by CeeCee James
I jumped in to help, and began to carefully thread the flowers into the crystal spacers on the top of the vases and then filled them with water.
We worked for two hours and the end result would have made the queen weep in its perfection.
Marguerite seemed pleased as well. “All right, everyone. Job well done. Now, upstairs with all of you and change into your whites.”
We hurried to our rooms to change into our formal service wear. At the top of the split staircase there was a bust in the shape of a giant knight chess piece. I patted the head. It was the oddest sensation and made me shiver every time. Something inside convinced me that doing it was good luck.
Then down the hall into my room. I shut the door and quickly went for the built-in closet, with the two cupboards underneath. As I pulled my uniform out, my eye caught sight of my family picture, the first thing I’d unpacked and carefully sheltered in a silver frame. I blew Mom a kiss and then slid the dress over my head.
Next, I stared at the heels. I hated heels. I always have. I was one of those women who walked in heels like a newborn giraffe, and my height was no help. Heck, that’s probably what took me so off centered. I slipped them on, wincing at the pinch, and then did a few practice rounds from the door to the wall. My ankles felt like rubber bands, and I dreaded the staircase back down to the main floor. I tried smaller steps to control the wobble.
Breathing in deeply, I smoothed my dark hair into another chignon and studied my reflection.
“Pale as a ghost,” I whispered and made a face at myself and then hurried out.
Let the games begin.
The first person I saw downstairs was Lucy. “The gloves are in the butler’s pantry,” she announced as she rushed by, her eyebrows raised as if their very height could help her carry the heavy tureen in her hands.
I found the gloves and tugged them on. They fit like a glove. I cracked a smile at my goofiness and went off to see the dining table.
The room was gorgeous. Talk about fairy white; every part of it had been touched with pureness: flowers, placards, napkins, and china plates etched in silver. The chandelier glowed its fiery crystal pendants with courtliness.
“Laura Lee, there you are.” Marguerite spoke unexpectedly at my elbow. “Come along. It’s almost time. We need to be ready for cocktail service.”
She spun me around into the opposite lighting of the dark hallway, its wood paneling appearing nearly black. Marguerite’s shoes hit the floor in confident clicks, somehow highlighting my own unsure walk.
“Have you done white service before?” she asked.
I nodded before realizing the housekeeper couldn’t see me.
She didn’t give me a chance to speak up. “Always from the left and always after I give the sign. Do it just how we practiced earlier.”
“Are you worried about tonight? You think Miss Janice is going to be okay?”
“The woman was born and bred with impeccable manners. Although there was that one time….” She trailed off delicately and immediately whet my desire to know more.
In the butler’s station silver trays overflowed with delicate flutes arranged on white silk. Two men dressed in formalwear filled them. As each tray was finished a server carefully picked them up and whisked them away.
My ankle gave a weak wobble, and I internally scolded it. Heels or not, I would do this. Carefully, I accepted my tray. There was one horrible moment when the glass flutes vibrated together, making the lightest chiming sound, but I straightened my shoulders, and the beverages settled down.
I followed the line of servers as the caboose of a white dressed train. Other staff carried trays of appetizers: caviar on toast points and other hors d'oeuvres. I always wondered what the fascination with fish eggs was all about.
We headed toward the great gathering room, drawn by booming male voices and feminine laughter, light and fake. The doors opened, and the brilliant party light spilled out into the hallway. I wobbled in.
“Mingle,” Lucy hissed, and then she abandoned me to serve at my first party. I placed a hand on the silk to help steady the drinks against any jostling I might encounter and wandered about.
Most of the guests nearest to me already held a glass, forcing me to move toward the center of the room. But, bit by bit, the crowd edged me backwards again where I found myself standing against the wall like a discarded piece of dross.
It surprised me how I was treated like an inanimate object; the subtle turning of the backs from those who didn’t see anyone beneath their class unless they needed something.
I watched Lucy for a moment. She moved with a sure confidence I needed to mimic before Marguerite spotted me. Or, even worse, Miss Janice.
