Swallowing hard, she glanced back toward the house. A servant came out of the kitchen with a covered tray—a large tray. Isabeau turned back toward Alberto, took a step and gave a little hop, as if she had a pebble in her shoe. Instantly, Conner was there, allowing her to use his body to hold on to while she removed her shoe.

“I think she’s taking food to the children,” she murmured low, and then aloud, “thank you.” She left his side without looking at him to crouch beside what amounted to a field of bird of paradise. “Alberto, these are amazing. I’ve never seen so many together like this.” It was important to keep them where Conner could follow the progress of the female with the tray.

Harry rolled Alberto’s chair back to her as Conner moved away from her, into a position better suited to watch their surroundings, supposedly for any threats, in reality to follow the progress of the servant.

“This is the best soil,” Alberto said, bending to scoop some of the rich dirt into his palm. “Right behind the kitchen, I have an entire bed devoted to herbs, so the chef always has fresh herbs. We have a vegetable garden just over there, inside that building. I can’t grow vegetables very successfully out in the open because of the insects. They eat everything before we have a chance to harvest, so we built a greenhouse.”

Isabeau glanced in the direction he pointed to see the servant with the tray through the glass walls disappearing into a jungle of green foliage. Her heart jumped. “That’s an enormous greenhouse. Is it hydroponic or did you use soil beds?” She made the interest in her voice plain. Either the servant was taking a shortcut through the greenhouse to get to the children or they were in that very large building.

“Soil beds. I’m old-fashioned. The joy for me is in working with my hands,” Alberto explained. “I doubt I’d get the same satisfaction from any other way of growing plants.” He straightened and dusted off his hands, before turning them over and over for her to see. “I’ve worked with the soil all my life.”

“Then you couldn’t fail to notice the insects in Sobre’s garden,” Isabeau said. “You knew he buried bodies there.” She removed her dark glasses and stared him down. “You knew I’d recognize the signs.”

He had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry, my dear. Your knowledge of plants and soil was such an asset. I should never have put you in such a position. I didn’t count on putting you in danger. I thought you’d scream and the guests would all come running. Philip’s dark secret would be out and it would put a stop to the killings once and for all.”

“That’s why you wanted me to explore on my own. You didn’t want it to look like you were leading me to the bodies.”

He shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t do at all.”

She took a few steps in the direction of the greenhouse, trying to lead them in that direction. It enabled Conner to have an excuse to get closer and allowed them to see more of the insides of the buildings, although the plants were so overgrown it was difficult. “Did your granddaughter have anything to do with those bodies?”

“Imelda?” Alberto looked shocked. “Of course not. How could you think such a thing?”

She inhaled. Her cat snarled and her heart sank. He was lying. He looked so innocent sitting there in his chair, but he was lying to her. She took a breath, let it out and tried again. “You then?” This time she put a little disbelief in her voice. “Did you have anything to do with those bodies?”

His hand fluttered against his heart. He gasped. Wheezed. Harry bent over him solicitously, but Alberto gallantly waved him away. “Me? How would I be able to do such a thing? No, Isabeau, it certainly wasn’t me. Philip Sobre needed to be stopped and you managed to do it by telling your family.”

He was lying about the bodies. He not only had known about them, but some of the dead belonged to him. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, the blood roaring in her ears. This beautiful garden most likely hosted many bodies as well. Adan had once told her that those who worked for Imelda rarely—if ever—left the compound. He’d meant that literally. Once a servant for the Cortez family, you lived your life here. And you died here. The money earned could be sent to family, which was why many did it, but their families never saw them again.

“Why did you want me to find the bodies instead of just telling the cops your suspicions?” Isabeau asked. “Perhaps you could have stopped him sooner.”

Alberto shook his head, the picture of sorrow and guilt. “I could not. I couldn’t take a chance on our family name being involved in any way. You understand with your family.”

She frowned at him. “It was pretty ugly to make that kind of discovery.”

“I know. I’m sincerely sorry.”

If she hadn’t been leopard, she would have believed him. He was one of the best actors she’d ever run across. He delivered his lines with absolute sincerity and looked so sad and guilty she had the urge to reassure him even though she knew he was lying. She sighed. “What else can I do but forgive you? At least he’s been discovered, although what a horrible way to die.”

“Thinking of all those young girls and their families,” Alberto said, “I can’t say I’m surprised. And all the times he went out with Imelda . . .” He shuddered. “It could have happened to her.”

Isabeau found she couldn’t speak, so simply nodded, trying to look understanding. She suddenly realized why the old man had taken such an interest in her. She was their leverage, their hostage. She had been a hostage at the party and she was now. They hadn’t been able to keep Elijah from sending a bodyguard with her this time, but she was, in effect, the Cortez’s prisoner. They could kill her at any time if Elijah or Marcos made a hostile move.