Page 55 of A Thin Line

But he didn’t.

As I made my way toward the east wing, I paused at the rear east hallway. Sinclair’s office was right there, the first door on the left. And he wasn’t here. I really wanted to sneak in there—not to borrow the keys now but just to confirm their location.

I stood there for the longest time, debating with myself—but I managed to listen to reason. There would come the perfect time, but this wasn’t it. And, as I slowly walked toward the gallery, I reminded myself that I didn’t necessarily need them—unless I wanted to look inside Sinclair’s bedroom. My face flushed at the thought before reminding myself what I really wanted to do.

I wanted to know why the second floor of the east wing was off limits—and I didn’t necessarily need keys for that. Again, I was tempted to sneak over there…but not now.

I would do it when the time was right.

Tuesday morning was just like Saturday and Sunday had been, except for the reminder to myself that I’d now been here an entire week. Only nine years and fifty-one weeks to go.

And, of course, it was a work day.

Having been here seven days, though, I had a handle on the pattern of the week. The cleaning ladies had been there the day before and they’d even touched up my room, changing the sheets, dusting, and cleaning the bathroom. When I spied one of them in the hallway, I was impressed at how quickly she moved, as if she were on a skateboard.

I’d also received my timesheet, a simple piece of paper printed with columns I had to write in: time in, time out, lunch break; tasks accomplished; various notes. I had to remember to record everything. It was now on the clipboard downstairs so I hoped I wouldn’t forget. And, because I didn’t fully trust my so-called employer, I planned on taking a picture every week before turning it in.

I headed down to the kitchen. Sinclair, like always on weekdays, was wearing a sharp suit, but he was over at the counter. When I came in, I asked, “Where’s Edna?”

“Today’s her birthday. I always let her have her birthday off.”

As I pulled a mug out of the cabinet, I caught a whiff of that tempting cologne he wore and tried to ignore how it made me feel. “That’s so sweet.”

His grumble was barely audible, but there was no way I could have missed it. “It’s not. It’s just practical. If you give your employees little things that feel like perks, you earn their loyalty and willingness to give it their all.”

Pouring my coffee, I grinned because he was splitting hairs. There may have been a practical reason, but I also knew about his relationship with Edna and imagined he’d done it for more than just pragmatic purposes. “Call it what you will, but I know Edna would also think it was sweet.”

The way he scowled at me made my entire core clench—so I focused on pouring cream in my coffee. When Edna wasn’t here, we pulled it out of the fridge rather than pouring it from a silver pitcher. Sinclair took his plate and coffee over to the table and, when he asked, his question was quite unexpected. “When is your birthday? I might have to give you the same bonus.”

“It’s not till June.” When I found a grapefruit in the refrigerator, I pulled it out and began looking for a large knife in a drawer.

“I imagine by then you’ll have earned the same sort of perk—unless knowing that it’s not such a sweet gesture would ruin it for you.”

As I cut the grapefruit on the butcher block area of the island, I made my voice as innocent-sounding as possible. “It wouldn’t ruin it at all—especially if you also let me spend the day with my father.”

He looked up from his phone. “We’ll see.”

I supposed that was good enough. After putting my fruit on a plate with a spoon and buttering a piece of toast, I carried the plate and my coffee over to the table. Once again, he was immersed in his phone. We might not have been best friends, but it seemed silly to eat at the table and ignore each other. A week ago, that would have been exactly what I’d wanted—but I was trying to figure out how to settle in and feel okay about our arrangement. “When’s your birthday?”

He didn’t even look up. “I don’t celebrate it.”

That little nugget said so much. Why wouldn’t a man in his position celebrate his birthday? He had everything anyone could want, so it seemed—but I’d already begun to sense he didn’t feel that way. There was an underlying sadness and anger in him.

Maybe we weren’t so different.

What was wrong with me? The last thing I needed to do was feel compassion for the enemy…and yet I did on some level. Part of me could sense that something was very wrong underneath the confident, arrogant face he wore every day.

Ten years…and maybe I could figure it out.

There were secrets in this mansion—that I knew—and I suspected that I could figure out what was behind much of his angst and anger if I could only expose those mysteries. And I was certain they were hiding on the second floor of the east wing.

Maybe today would be a good day to explore. With Edna gone, I could get away with it. Considering I was the one tracking my duties on my timesheet and no one really had a way to verify what I was doing, it would be easy enough.

But that would wait until later. “That didn’t answer my question.”

He’d been absorbed in his phone again. “What question?”

“When’s your birthday? Even if you don’t celebrate it, you have it. You were born on a certain day in a certain month.”

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