Still, it was fascinating to be back here, people watching. Men stood shoulder width apart with arms around the hips of women. I noticed, the younger the woman, the lower the hand on the silky clad hips.
A cough from behind a tall palm caught my attention. It was soft, meant to be a subtle clearing of the throat. I peeked behind the plant to see two men.
This was the perfect opportunity to get rid of my remaining flutes. I strengthened my ankles but had hardly taken a step when one of the men spoke harshly. “You did say it would be finished tonight.”
The other man narrowed his eyes as he gazed out into the room. “It’s finished. I said it would be and it is.” He sipped his drink, and I noticed a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt cuff.
I did try to search the crowd to see who he had been looking at but it was impossible to discern.
“Then what is she still doing here?” said the first man.
His tone alarmed me, and I immediately ducked back behind the palm. My movement must have caught their attention. The other man said, “We’ll speak later. I’ll dispose of it,” and then he walked out to join a group of women.
The first man peered around the palm and smiled at me. My heart jumped, he surprised me so much.
“Hello,” I smiled and held out the tray.
His features appeared youthful if you disregarded his salt-and-pepper hair. “I guess I could use a refill.” He drained his glass, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then traded it for one on my tray. With a cheeky wink, he turned and melted into the crowd.
I watched him go and then saw Mary walking toward me.
“Well, well, well,” she murmured, casting a slight smile in the direction of the retreating man. “I guess pigs do fly.”
“Who was that?” I asked.
“That, my friend, is Jack, the most sought-after trainer at the local gym. I’m surprised to see him here. He’s not a usual guest at Miss Janice’s dinner parties.”
“No?”
“But wasn’t that interesting how awful chummy he was with Mr. Eland.”
“Who’s Mr. Eland?”
Mary’s gaze jerked to the side, and I saw Marguerite marching our way. “Girls,” she smiled through gritted teeth. “Shouldn’t you be mingling?”
Before I could answer, Mary was already diving into the crowd, leaving me to stare curiously at the broad shoulders of Jack. He caught my gaze and smiled again, lifting his glass at me with yet another wink.
Chapter Eight
I ended up not being a part of dinner service, for which I thanked my lucky stars. Instead, I was delegated the relatively easy task of keeping water glasses filled. The job required me standing in the back corner with a gorgeous crystal decanter filled with ice water. At the table, beautiful people prattled in nose-pinched tones. I enjoyed every minute of playing fly on the wall and listening to the gossip.
It wasn’t long before the conversation swung onto Mark’s death.
“So, what was this we heard about your chauffeur? Some dire accident while trying to escape a compromising circumstance?” asked Mr. Jenson, sounding very sympathetic. His thick gold watch flashed in the chandelier light.
Immediately, my ears perked, though I tried not to let a hint of interest cross my face. He sounded like he already knew what
had happened and the excited glint in his eyes was decidedly not sorry. In fact, it might have taken a lesser host off guard to have gossip exposed so abruptly and before the soup had even cooled.
However, Janice Thornberry was not born with a silver spoon in her mouth for nothing. Her brow settled into the most regretful expression as her head dipped. “The only circumstance was poor Mark attempting to pick up grocery items. A real tragedy.”
“Terrible. And do they know what happened to the car?” Mrs. Jenson lifted a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Morbid curiosity wrapped in polite questions. Still her feigned politeness didn’t seem to include her use of perfume which nearly made me sneeze in its floral strength.
“The police are investigating. I’m sure we will learn more soon.”
At the other end of the table, one of the young women muttered, “That’s not what I heard.” Her friend, wearing the same little black dress that every girl in college owned, snidely giggled.
“Well,” said a woman with a messy haircut. Everyone at the table treated her with complete respect. “Perhaps the details will emerge soon. The police were at my house as well.”
“Really, Mrs. Fitzwater?” asked the catty woman. Her false eyelashes fascinated me. They looked like spider legs.
