Eve couldn’t blame Darrow for baiting Lansing with that last question. He deserved it for shoveling so much bullshit on them.
She tugged Duncan’s sleeve. “Let’s go before we get dragged into any more PR stunts or a reporter tries to ask us a question.”
Duncan and Eve hopped off the stage and walked toward the parking lot, which was between city hall and the Hilton. He checked his watch and smiled. “There’s still time to catch the breakfast buffet at the Hilton before it closes.”
“No, there isn’t. We need to get to Oakdale right away and follow up on the pregnant maid. We’ve wasted enough time already.”
“Fine, but if I pass out from low blood sugar, it’s on you.”
“Stop whining,” Eve said. “You already had a big breakfast. I can see it on your tie.”
He checked his tie and saw an egg yolk stain. “Damn.”
They took Duncan’s Buick, since it was parked at city hall, and he drove them up to Oakdale’s guard gate. The same guard Eve had seen the previous morning was on duty again. He was young and looked like he’d slept in his uniform and combed his hair with a swipe of his hand. His name tag read HARVEY MAPES. Duncan badged him.
“I’m Duncan Pavone, and this is my partner, Eve Ronin. We’re detectives with the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department.”
Mapes said, “Everybody wants to know why you’ve had a patrol car parked in front of the McCaig place all night.”
“It’s a speed trap. Tell everyone to slow down or they’ll get a ticket.”
Eve took out her phone and found the screengrab of the pregnant woman. “Do you know who this woman is?”
Duncan took the phone from her and held it up to Mapes, who nodded.
“That’s Priscilla. She’s a cleaning lady.”
“Do you know her last name?” Eve asked. Mapes shook his head. “Is she here today?”
“No, she only works here once a week, on Tuesdays, for the Grayles up on Park Positano.”
Duncan took out his notebook and pen. “What are their full names?”
“Lester and Daphne Grayle.”
Duncan wrote it down. “Are they home?”
“Mr. Grayle left for work a few hours ago. Mrs. Grayle is home.”
“Can we have their address and phone number?”
Mapes looked it up on his computer and gave Duncan the information, which he wrote down in his pad.
“Thanks. You can open up the gate and lower the drawbridge over the moat. We’d like to go up and see them now.”
Mapes hit the button, and as the gate started to roll open, he said, “Do you want me to call ahead? We’re a gated community. People here don’t usually open their doors if they don’t know who is coming, especially after all the home invasions.”
“Sure, give her a call.”
Duncan thanked Mapes and they drove up to the Grayle house, which was the same model as the McCaigs’， only flipped and with a southwestern-style facade.
They walked up to the front door, careful not to sting themselves on one of the cacti in the rock garden along the path, and rang the bell. The door was answered by Daphne Grayle, an athletic-looking woman in her thirties, wearing a paint-spattered white T-shirt and torn, paint-spattered jeans. Her long brown hair was pinned up in a bun to keep it from getting in the paint.
“Please forgive how I look. I’m repainting the family room. What can I do for you?”
Duncan glanced at Eve, once again handing her the baton, as he often did with women. Eve introduced them.
“We’d like to ask you some questions. May we come in?”
Daphne stepped aside. “Of course.”
They walked in. The dining room and kitchen were to their left, but the family room was still in front of them. All the furniture in the family room was pushed into the center of the room and covered with bedsheets. The walls were mostly beige with white trim. But now half of the walls in the living room were mocha. Canisters of paint, a roller pan, roller, and brushes were on one of many tarps laid down to protect the hardwood floors.
“What prompted the redecorating?” Eve asked.
“I’m bored with beige. I thought a new color might liven things up.”
Duncan said, “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to begin before Priscilla came to clean and not the day after?”
“I didn’t have the epiphany until she left,” Daphne said. “It drives my husband nuts that I’m always redecorating. But he’s not the one cooped up here all day. Is this about Priscilla? Is she in some kind of trouble?”