Maria Almadovar-Gonzalvez finished drying the wine glass and hung it upside down in the wood wine rack over the large center island. It was a beautiful kitchen; white and black marble tiled floor, genuine maple cabinets along two walls topped with a dark granite countertop. Elegant chrome fixtures gleamed under the subdued lighting over the sink, and the stainless steel refrigerator and freezer reflected the same light in dull, hazy patterns.

Maria pressed her lips into a thin line as she regarded the spotless kitchen. The Señor, he would be pleased. Too bad she was giving her notice tonight. Her employer was an unusual man, but not unkind, always asking after her family. He didn’t seem to have any of his own, and Maria, a child of fruitful parents, thought he might be lonely. She straightened her back and raised her chin. He would have to find another maid with a large family with whom to discuss the proper way to make paella or steak au poivre. Maria had to think of her children. She had to leave New Orleans, the sooner the better.

She left the kitchen, careful not to let the door thump behind her, and walked down the elegant, sultry pink hall to the study. At this time of the evening, the Señor would be settled in with his books and his sherry, sitting in front of the wide French doors, watching the sun set over the very southern edge of Lake Ponchartrain. The house sat on a small spit of land that extended north into the lake, just east of Bayou St. John—otherwise the view would have been quite impossible. Maria would not have put it past her employer to have had the land built out into the water for the express purpose of building a house with that view. The man certainly had the money to do it, if he wanted.

As she approached the study, Maria could hear the soft strains of violin music floating through the open door. She wiped her hands over her apron, feeling the points of her pelvic bones under the fabric of her apron and dress. Time was, she had enough flesh on her bones to be gently rounded. Soft and womanly. The past three years had been hard, very hard. But oh, so worth it to escape her past. Now time had come again to run. Oh, Marco!

“Señor Pendergast? I have finished cleaning the kitchen. Do you need anything else?”

Special Agent A. X. L. Pendergast of the FBI looked up from the book in his lap. He was sitting in his leather wingback chair, which had been tilted to take full advantage of both the view from the French doors in front of him and the light from a large picture window behind. He was casually dressed in a white, long-sleeved dress shirt and black suit pants. The jacket of the suit was on a silk-padded hanger, hung on a coat rack behind the door. The tie was on its own hanger, right next to the coat. The last rays of the setting sun gleamed on the discreet gold cufflinks that had been negligently tossed onto the table beside his chair, alongside the tall glass of lemonade with a sprig of fresh mint, and the new box of French chocolates of which he was so fond. The contrast between his white shirt, pale skin and light blond hair and the dark leather of his chair made it seem to Maria that he was a disembodied torso floating in a pool of shadow. She felt a shiver go down her back, but dismissed it just as quickly. Señor Pendergast liked to make an impression.

“Why, no, Maria. That will be all for this evening.” He lifted one graceful hand to the table, picked up the black ribbon he habitually used as a bookmark and placed it carefully between the leaves of the book in his lap before saying, “But I think I would like a word with you, before you leave.”

Maria felt her shoulders relax downward as he rose in a fluid motion, placed the closed book on top of the chocolates and crossed the light yellow and dark red Oriental carpet to his desk. He gestured Maria to the seat across from him with one slim, pale hand as he took his own seat. She crossed and sat.

“Senora Gonzalvez, you have been a great asset to my household.” He paused to consider his next remark, and Maria asked herself silently What household? It’s just him, the chauffer and me. She stilled herself as he pinned her into place with his silvery blue eyes. “That is why I have cancelled your plane tickets.”

For two beats, Maria remained where she was. Then she jumped out of her chair in an explosion of mingled fear and fury.

“What!?! How...What...Why did you do that? Mio Dio, you have no idea of what you have done! You cannot...I must go; I cannot stay here, what were you thinking!” Maria paced furiously in a tight circle around the chair, pulling at her apron while Pendergast remained seated and watched her behind steepled fingers. Mio Dio, Madre de Dio, he will get me killed! Save me!

Pendergast coolly watched Maria. She had lost weight since he had hired her. He had gone to the most exclusive agency in New Orleans with a view to staffing the house on Ponchartrain, and Maria was sent to him as a possible housekeeper. It had taken him all of five minutes to realize she was better educated than the agency realized, and far more talented. Twenty minutes after she had left the initial interview, and two discreet telephone calls later, Pendergast had discovered she had trained at the Sarbonne and worked in some of the finest resort restaurants in Mexico before her marriage. After her divorce, she had moved to New Orleans with her older brother’s family, changed her name, and begun working as a domestic. Pendergast had only wondered at that turn of events until he’d run a check on the ex-husband.

Finally, he raised both hands in a placating gesture. “Maria, Maria, calm yourself. All will be well.”

As his soft voice penetrated her frantic thoughts, Maria turned to look at him. “How can you say that? You have no idea what you have done!” Her voice rose to a shriek of rage, and she began to tremble with fear and fury. This time, he had gone too far!

