like Ignacio, had married a beautiful African-American woman.
Ignacio’s piercing whiskey-colored eyes settled unerringly on Paulo. When he spoke, his voice was a deep, rich baritone that resonated with authority. “Good, you’re here. Now we can start getting some answers.”
Paulo grimaced. “You know I can only tell you guys so much without compromising the investigation.”
“We understand,” Naomi said, tucking her arm companionably through Paulo’s. “Let’s talk in the living room. Would you like something to drink? I could ask Lydia to bring you some coffee or sweet tea.”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. And if I change my mind, I know where the kitchen is.”
Naomi returned Paulo’s smile as they followed Ignacio from the foyer.
New visitors to the house always remarked on the sheer elegance of the furnishings. The formal living room was a decorator’s dream, with its coffered ceiling, beautiful crown molding, priceless antiques, original artwork, and plush oriental carpeting. A cozy fire crackled in the marble fireplace, and on the wall above the mantel were family photographs framed in gold leaf.
Paulo wandered over, absently studying the familiar gallery of photos. His lips quirked at a picture of him and Rafe dressed in their Little League uniforms and sporting wide, gap-toothed grins as they stood with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. There were the obligatory portrait-studio photos, Ignacio and Naomi flanking their four young children against an innocuous muslin backdrop or an artificial scene from nature. In the updated versions Angela, Rebecca, and Rafe posed with their own spouses and adorable offspring. There was a shot of Daniela, the youngest of the Santiago siblings, beaming radiantly after being crowned Miss Houston ten years ago.
It was obvious to anyone looking at the collection of photographs that Ignacio and Naomi Santiago cherished their loved ones. Together they’d built a multimillion-dollar corporation that boasted a family-friendly culture, a rarity among high-powered law firms. They genuinely believed in taking care of their employees, treating them like members of the family. Which was why Maribel Cruz’s death had come as such a devastating shock.
“We couldn’t believe it when Ted Colston called to tell us what had happened,” Naomi said, echoing Paulo’s thoughts. “Apparently he was the first person Kathleen Phillips contacted after calling 911. Ted said she was so hysterical he could hardly understand what she was saying. That poor girl.”
“Ted Colston was Maribel’s supervisor,” Ignacio supplied, seated beside his wife on the antique sofa. “He’s a partner at the firm.”
Paulo nodded. He’d already gleaned as much from Kathleen Phillips. “I’ll need to speak to him, as well as Maribel’s other coworkers.”
“Of course,” Ignacio said. “We’ll make everyone available for questioning tomorrow. You can come to the office in the morning and use one of the conference rooms for interviews.”
“Thanks. That’d be great.” Paulo walked over and sat down in an adjacent armchair. “I know you both make a point of getting to know as many of your employees as possible. What can you tell me about Maribel Cruz? How well did you know her?”
“Fairly well,” Naomi answered. “As you may remember, I’m very involved in the hiring of professional staff at the firm. Three years ago I had the pleasure of interviewing Maribel as one of three finalists for the secretarial position in our labor and employment law division. I was very impressed with her, which is why we hired her. She was intelligent and dependable, a consummate professional. Ted Colston never had any complaints about her—nor did anyone else, for that matter.”
Paulo nodded. “I remember meeting her at the fund-raiser dinner two years ago.”
“That’s right. You were there.” Naomi smiled sadly. “I was secretly hoping that you and Maribel would hit it off that night. She was such a nice young lady, and I thought you two might make a great couple.”
“Really?” Paulo was surprised by the admission. “You made me promise to be on my best behavior.”
“Because I didn’t want you to be so busy flirting with other women that you’d completely overlook Maribel. She was beautiful, but she didn’t advertise her assets the way some women do. You know the ones I’m talking about.”
Paulo chuckled dryly. “The ones I’m usually attracted to, you mean.”
“Well, yes, now that you mention it.” Naomi smiled softly. “Maribel wasn’t like that. She was modest, and painfully shy when it came to men.”
Paulo thought about the way Maribel had flirted boldly with him that evening, and decided not to contradict his cousin’s opinion.
“Anyway, I guess Maribel wasn’t your type,” Naomi continued, a hint of reproach in her voice. “Afterward, when I casually asked her what she’d thought of you, she said you were a hunk, but you didn’t seem particularly interested in her.” She gave an elegant shrug. “I decided not to push the issue.”
Ignacio shook his head, smiling wryly at Paulo. “She’s conveniently forgetting the part where I told her not to meddle in your love life.”
Naomi snorted. “Since when has that ever stopped me?”
Ignacio and Paulo laughed. The Santiago women had been plotting to find the perfect mate for Paulo for as long as he could remember. In the wake of his bitter divorce they’d intensified their efforts, introducing him to a slew of friends, coworkers, clients’ daughters and nieces, even “smart, attractive” women they’d met and chatted up at the hair salon. To date, their matchmaking campaign had been unsuccessful. Paulo wasn’t interested in a relationship, and he was perfectly capable of finding his own bedmates.
Unbidden, an image of Tommie Purnell flashed through his mind. He wondered what his family would think of her. Would Naomi regard Tommie as one of those women who shamelessly “advertised” her assets? Would Angela, Rebecca, and Daniela have anything in common with her?
Paulo scowled at the direction of his thoughts. Why the hell should he care what his family thought of Tommie? It wasn’t as if he intended to introduce her to them. Not in this lifetime.
Giving himself a hard mental shake, Paulo returned to the matter at hand. “I understand Maribel was originally from Brownsville.”
“That’s right,” Ignacio confirmed. “She left home to attend college in San Antonio. She—”
“Maribel lived in San Antonio?” Paulo interrupted.
“Yes. She attended St. Mary’s University. After graduation she went to work for Crandall Thorne. You’ve probably heard of him before—”
“Big-time criminal defense attorney? Yeah, I’ve heard of him. His son, Caleb, is married to a friend of mine’s sister.”
“What a small world,” Naomi remarked.
“You can say that again,” Paulo murmured. “So Maribel worked at Thorne’s law firm?”
“For two years,” Ignacio replied. “She liked it there, but she was unhappy
