She met his gaze and saw that he was eyeing her clothing just like she’d eyed his.
His brows rose. “Morning, Ms. Kirkland. I didn’t mean to get you out of bed.”
Victoria’s hand tightened at her neck. “How…what…how did you get up here?”
He held up a plastic card. “Master. From the manager.” Was that a twinkle in his eye? It couldn’t have been. Brody’s dark eyes weren’t the twinkling kind.
“Mark Patterson is not supposed to give anyone access to the penthouse.”
Brody didn’t comment.
She narrowed her gaze suspiciously. “I wasn’t in bed. I’m being deluged with phone calls. Apparently everyone in San Antonio knows about last night.”
“Deluged?”
Dear heavens, it was a twinkle. Victoria felt her chest tighten in anger. He thought she was funny?
She propped her fists on her hips, then noticed what that did to her kimono. So she wrapped it around her again and crossed her arms tightly. “Two people have called already and now you’re here.”
“I see what you mean by deluged.”
He nodded solemnly, but Victoria knew sarcasm when she heard it. She ignored it. “I thought the media had to have permission to use victims’ names.”
“You’re the attorney. You ought to know.”
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
“I’m canvassing the tenants about their access cards. Whoever attacked you must have had a card, because there was no unauthorized access. No breach of the system, either.”
“Well, that should be easy. Who used their cards last night?”
“I’m waiting for the manager to get me a printout.”
“So you want to see my card?”
“Thought I’d start at the top.”
“Could you give me a minute to dress?”
His gaze flickered. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll go back down to the lobby and wait.”
“Come inside, Lieutenant. There’s no reason for you to wait downstairs.” She excused herself and went upstairs for the first time since the police had left the night before. Her bedroom was still a wreck from the CSIs.
Victoria dressed quickly, averting her eyes from the stripped bed, the misarranged furniture and the fine film of fingerprint dust that covered every surface.
When she came back down, Brody wasn’t in the foyer and the elevator doors were closed. Had he left? Gone down to the lobby to wait, after all?
“Lieutenant?” she called, suddenly nervous. The penthouse was huge, ridiculously large for one person. For the first time since she’d moved in she felt small and vulnerable. “Lieutenant? Brody?”
“In here.”
The kitchen. She followed his voice across the quarry tile to the open door that led into her walk-in pantry, laundry room and trash bin. Brody was examining the door to the hallway.
“I wanted to see where the perp got in.”
“That’s the fire-escape door. The stairs are just to the left.”
“And your penthouse card works in this door, too. My master does.”
“Yes.”
“Who comes in this way?”
“No one.”
“How do you handle trash, recycling, laundry?”
“I set the trash and the recycling out this door and Maintenance picks it up. I do my own laundry.”
“Where do the stairs go?”
“All the way down to the basement, I think. But Maintenance takes the elevator to the third floor, then walks up the fire stairs. They never come inside.”
“Maintenance doesn’t have a card for the penthouse?”
“No. That’s why I put my trash out myself.”
He gave her a hard look, then went back to studying the door. “There’s no sign of forced entry. The perp had to have a master card or one that accesses the penthouse.”
“I have never given anyone a card,” she said sharply.
Brody took a pen-size flashlight out of his pocket and examined the door. “What about these dead bolts? They look like the original locks.”
“They are. These condos were built in the late seventies. That’s why there’s a guardhouse. The guard would operate the gate to let the tenants in.”
“Do you have a key to the dead bolt?”
“Yes, but I think I’m the only one.”
“The only one. Why’s that?”
“Well, other than the staff. I’ve never paid much attention. But it seems like I’ve heard the housekeepers rattling keys.”
“So if the staff have a key, how can you be sure they don’t come in?”
“They’d have to use the card and the key to get into the penthouse. This is the only apartment that requires an electronic card to get in.”
“What about the other tenants? Zelke, Briggs?”
Victoria shook her head. “Their cards are for the gate and the lobby door. Oh, and their keys didn’t fit each other’s locks.”
“How do you know that?”
“They told me. Because they were guys, they tried the keys.”
Brody pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Somebody dropped the ball on the keys. The manager should have told me about them, or the homeowners’ association. Somebody I’ve talked to had to have known about the keys. Either they’re too dumb to know how important those keys are, or they’re protecting someone.”
As he spoke, Victoria remembered playing with a ring of keys on the floor of her grandfather’s house.
I built you the biggest house in the world, Toto, and when you grow up, you’ll live there like a princess in an ivory tower.
Thinking about her grandfather made her sad. Thinking about the ivory tower made her shiver.
She took a deep breath. “Well, the answer is ‘too dumb to know how important they are.’”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s me. I know about the keys. Until you asked about them I hadn’t thought about them in years.”
“Years? What are you talking about?”
Victoria nodded. “My grandpa designed and built Cantara Gardens.”
“Your grandfather?” Brody’s tone dripped with exasperation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t think about it. That was more than twenty-five years ago. I was in preschool, or grade school.”
She knew she sounded defensive. She was. This…Ranger, with his hot intensity and unbending attitude, expected everyone to be as single-minded and passionate as he was. Not that she could blame him. His little sister, his only family, was dead, and the killer lived somewhere in Cantara Hills.
“So your grandfather owns the condos? I guess it’s easy to see how you could forget that your grandfather is probably the one person who could tell us who has keys.