as soon as possible. She had already disappeared when I made it back. I turned right and saw her walking down the sidewalk, cigarette smoke in her wake. I drove past her, thinking how Houston can switch from commercial to residential in the blink of an eye. We were in an older neighborhood, the houses small and close together. I parked near the next corner and fumbled in my purse for a mirror and lipstick. As she walked by me, I pretended to be engrossed in applying color to my lips. She didn’t seem to notice.
I watched her walk another two blocks and then turn left at a stop sign. I followed, and when I reached the sign, I looked in the direction she’d gone and saw her standing at the door of a gray house halfway down the block. She took one more drag on her cigarette before putting it out and unlocking the front door. Wow. She’d gone out of her way to make the bus stop visits to Emma if she lived here.
A few seconds later I pulled up to the house, noting the number painted on the curb by the driveway. I slid from behind the wheel, then felt a tiny surge of adrenaline as I walked up the short cement path.
I rapped on the door, reminding myself that this woman wanted anonymity. She would need reassurance, and I hoped I could deliver-if she agreed to talk to me at all.
She didn’t open the door, just called out, “What do you want?”
“I need your help, Loreen,” I said.
A short silence followed; then she said, “Do I know you?”
“We have a mutual friend who sent me here-Angela.” Mentioning Emma’s name first might be the wrong thing to do.
I heard the dead bolt turn and she opened the door a crack. “Angela sent you?”
“Yes.”
“I hardly know her. What’s this about?” Her door was open a little more now.
“My name is Abby. Can I come in and explain?”
“Not until you tell me how you know Angela.”
“She cleaned my house, said you were one of the best employees at Purity.”
“You need my help cleaning? ’Cause we’re not allowed to do private jobs. We had to sign a paper that we wouldn’t.”
Even though she hadn’t shut the door on me, I could tell this wasn’t working.
“Okay, here’s the straight scoop. I work for Emma Lopez, and I think you know her, even if she doesn’t know who you really are. She needs your help.”
Loreen slammed the door so hard I think the house shook. I heard the dead bolt turn.
But I had another idea on how to get her attention, even though I wouldn’t enjoy using this tactic. “Fiona,” I said loud enough for her to hear-and maybe loud enough for the neighbors, too. “I know you don’t want me talking out here about your past for everyone in the neighborhood to hear.”