Chapter 25
My eyes snapped awake when Denise wrapped her knuckles on the door of the Porsche. I may have dozed off for a moment. I peeled them open to see the delightful beauty hovering over me, wearing a tank top and jean shorts. She certainly looked good out of uniform.
"I'm here. Get some sleep.”
"Putting up with might be more accurate."
"Are you sure that's all you've been doing with her?”
"Trust me, she’s a handful. Maybe two.”
She gave me a look. "I'll keep an eye on things. You owe me for this. I'll expect something nice and expensive."
"Deal," I said.
She spun around and strutted back to her banana-yellow SUV and climbed inside. I watched her in the side-view mirror. She had a nice strut.
I cranked up the engine and pulled away from the curb.
Jack peeled his eyes open and looked around, having forgotten where he was. "I'm up."
I drove back to Waffle Wizard. I figured we’d load up on coffee and fill our bellies with breakfast. There wasn’t any time to sleep.
We chowed down on fat stacks of blueberry pancakes, smothered in butter and maple syrup, crunched on crispy bacon, and drank copious amounts of hot java. I'd been up for so long that adrenaline had kicked in. There was no going to sleep now, even if I had the time.
After breakfast, we set out to find the Caldwells’ maid. We caught up with Constance at another mansion in Stingray Bay. She was on the job. Isabella had tracked her cell phone.
Constance answered the door after I rang the bell. One look at her, and it was easy to see she was not part of the gang of thieves. She wasn't quite 5 feet tall, and nearly as wide.
I flashed my badge, made introductions, and told her what had happened.
Her lined face twisted with surprise and sorrow. In her mid-50s, her curly dark hair was losing the battle against the gray.
I spoke to her in Spanish. "Can you think of anyone who had access to the house that knew about Mr. Caldwell’s valuables?"
She frowned and shook her head. "I'm only there one day a week, but I've been working for Mrs. Caldwell for 25 years now. Is Mr. Caldwell going to be okay?"
I shrugged.
It seemed unlikely that Constance had any involvement.
But I didn't rule out the possibility that she’d tipped someone off in exchange for a kickback.
She didn't strike me as a criminal mastermind.
But she clearly had the ability to leave a window unlocked.
She probably knew the code to the alarm when it was working.
"I take it you were at home around 3:00 AM last night?”
"Si.”
"You live alone?"
"No. With my husband," she said.
“I’ll need contact information for him.”
She nodded.
“Have you seen anyone suspicious around the property lately?”
She shook her head.
I thanked her for the information, gave her a card, and told her to get in touch if she recalled anything helpful.
JD and I strolled the walkway and hopped into the Porsche. We headed over to Palm Haven, where we caught up with Mr. Martinez, thanks to Isabella. Mowers hummed, and leaf blowers buzzed as they worked the lawn.
The trio made short work of the lawn and landscaping. Martinez worked with his son and daughter. His son was a young man in his mid-20s with a medium build. His daughter was petite. Maybe 19. It was possible this could have been the crew, but for Mr. Martinez. He didn’t have the build of a lineman.
Martinez was about 45. After a lifetime in the sun, his tanned skin had its fair share of lines.
Theories swirled in my mind.
It wasn't Texas hot in Coconut Key, but it was hot enough. At 83°, wearing long-sleeve work shirts, doing manual labor, this crew certainly earned their paychecks. No wonder they were out here at the ass-crack of dawn.
I wondered if maybe they went after a little unearned revenue.
The logo on his black truck read: Martinez Family Lawn Care.
Mr. Martinez used a weed wacker to edge the curb and walkway. The gas motor rumbled, and the noxious exhaust from it and the leaf blower filled the air.
I parked across the street. We hopped out of the Porsche, and I displayed my badge as I approached Mr. Martinez.
Concern rounded his eyes. He cut the engine and flashed a smile, hoping this was not bad news. “Buenos dias.”
“Buenos dias,” I replied.
“We’re hoping you can help us with a case,” I said in a disarming tone.
He looked cautious but agreeable.
"When was the last time you were at the Caldwell residence?"
"I think last Thursday. No, it was Friday. We usually go on Fridays, but it really depends."
"Where were you last night around 3:00 AM?"
His face tensed. "Why?”
"Just curious.”
"I was at home with my family. Where else would I be?”
I motioned to his kids. "And those two?”
He nodded. "Yes, they both live at home with me.”
"Can you verify their whereabouts at the time?”
“At the time of what?”
“Were they with you all night last night?”
Martinez shrugged. "They were there when I went to sleep."
"Have you seen anything unusual around the Caldwell residence recently?”
"What do you mean by unusual?”
"There was a break in. Items of value were taken."
Martinez didn't like where this was going. "And you think I had something to do with that?"
"No. Of course not,” I said. “I'm speaking to everybody who works for the Caldwells. Anyone who's had access to the house."
"I just mow the lawn with my son and daughter. I don’t have access to the house. We don't go inside. I've never been inside the Caldwell residence.”
“I’ll need to speak with your children for a moment.”
Martinez didn't like it, but he called his kids. They cut the engines and approached with wary eyes. Mr. Martinez made introductions. "This is Antonio and Esmeralda," he said.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both," I replied.
I asked them the standard questions. Both told me they were at home with their father last night. They all lived together in a small apartment on the edge of Jamaica Village.
It wasn't the greatest part of town.
Neither of the kids recalled seeing anyone suspicious around the Caldwell property.
I gave them all cards and told them to get in touch if they remembered anything helpful.
“Mr. Caldwell has always been kind and generous to me. I would never think of doing anything to cause that family harm. Neither would my children. They've been assisting me since they were young. The Caldwell family has been a blessing to us. Introduced us to numerous clients.”
Martinez seemed genuine, and I didn't think he had any involvement.
I couldn't say the same for his children.
Physically, they matched the description.
But neither seemed overly nervous or unsettled by my questions.
Nobody likes getting grilled by the cops.
Though some criminals have mastered the art of appearing calm.
"I'll call Mr. Caldwell and talk to him," Mr. Martinez said.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Caldwell is in the hospital. He was shot last night.”
They all looked at me with wide eyes and slack jaws.
Martinez made the sign of the cross. “Is he going to be okay?” Martinez asked.
“I don’t know.”
He had questions, and I gave him limited details.
I thanked him for his cooperation, shook hands, and we walked back to the Porsche.
My next move was to check criminal histories and run down another lead.