“That’s correct. In fact, from what I gathered, the police seemed to believe it may have been foul play. Murder,” Mrs. Fitzwater clarified and took a delicate sip from her champagne flute.
“Oh, now. That’s ridiculous,” Miss Janice protested. “I’m sure the police are simply being thorough. After all, in this small town, perhaps they have nothing better to do than poke about.”
Mrs. Fitzwater shook her head. “I hardly know of any officer who searches for a murderer simply from boredom. But tell me, Janice, why does it bother you?”
Again, the young woman at the table’s end muttered to her friend. “I bet she doesn’t want them to be poking around. Not after the way Mr. Thornberry died.”
Janice showed no clue she’d overheard the gossip. Instead, she gave a dismissive wave of her hand before picking up her flute as well. I noticed she took more than a casual sip.
Mr. Jenson was not one to let gossip die. “So, what about the lipstick on his face? Sounds a little racy, no?”
The young women at the end tittered. Mrs. Jenson rolled her eyes. “Really, John? At the dinner table? That’s positively revolting. We shouldn’t talk about it.” Yet, with her quick flashing gaze around the table, and a subtle touch of her curls, I could tell the woman hoped someone would take the bait.
Miss Janice tipped the glass back again and for longer this time.
“Now, John. Let’s not spread rumors. Hold ourselves to a higher standards.” Mr. Eland reprimanded Mr. Jenson.
Marguerite and her team arrived to clear plates. I followed with water glass refills, while Butler did the same with the wine. Conversation dwindled to banal comments about wedding announcements and holiday plans. The next course was delivered with synchronized flourish, each plate appearing as if by magic over the guest’s shoulder by a server, and then the sounds of silverware on the china commenced.
After a few compliments thrown in Miss Janice’s direction regarding the meal, Mr. Eland asked how she was getting by with Mr. Thornberry gone.
Again, another topic I could see made Miss Janice visibly uncomfortable. “We make do,” she finally answered. “We always have.”
Mr. Jenson leaned forward. “Any more about the will?” With that cutting question, Miss Janice’s comment about jackals came to my mind.
“What of it?” asked Miss Janice. Her cheeks flushed from alcohol and irritation.
“Where has the crown gone? It was such a prize of your poor husband’s. You haven’t seen it?”
Miss Janice had enough. She gave Mr. Jenson an icy glare. He noticed with a flicker of his eyebrow and glanced back at his food.
The conversation stalled again and the clink of silverware seemed to draw attention to it. After a few tense moments, soft murmurs began to pick up. By the time the plates needed to be cleared for the next course conversation had returned to normal.
“So did you hear about the new charity dinner?” Mrs. Fitzwater asked. Her finger trailed under a necklace of enormous black pearls, letting each inky globe slowly fall as she moved to the next.
“Oh, yes. The Wounded Veterans Club. It’s wonderful!” one of the wives answered. I’d thought I’d heard she was married to the banker seated at the other end.
“We can thank our city for sponsoring that club.” Mrs. Fitzwater nodded.
“Yes, and they started a library as well,” responded the wife.
Miss Janice froze, fork in the air. That word, library, doused the remaining conversation like cold water. The guests looked nervously at each other and the clinking began anew.
I thought about my own meals with Mom and Grandma. Small, but the joy at the table, the quiet laughs, with those two women’s faces whom I loved the most lit by candlelight, put this dinner to shame. This truly was the worst event I had ever seen.
Once again, Mrs. Fitzwater came to the rescue. “So where were you going yesterday, Richard?”
Mr. Eland blinked wide-eyed, obviously caught off guard by the question. “Hmm?” He reached for his cup to take a hasty drink of water. It was then I saw the tattoo. I had to bite my lip to stop a gasp.
“I saw you yesterday out in your Jaguar. Where were you headed so early?”
I swear my ears felt like they swelled bigger.
He stiffly smiled and picked up his fork. Casually, he poked around at a shred of meat. “I don’t recall.”
