Cleanup Read Free Page A

workmen going in and out of the two apartments at the far end of the hall. They would get to my apartment soon.
    I walked to the public library a few blocks away and booked time on a computer. I was searching job openings online when my cell phone vibrated. The display read private number. Someone didn’t want me to know who was calling.
    I glanced at the computer. If I left now, I might not get it back again for hours. With a sigh, I shoved my pen and notebook into my purse and stood up.
    â€œHello?” I said, heading for the exit.
    â€œConnie, you have to help me,” a breathless voice said in Spanish.
    Maria.

CHAPTER FOUR
    â€œW here are you?” I asked. “At a police station. They arrested me. They said I could call a lawyer, so I called you, Connie.”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œThey think I killed Mr. Richard. You have to tell them I would never do such a thing.”
    â€œBut, Maria—”
    She interrupted me to tell me which police station she was in. She begged me to hurry. Then the phone went dead.
    I stood where I was for a few moments, thinking about the Maria I knew and the Maria that Mike had told me about. Mike said she had her sights set on a rich man. A lot of women did, even if they never admitted it. Mike said she had quit the agency, and she hadn’t told me. But not telling someone something wasn’t the same as lying. And no matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t see that Maria had anything to gain by killing Mr. Withers. And I couldn’t imagine her beating him—or anyone else—to death.
    I called one of my former co-workers, a legal assistant who worked for a criminal lawyer.
    â€œHe’s in court, Connie,” she said. “I can’t reach him. But I’ll let him know as soon as I can, okay?”
    â€œThanks, Emma.” I gave her Maria’s full name, the name of the detective on her case, and the station where she was being held. “I really appreciate this.”
    â€œNo problem, kiddo,” she said. That always made me smile. She was twenty-six. I was five years older than her. “Hey, where are you working these days?”
    â€œI’m between jobs at the moment,” I said. Technically, it was the truth. “Oh, and Emma, my friend is Spanish-speaking, so if your boss needs a translator—”
    â€œHe will,” she said. “I don’t suppose you could do it?” When I hesitated, she said, “He’ll pay you for your time.”
    And bill Maria, I thought. “It’s probably a legal-aid case, Emma.”
    I heard her sigh. “He’s still going to need a translator,” she said.
    â€œI’ll give you my number. He can call me if he needs me.”
    * * *
    I was at home, staring at the TV and not caring that Rosie O’Donnell was drowned out by the hammering and the loud voices of the workmen down the hall, when Emma’s boss called. His name was Gregory Mason. I told him what I knew.
    â€œEmma said you can translate,” he said. “Can I pick you up?”
    I told him it would be faster if I met him at the police station. I was nearly there before I realized that I had left Maria’s keys in my uniform pocket. If they released her, I would have to go all the way back home to get them.
    I had no trouble spotting Gregory Mason. I’d seen him in the building where I used to work. He got out of a silver Lexus and strode up to the police station in the mainly immigrant neighborhood south of Richard Withers’s house. To my surprise, he recognized me.
    â€œYou’re just as Emma described,” he said. “Thanks for coming. Does Ms. Gonzales speak any English?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “But she’s much more fluent in Spanish.”
    â€œOkay. Then we’ll do it in Spanish. I want the whole story. I don’t want her to have to struggle to get it out. Come on.”
    I hesitated.
    â€œDid Emma tell you it