Pendergast smiled gently. “Why, I know precisely what I have done. You need to calm down before you wear a tread in the carpet. Thankfully, Mother had put it in storage up river before the fire. It’s been in my family for three generations.” He stood and walked around the desk to lounge against the front. He looked down at the pattern of roses mingling with geometric designs. “Lovely, isn’t it? And so well preserved. I believe she had it wrapped it in plastic before she sent it away.”

Maria was slowly getting past her fear. The anger was beginning to swamp any other feelings she might have had. “You have gotten me killed.” A tear escaped her eye and ran down her cheek. “You have killed my children as well. Bastard.”

Pendergast looked up at her, his gaze strikingly clear. For a moment, Maria felt the fear return. He had never looked at her quite so... perceptively as that before. It was as if he could see all the way into the depths of her soul. She began to wonder if the rumors she had heard were true; rumors of dark deals with the devil, madness and evil in his blood. Tia Clarita had been in New Orleans when the old house was burned. She told how the mob had cried for blood, blood to pay for blood spilt, torchlight gleaming against the windows as the Old Pendergast and his wife were dragged out of the house. This Pendergast had been a boy then. He had not even been there that night. Maria wondered how he could take up his life here again after all that, what made him different. She returned his gaze, eye to eye, and tried to see into him as he was seeing into her, but in the next instant, he dropped her gaze and turned away.

“No, Maria,” he sighed. “Yours weren’t the only tickets I cancelled. Unfortunately, there is a gentleman in Caracas who will discover that, not only has his flight been cancelled, but he himself will be...cancelled.” Maria stood still as the final rays of the sun caressed his translucent skin, turning the white flesh a rich, golden color. “I’m afraid that there were others who were seeking him as well, and when I put the tracer on his financials...” he gave a small shrug, ”As to that, I am able to do nothing. I am afraid he would not listen to me if I sent him a missive warning him to remain out of sight. I guess he’s missed you.” He slid a sideways glance at Maria, who remained still.

“Twice.” Maria whispered. “Once the night before I left Venezuela, and then again in New York.” Her mind felt frozen. Marco? Dead? Too good to be true. Then again, if anyone could manage it, it would be Señor Pendergast. He was a magician, if not a sorcerer. It would have amazed her that he knew about her past, about Marco. But Señor was FBI. He probably knew what color underwear she had on, Maria thought through her daze.

Pendergast regarded her from the corner of his eyes. “You understand, Maria, I did not mean for him to catch the attention of others. I only wanted to keep track of him, make certain he stayed where he was.” He shifted slightly. “As my employee, I feel it is my duty to protect your physical safety from any danger that may arise from my...profession. It seemed only right I should use my position to make certain you were safe from other dangers as well.”

Maria unfroze, sucked in a deep breath, ran her hands over her face finally resting them in an attitude of prayer against her lips. “How will I know, if he...” she ran out of words.

Pendergast turned his head to face her and crossed his arms across his chest. “I’ll know by Monday.” His voice was softer, his accent less noticeable. He looked slightly abashed by what he had wrought. Maria felt an impulse to reach out and touch his arm, but restrained herself. He paid far too well.

“You’ll let me know?” He nodded so slightly she almost didn’t realize it was a nod. “Alright then. I suppose I won’t have to hand in my notice tonight then.” Maria was dazed. Her whole world had changed so suddenly, it left her feeling as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff.

Pendergast smiled, “I do hope you’ll stay. I cannot abide the notion of going through another round of interviews.” He stood away from the desk. “And I just know they will never send another applicant who can get the same silky quality to their Hollandaise as you do.” Pendergast rounded the desk. “Bye the bye, I understand it is your eldest’s Quinceanera this Sunday.” He opened the top drawer and removed an envelope. He handed it to Maria, saying, “Please wish her my best.”

Maria took the envelope and stared at it, as if that would make it, and the past ten minutes, make any more sense than they already did.

“You did not have to...”

“Yes, I know.” He smiled again, and this time there was a melancholy aspect to the expression. “And that’s why I must.”

Maria looked up at him again, confusion wrinkling her forehead. Pride almost made her force the envelope back into his hands, but then she reconsidered. It was for Sandra to decide if she wanted the gift or not. Maria nodded slowly and tucked the envelope into her apron pocket.

“Thank you, Señor. I will give it to Sandra. I’m sure she will be very pleased.” Still rather dazed, she started to turn toward the door when Pendergast’s soft voice called her back. He was half-bent at the waist as if trying not to loom over Maria, who was at least a foot shorter than her employer.

“You will, I’m sure, wish her many happy returns for me as well.” He gave a small smile. “Tell her that whatever she chooses to do with the gift, she should...follow her better self.”

Maria half-smiled at Pendergast, confusion still written across her features. But Pendergast felt some small relief to notice the hope that was beginning to bloom behind her dark eyes.

