Page 75 of The Housemaid Is Watching

Enzo would never lie about that.Never. If he says Martha was getting beat on by her husband, it’s the truth. Or at least it’s the truth as he believes it.

“Maybe she was manipulating you to get money,” I suggest.

“No,” he says. “Is real. In fact…”

He stops talking, as if unsure if he should tell me anything else. But this is not the time for holding things back. “What?”

“She wanted to talk toyou,” he sighs. “She knew about you.”

“She… she did?”

I wonder how she knew. I wonder who told her.

The thing is, I have a bit of a… history with women like Martha. Women who are in terrible situations and have no wayout. I became the way out for some of those women. So did Enzo. I have to say, I can’t help but look back on it all with pride. We have done some good things in our time.

Some bad things too, maybe, along the way.

“Yes. And she was trying to work up the courage because she wanted your help. But then you accuse her of breaking things and then you say she is stealing…”

“Shewasstealing!”

“I told you why!” He shakes his head. “She did not take much from us. Suzette thought she was stealing too, and that is what she was talking to me about that night in the backyard. I had to convince her there was no stealing so Martha would not lose her job.”

I can see in his dark eyes that every word of what he’s saying is true, and I feel a stab of guilt. Martha wasn’t staring at me because she meant me harm. She was staring at me because she thought I was her only hope for escape and she was working up the nerve to ask for my help. What has become of me that I wasn’t able to see that?

“So,” I say quietly, “you’re telling me the gun was for her?”

“She needed it until I could get her away from him, and after she left, she needed it even more. He was coming for her, Millie. I had to help. She’s hundreds of miles away right now, but he could still find her.”

“Okay, okay.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “I understand what you did. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same, but… why didn’t you tell me? You know you can talk to me about stuff like that. I mean, we used to be ateam. Right?”

We used to help women in trouble all the time. It was how we got to know each other. It’s the reason we fell in love in the first place. I could have helped—I would havewantedto help. Why did he leave me out this time?

He’s silent, measuring his next words. “I was worried about you.”

“Worried?”

“You have so much stress. Your blood pressure…”

“Oh myGod.” I hit the steering wheel with the palm of my hand. “So you would rather I wake up during the night, wondering where the hell you are? Do you thinkthatwas good for my blood pressure?”

He lets out a long sigh, dropping his head back against the headrest. “I messed up. I was stupid.”

“Yes. You were.”

“But… you believe me?”

“Yes,” I say. “I do.”

For the first time since leaving the police station, he manages the tiniest of smiles. Okay, this looks bad. Janice’s eyewitness testimony puts Enzo squarely at the scene of the crime. But Ramirez is right—my husband wouldn’t kill a man over nothing. If he says he didn’t do it, then I believe him.

Although deep down, I still get the feeling there is something he is hiding from me.

FORTY-NINE

When I reach our cul-de-sac, there’s a black Dodge Charger parked in front of our house. Before I even look through the windshield at the driver, I recognize it as Benito Ramirez’s car. Sure enough, the second he sees us pull into the driveway, he steps out of the car, clutching a cup of coffee.

He waves to me as I get out of the car. Even though it’s hot out, he’s wearing a black suit jacket and a tie loosely knotted around his neck. When I first met him over a decade ago, his close-cropped hair was salt and pepper, but now it’s mostly salt.