“I’m a wealthy woman. My husband is an important man. My son has a big political career in front of him. People are jealous. Marissa was important to me—”

“Has anyone threatened you directly?” Dixon asked.

“Well, no, but—”

“It’s not about you, ma’am,” Mendez said bluntly.

She looked to Dixon again for interpretation.

“Most crime is pretty straightforward,” Dixon explained. “Most people are murdered because somebody wants them dead. Conspiracies only happen on television.”

“Most people don’t get a box like that in the mail,” she returned.

“Can you think of anyone in your life who might want to kill you, ma’am?” Hicks asked.

“No! I don’t have any enemies.”

“We’ll start with your friends, then,” Mendez said.

Bordain turned to Dixon again. “What does he mean?”

“Most people are murdered by people close to them,” Mendez explained, irritated that she kept turning to his boss, as if he weren’t speaking English and she needed a translator. “We’ll start by interviewing your husband. Did he know Ms. Fordham?”

“Is he trying to be amusing?” she asked Dixon.

Dixon shot him another glare. “There’s nothing amusing about Detective Mendez.”

“Where was your husband over the weekend?” Mendez pressed on.

“He’s been in Las Vegas on business since Friday.”

“He’s still there?” Hicks asked. “Have you told him about Ms. Fordham’s murder?”

“Yes, of course. But there wasn’t any point in him coming back. He had important meetings to attend. He’s flying into Santa Barbara tonight. He’ll go to the Montecito house.”

Mendez arched an eyebrow and made a few notes. “Even after you tell him about the box? Even if you tell him you think your life might be in danger?”

“If I ask him to come here, he’ll come here,” she said defensively. “I called my son. He should be here shortly.”

“Your son’s name?” Mendez asked.

“Darren Bordain.”

“What does he do?” he asked just to insult her. He knew who Darren Bordain was. He just wanted Milo Bordain to realize not everybody gave a rat’s ass.

She huffed a sigh. “Darren runs our Mercedes dealerships. He stars in all the commercials.”

“I don’t drive a Mercedes,” Mendez said. “Did your son know Ms. Fordham?”

“Of course he did. Darren is also very involved in state politics. He’s going to be governor one day.”

“Were they friends?” Mendez asked. “More than friends?”

“They were acquaintances.” She turned to Dixon. “Is this really necessary? My son had nothing to do with Marissa.”

“We’ll need to speak with him,” Mendez said. “And we’ll need to have you come into the sheriff’s office so we can take your fingerprints.”

“My fingerprints?!” she said, shocked.

“For elimination purposes,” Dixon explained. “Your prints will be on the box.”

“I was wearing gloves when I handled it.”