“Yes. I’m sure she will. Sandra is a very good girl.” Maria’s smile grew wider as she contemplated her eldest. “She wants to be a nurse. I think she would make a very fine nurse.”

Pendergast straightened to his full height. “I’m certain she shall, in due time, be a fine nurse. Perhaps, if my work continues to be as...interesting as it has of late, she will even attend my bedside one day.” He smiled ruefully up at Maria as he folded himself gently into the chair. “In that case, perhaps you should apologize for me now; I am not a ‘good’ patient. Not at all.”

Maria smiled and exhaled a small laugh. “Now why, Señor, does that not surprise me?”

Pendergast smiled, and handed a small piece of paper to Maria from the pile atop his desk. “I think, this weekend, I shall take my meals out. That way I can save the lovely roast with garlic, leeks and shallots you have marinating in the refrigerator for Monday. And you can have an extra day off—it’s not every day one’s eldest daughter turns 15 now, is it?” Maria took the paper from his hands and saw it was a grocery list. “So I’ve also taken the liberty of planning all of next week’s meals—that way you won’t need to think about work all weekend long.” He folded his long, pale hands together. With a slight sideways glance at the cabinet clock that stood in the corner, he said, “Oh, my, would you look at the time? I have most impolitely detained you. Please be certain to remind me before the next pay that you have accrued an extra hour.” He pulled a folder out of the pile of manila on the upper corner of the desk. “Have a good evening, Maria. And all the best for this weekend.”

Maria finally turned and walked slowly out of the library as Pendergast’s pale head bent over the papers on his blotter. Her daze didn’t fully lift until she got to the servant’s pantry where she kept her purse. Marco. Dead. Finally. Her heart soared, and she almost skipped out the door and down the walkway to her car. Proctor, the chauffeur, was in the large garage polishing the Rolls. He looked up and raised his eyebrows as Maria walked past humming a happy tune and waved at him. She smiled widely as she called out, “Have a nice weekend, Proctor. Don’t let him boss you around too much!”

She got into her small car, buckled her seat belt and then sat for a moment, smiling into the sunset. Thanks to Mr. Pendergast, it felt as if an enormous weight had lifted off her shoulders. Her far too thin shoulders, Maria thought. I wonder if Tia would mind too terribly if we made a larger batch of tamale this weekend, she mused, they sound delicious right now...



Pendergast sat back at his desk as the door swung shut behind Maria. He watched the lights on the panel under his desk. The panel was linked by a series of motion detectors to all the rooms in the house so that Pendergast would know precisely when Maria left the house. He saw the servant’s pantry lights go off, and electronically shot the bolts to the door. Alone at last, he thought.

He rose from behind the desk and walked over to a section of shelving that looked much like all the other sections of shelving. Until he pulled, that is, and it swung out into the room on silent hinges. Behind the door lay a pair of padded slippers, black, and a velour robe, also black, with the monogram AXLP on the left breast in gold thread. He slipped out of his dress shoes and into the slippers, and slung the robe around his shoulders. Closing the door, he turned to face the wall across from the chair he’d been sitting in earlier. A good half of the wall was taken up by floor to ceiling windows of clear glass, the better to enjoy the grand view over the lake. In the center of the wall, however, there was a large painting of a foxhunt done in the baroque style in a large, ornate and heavy frame.

Pendergast smiled and crossed to the painting. Grasping both sides of the frame in his hands, he hefted the painting off the wall and set it to the side to reveal a flat-screen plasma television. He pulled the remote control out of his robe pocket as he went to the chair and pulled up the footstool hidden behind it. A notebook and pen were in his other pocket as he tuned the television to the local CBS affiliate. Wheel of Fortune’s graphics began their kaleidoscopic whirl across the screen as Pendergast sank into the custom upholstered comfort of his chair. Pat Sajak began introducing this evening’s guests as Pendergast popped the top off the box of chocolates, and started taking notes. Mandi, with an I, from Des Moines. A little overexcited, but a good prospect to win this match. Dennis, a stockbroker from San Francisco. He probably brought a ‘good friend’ to the taping. Not that that really mattered to Pendergast. Oh. Sheila. A screamer and overall very loud player. Too aggressive. It was going to be a race between Mandi with an I and Dennis, Pendergast could tell. The producers didn’t generally give a lot of airtime to the loud players. It was quite obvious to anyone who watched the show with any regularity that the producers controlled the wheel. Sometimes it stopped so suddenly it was a wonder the players themselves didn’t cry foul...

As the sun sank into the peaceful waters of Lake Ponchartrain, Pendergast began his nightly ritual of watching Wheel and sussing out the psychologies of the players. It really was the only reason to watch the silly show.

And Dennis had brought his ‘good friend’ Brian with him. It quite warmed Pendergast’s heart when they embraced after Dennis won the $100,000 in the bonus round. It was ever so gratifying to see happy couples.

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