she returned from her vacation with her family in Mexico, Margie Newberry, the Camerons’ next door neighbor, called around on her behalf, finally securing her a position with a family in Paradise Valley, an even more upscale community west of Scottsdale. Armetta Zielsdorf, her new employer, had graciously given her permission to speak to me, even though it meant Mrs. Zielsdorf would have to prepare lunch for herself, her four children, and three visiting friends. Judging from the burnt smells emanating from the kitchen, Mrs. Zielsdorf wasn’t much of a cook.
Driven out of the house by the stench, Eldora and I sat on the back patio, overlooking Camelback Mountain and the one hundred foot-high rock formation called the Praying Monk. The day’s heat hadn’t climbed to its peak yet, and an updraft from the canyon below kept the temperature bearable. Over glasses of iced tea, Eldora told me her story.
After being widowed, she came north—legally, she stressed—to find a job so she could send money home to her children and her mother and father, who were caring for them. Several stints as a hotel maid later, she wound up with the Camerons, where she stayed for twelve years, until their deaths. According to her, the Camerons had been the perfect employers and both children were utterly delightful.
“Even Ali?”
Eldora avoided looking at me by turning slightly so that she faced the Praying Monk. He perched so tenuously on the face of the mountain that it looked like he was about to tumble down to the street below. “Miss Ali a nice girl. Not kill her parents.”
“Look at me, Eldora.”
She turned back, but her eyes still wouldn’t meet mine. Somewhere in her fifties, Eldora’s hair was long, streaked with gray, and braided into one long plait down her back. Her short-nailed fingers fluttered nervously on the table’s surface.
“Nice girl. Very nice.”
Eldora wasn’t in denial about Ali and any misbehavior problems the girl might have had; her hesitancy came from the fact that maids who tell tales soon found themselves out of a job. The trick here would be to ease her past that concern.
“The Zielsdorfs seem like nice people, too,” I said. “It was understanding of them to give you this time off. Especially at lunchtime, when they have company.”
“Nice people. Very understanding. Miss Armetta driving me to funeral, too.” Her dark brown eyes flickered back to the Praying Monk.
“That is nice. Is your room here nice?”
“Very nice. Very pretty.”
“Do you have a television set, like at the Camerons’?”
“Big TV. Very nice.”
Time to shift back to the subject. “Was little Alec Cameron nice?”
Her lower lip trembled. “Sweet boy. Very nice.”
“So Ali and Alec were both nice children.”
She nodded furiously. ‘Oh, yes, yes.”
“Neither of them ever gave you any trouble?”
“Mister Alec was a good boy. Smart, too. Wanted to be astronaut.” The tremble increased. She had loved Alec.
“How about Ali?”
The tremble stopped. “Nice girl. No trouble.”
Judging from her reaction, Alec had been the easier child. No big surprise there since Ali was fourteen, and subject to all the hormonal craziness that arrived with puberty.
“Did you ever see Ali hit her mother or father? Or Alec?”
Alarmed, she looked straight at me. “Miss Ali never hit anyone!”
“But there was some trouble, right?”
A pause, then a hesitant nod. “Over boy. Miss Alexandra wanted her not see boy so much. Said she was too young to be serious like that.”
I wondered if Alexandra had suspected the duo’s runaway plans. “Was there a fight? I mean, an argument?”
A hawk called out somewhere down in the canyon. Another answered back. Looking out from this vantage point, we could have been in the wilderness, but the steady sound of traffic on the street on the other side of the house gave the lie to that. We were in the middle of the city.
“Eldora? Was there an argument over that boy?
Driven out of the house by the stench, Eldora and I sat on the back patio, overlooking Camelback Mountain and the one hundred foot-high rock formation called the Praying Monk. The day’s heat hadn’t climbed to its peak yet, and an updraft from the canyon below kept the temperature bearable. Over glasses of iced tea, Eldora told me her story.
After being widowed, she came north—legally, she stressed—to find a job so she could send money home to her children and her mother and father, who were caring for them. Several stints as a hotel maid later, she wound up with the Camerons, where she stayed for twelve years, until their deaths. According to her, the Camerons had been the perfect employers and both children were utterly delightful.
“Even Ali?”
Eldora avoided looking at me by turning slightly so that she faced the Praying Monk. He perched so tenuously on the face of the mountain that it looked like he was about to tumble down to the street below. “Miss Ali a nice girl. Not kill her parents.”
“Look at me, Eldora.”
She turned back, but her eyes still wouldn’t meet mine. Somewhere in her fifties, Eldora’s hair was long, streaked with gray, and braided into one long plait down her back. Her short-nailed fingers fluttered nervously on the table’s surface.
“Nice girl. Very nice.”
Eldora wasn’t in denial about Ali and any misbehavior problems the girl might have had; her hesitancy came from the fact that maids who tell tales soon found themselves out of a job. The trick here would be to ease her past that concern.
“The Zielsdorfs seem like nice people, too,” I said. “It was understanding of them to give you this time off. Especially at lunchtime, when they have company.”
“Nice people. Very understanding. Miss Armetta driving me to funeral, too.” Her dark brown eyes flickered back to the Praying Monk.
“That is nice. Is your room here nice?”
“Very nice. Very pretty.”
“Do you have a television set, like at the Camerons’?”
“Big TV. Very nice.”
Time to shift back to the subject. “Was little Alec Cameron nice?”
Her lower lip trembled. “Sweet boy. Very nice.”
“So Ali and Alec were both nice children.”
She nodded furiously. ‘Oh, yes, yes.”
“Neither of them ever gave you any trouble?”
“Mister Alec was a good boy. Smart, too. Wanted to be astronaut.” The tremble increased. She had loved Alec.
“How about Ali?”
The tremble stopped. “Nice girl. No trouble.”
Judging from her reaction, Alec had been the easier child. No big surprise there since Ali was fourteen, and subject to all the hormonal craziness that arrived with puberty.
“Did you ever see Ali hit her mother or father? Or Alec?”
Alarmed, she looked straight at me. “Miss Ali never hit anyone!”
“But there was some trouble, right?”
A pause, then a hesitant nod. “Over boy. Miss Alexandra wanted her not see boy so much. Said she was too young to be serious like that.”
I wondered if Alexandra had suspected the duo’s runaway plans. “Was there a fight? I mean, an argument?”
A hawk called out somewhere down in the canyon. Another answered back. Looking out from this vantage point, we could have been in the wilderness, but the steady sound of traffic on the street on the other side of the house gave the lie to that. We were in the middle of the city.
“Eldora? Was there an argument over that boy?
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