Page 74 of A Thin Line

“What’s that, dear? Different shoes?”

“No, I think I’ve got that. I just need a pair of black fishnet stockings.”

Pausing the rubbing motion on the spoon she was holding, she looked up at me. “Fishnet?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding, hoping my expression was as earnest and innocent as could be. “They’re the only kind that will look right.”

The way her lips quirked up slightly told me she knew I was full of it but she was amused and willing to indulge me nonetheless. “Well, I needed to get out a bit anyway. Tonight will be a long night. But I’ll have you take over here while I run and go get everything.”

Before she removed the latex gloves, she showed me how to use the cream to polish each piece of silverware. Then I was to put it in the tub and she instructed me to then rinse each piece off and dry it with a towel.

I scrubbed that silverware far harder than I had to—but I was certain that, when Sinclair saw me dressed up in his ridiculous uniform, he’d change his mind.

I’d simply forgotten that we were almost evenly matched.

By late afternoon, Edna and I had both the dining room and the beverage nook looking perfect. The dining room had an elegant centerpiece that made that room even more overbearing and ostentatious. A little after four o’clock, Sinclair arrived and went straight upstairs while Greg checked in with Edna. After he left, she explained to me that he and his wife would be helping initially. Guests had been instructed to either park in the huge driveway at the west end or along the block. Greg would be guiding guests in through the west doors while his wife would be waiting in the antechamber for anyone who might come to the front.

“How many people are going to be here?” I asked Edna, feeling nervous.

“Oh, not many. It’s Mr. Whittier’s closest staff, and he has them over four times a year for planning sessions. December is always the biggest, because he combines it with gift giving so they don’t complain, he says. The quarterly meetings are more important, though, because that’s when they decide if they’re on the right track.”

“Why doesn’t he have you cook, Edna? Your food is amazing.”

When she laughed, I thought her cheeks might have turned a little pink as well. “That’s very kind of you to say, but I don’t know that I could cook for a large group. I wouldn’t want to. I’m happy to help. And Chef Theodore and his staff create exactly the type of atmosphere Mr. Whittier wants.”

“When will they be here?”

“In about an hour. Let’s go get the table set.”

It wasn’t until then that I knew exactly how many people would be sitting at that table: nine. Edna told me that five of his highest-ranked staff—his so-called right-hand men, even though one was a woman—would be there, and three of them would be bringing plus-ones.

After setting the table, we added the final touches—butter, cream, salt and pepper, enough that anything anyone needed would be in easy reach. Later, we’d fill the water goblets and leave a few full carafes of water on the table.

But it was finally time for me to get dressed, as the chef and his staff would be there soon and she wanted all of us to meet to discuss our various roles.

When I got upstairs, new stockings in hand, I put on the outfit—and was immediately reminded of how uncomfortable those heels always felt when I first put them on. How I would have loved to wear a pair of black sneakers instead. But, as I viewed myself in the full-length mirror, I knew I’d achieved the look I was hoping for.

And I hoped Sinclair would regret every minute of it.

As I wrapped the apron around my waist, I questioned my hair. A lot of the pictures I’d seen online showed the women wearing little hats atop their heads—but I was again inspired. I went into the bathroom where I had all my grooming supplies and quickly pulled my hair into two pigtails. I hadn’t yet used my curling iron since arriving at the mansion, so I fetched it out of a bag in the closet and plugged it in while darkening my eye makeup a bit.

When I left my room, I felt a little silly—because I wasn’t used to making myself look sexy, but I knew I had managed. And I expected Sinclair to take one look at me and order me upstairs to get dressed in the more modest uniform Edna and I had picked out earlier in the week.

By the time I got back downstairs, Chef Theodore and crew were already bringing in all the food—and my mouth was salivating. They set up a station of pans over Sterno burners on the table—and Edna showed me something I hadn’t seen before: tucked in the wall was an actual door to the kitchen that she slid out, and, once she locked it into place, it swung both ways. I knew exactly why. It was to hide the work being done over here, keeping in place whatever illusion these rich people wanted to hold in their heads. How could they enjoy a delicious meal when they’d seen all those people slaving over it?

For my part, I intended to not make eye contact with a single person at the table, all except Sinclair—and I hoped to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

There were, besides Edna and me, five other people working in the kitchen: Chef Theodore, who would be performing a variety of tasks at the stove, and his sous chef. He had three servers with him and Edna let him know I’d be helping them. Edna’s job was to keep communication clear amongst us all, freeing up the chef to work his magic.

That large kitchen was beginning to get crowded, so Edna asked me and one of the servers named Rodrigo to wheel the dessert cart into the pantry. Once we got it there, we began to leave—but I looked around the space, only having been here once before—and that time, I’d been on a mission to find first-aid supplies. This time, I wanted to see everything. It was mostly food and a few large pots and pans and even a landline telephone hanging on a post.

And then I spotted something hanging on a tiny hook.

A large key.

I took it off the hook and examined it, because it looked a lot like the keys I’d been using to open doors on the second floor of the east wing. When I saw, etched on the other side, the letters MSTR, I was certain that meant master. And did that mean it would work in multiple locks?

If so, it didn’t matter that Sinclair had hidden the big key ring. If I wanted to get back in those rooms, I would try this key first, and the advantage would be that one key wouldn’t make noise like a ring of them had.

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