Mendez let her prattle on about how she had fired the carpenters halfway through the project because they had paneled the study in pine with knots when she had specifically told them over and over that she wanted clear pine. The carpenters had probably wanted to put her in a pine box by that point, Mendez thought.

His mother would have told him to be kind. Despite Milo Bordain’s snobby character, she was nervous and upset. It made her feel a sense of control to divert the conversation off the main track to more mundane territory—and clearly, control was Milo Bordain’s thing. She was a woman used to being in charge and telling other people what to do.

Eventually he brought her back on topic. “Did she ever talk to you about Haley’s father?”

“No. I suspected he was abusive, and that was why she came to California, and why she didn’t talk about him.”

“But she never told you that,” Hicks said.

“No.”

“Had she seemed nervous lately?” Dixon asked. “Distracted? Upset?”

“No. Marissa was very self-possessed.”

“She didn’t mention having a problem with anyone?”

“Nothing she couldn’t handle.”

“What does that mean?” Mendez asked.

“It’s nothing, I’m sure,” she said. “She had complained to me about that strange neighbor of hers. He’s a professor at the college. I don’t know why they keep him. The man has something wrong with him. People pay a lot of money to send their children to that school. My husband sits on the board. I’ve told him several times he should get this taken care of.”

“What did Ms. Fordham say about him?” Mendez said.

“Well,” she said, avoiding his eyes, “that he was strange and made her uncomfortable. You should be questioning him.”

Undoubtedly, Zahn made Mrs. Bordain uncomfortable, Mendez thought. Everyone they had spoken to had told them Marissa Fordham was perfectly at ease with her strange admirer.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “We’ve already spoken with Dr. Zahn.”

“And?”

“Do you know if Marissa was dating anyone in particular?”

“You didn’t answer my question, Detective.”

“I’m not going to.”

“What Detective Mendez means to say,” Dixon explained, shooting Mendez a hard glance, “is that he isn’t at liberty to comment on an active investigation.”

Bordain was offended. “I consider Marissa and Haley family. I should be kept informed about the investigation. Especially now that—that—box—”

She went pale again and pressed a hand to her mouth. Tears rose up in her eyes.

“I could be a target,” she said, agitated. “You said so yourselves. Marissa could have been murdered to get to me.”

“Why would you think that?” Mendez asked, almost laughing at the absurdity of her statement. Marissa Fordham had been stabbed dozens of times and nearly decapitated, and Milo Bordain thought that was somehow all about her. Unbelievable.