Page 6 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
“Fuck,” he says, wrapping his hand around my throat. Choking me, but without the pressure. It doesn’t hurt, but it makes me feel strange, as if I’m being possessed. “You’re too innocent for the things I want to do to you.”
“What do you want to do to me?”
“Everything.”
My cheeks burn. I’m sure they must be pink right now, but I force myself to keep meeting the detective’s pale blue eyes. “I see,” he murmurs, and I have the disturbing sense that he does see. “He’s driven. Always has been. I suppose you could say we have that in common, with one key difference. I always wanted to make something of myself right here.”
“And he went to California.”
“His own personal Gold Rush, you could say.”
There are undercurrents in his voice. Jealousy? Resentment? I suppose it would be hard to see someone he considered a peer become a rich man. I’m not immune to envy. There were times I wanted a sandwich and fruit roll-ups instead of a hot lunch I paid for with a free lunch number. Times I wanted a birthday party or gymnastic lessons or all the other things girls in my class got to have. Jealous feelings don’t make me particularly noble, but they do make me human.
“Do you hate him?” I ask.
He gives me an impassive look. “Until very recently I didn’t think much about him at all. Though I was curious to find out why he had a nineteen-year-old nanny living under his roof.” He checks his notepad, though I get the sense he isn’t really reading anything. “And I understand you slept across the hall from him. That’s… close.”
“This has nothing to do with the fire.”
“The fire chief believes it might be arson.”
Shock runs through my system. “I still don’t see what this has to do with the fire.”
“Where were you when the fire started?”
“You think I set it?”
“I think there were three people in the house when it started. I intend to question all of them.”
“Why would I set a fire? What possible reason could I have to do that?”
“Now that’s an interesting question. It’s one I’m sure I’ll be thinking about. A fight between lovers, perhaps. Did you think Rochester would marry you?”
A laugh of disbelief escapes me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe you thought you’d get his money. You and Beau are both alike. A girl like you would fuck him for money and set his house on fire.”
My heart pounds at the sudden change in tone. This isn’t the coldly professional detective who walked in. This is someone else, someone with a personal stake in his questions. There’s a heavy feeling in my stomach. Shock. And dread. “I almost died in that fire.”
“But you didn’t.”
My head shakes, back and forth, back and forth. It’s scary to think that someone might have set that fire. Who could have done it? Paige was asleep in her room. And Mr. Rochester was in bed… with me. Technically we both have an alibi. We couldn’t have set the fire because we were beneath the same sheet, limbs tangled together, sated. I don’t say any of that to Detective Causey, though. He already seems suspicious of my relationship with Beau.
“Listen,” I say, my voice shaking. “I understand you have to ask questions and investigate, but I would gain nothing if Beau or Paige died in a fire. I don’t have any anger against either of them. They’ve been like a family to me.”
The detective nods as if he expected as much, as if he didn’t just make that ugly accusation. “That leaves the other people in the house, then. Paige doesn’t present as a sociopath, so that leaves Beau Rochester. Did you know that the most common motive of arson is to commit insurance fraud?”
A vise closes around my lungs. “Why would he do that?”
The detective gives me a cold smile. The hair on the back of my neck rises. Living in group homes, you get a sense for danger. You know which people never to turn your back on. He’s one of them. “Why not? Because he’s wealthy? There’s never enough money, Ms. Mendoza. And once you’ve acquired a taste for making it, it’s hard to stop.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
I don’t know where the accusation comes from. Detectives don’t exactly make tons of money, do they? Except I had the feeling he was speaking from experience. His eyes narrow. “We’ll all do things we aren’t proud of for the right price, won’t we?”
My heart thumps in my chest. If he knew about my intimate relationship with Mr. Rochester, I’m sure he would accuse me of sleeping with him for money. I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Not everything we do is for money.”
A hard smile. “You’re young, Ms. Mendoza. Perhaps you still believe that.”