“Why, it was only yesterday? Do you really not remember?” Mrs. Fitzwater laughed as she addressed the rest of the table. “Although that happens to me nearly every time I enter a room.”
Quiet chuckles came around the table.
She looked at Mr. Eland expectantly in the game of spider and the fly.
“I—I had some errands to do. The mail and such.” He gestured with the utensil. He seemed to make an effort to hold her gaze, but cut away at the last second.
“Oh, you don’t trust our mailbox anymore? I can’t say I blame you. I’ve heard stories of boxes being broken into. Although I hope mine is secure in the brick house.”
He nodded and turned to his neighbor with some comment about the weather.
“Come help me,” Mary whispered, drawing me from the door. We returned to the kitchen where we helped Cook plate dessert. It took everything I had to not lick the fudge off of my finger.
In due time, we brought out the dessert. Then the entire dinner party left for the drawing room, and Mary and I returned to clear the table.
I reached for a discarded napkin, and my foot bumped something hidden under the table. I ducked to look. Horror filled me when I saw a purse that cost more than my first car knocked over. Lipsticks, a cell phone, and other odds-and-ends lay scattered across the floor.
Grunting in the most unladylike way, I bent down, ankles screaming, and quickly gathered the items. As I picked up the cell phone, the screen flashed with an incoming text.
—I’ve heard she is back. Be careful. Babs
I shivered and dropped it in the purse. I wished I hadn’t read it. I fastened the handbag with its golden beaded bobble.
Mary watched me place it on the table with raised eyebrows. “Perhaps we should take that to the coat room.”
“I’m not sure. Someone left it here. Maybe she needs it for some reason.”
Mary shrugged. “Very well. Leave it on the table.”
I missed the rest of the party with the cleaning up. However laughter rang through the house as the guests finished bottle after bottle of wine. Later, Mary and I turned down Miss Thornberry’s bedroom for the evening. She showed me how to get the brandy and sipping glass for her nightcap, and then, dimming the lights, we left the room.
It was just as we headed for the curved staircase, that we heard Mrs. Fitzwater shriek. Her scream carried
straight up the stairwell. “Where is my purse?”
Chapter Nine
Miss Janice rushed out from another room. “What on earth?”
The guests crowded behind her, flushed and woozy.
Mrs. Fitzwater stood in the dining room doorway. Her flossy hair had even more fly-aways and two red marks marred her cheeks. “I left my purse under the table. It’s disappeared! Where is it?”
Mary grabbed my arm, and we stared at each other like frightened mice. She whispered fiercely, leaving no room for arguing. “Just follow my lead.” I didn’t have time to nod before she scurried down the stairs.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fitzwater,” Mary said, her face serene. “We found it while clearing the table. I thought we’d left it on the table. You didn’t see it?”
“Would I be standing out here, screaming like a banshee, if I saw my purse? Please, help me find it right now.” Mrs. Fitzwater disappeared back into the dining room. She returned moments later, wringing her hands as the lines in her forehead deepened.
“Perhaps it’s in the cloak room,” Mary suggested.
“I’ll go check!” I volunteered, anxious to get out of there.
Miss Janice led the way, her spine ramrod straight. “It’s right this way. You sure it wasn’t left behind in the car?”
Mrs. Fitzwater huffed. “Absolutely. I hesitate to say this but I was expecting a phone call.”
“Oh. Business?” Miss Janice fished.
“Not exactly.”
I trailed behind them, feeling as useful as a porcupine in a petting zoo. We turned the corner and entered a room that had several couches. Behind the sitting area were two wardrobe doors which Miss Janice swung open. A faint cedar scent was released. We stared hard past the coats on wooden hangers to the purses placed in the cubbies.
Mrs. Fitzwater frowned and shook her head, causing the already harried bun to jostle to one side. “No. None of these are mine.”
Miss Janice mimicked the disappointed expression. “Oh, dear. Was there anything of value in it?”
“Only my phone and lipstick. Still it’s quite an inconvenience.”
