Back to the great room, which still truly was. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll send Sophie in to get whatever you need.” He turned on his heel-which must’ve been rubber, because it squeaked on the highly polished wooden floor-and left us. A mixture of light green and floral smells gave the room a garden-like atmosphere. I didn’t have to look far for the source: there was a gigantic arrangement of white dahlias and lotus flowers on a low table in the far-right corner of the room, and Chinese vases filled with hydrangeas, roses, and calla lilies on glass shelves, coffee tables, and side tables. Maybe it was the size of the room, maybe it was my state of distraction, but I hadn’t noticed the floral display the last time we were here.
I leaned toward Bailey. “Think Sophie would bring us a couple of dry martinis?”
“I think Sophie would bring us a couple of male strippers if we asked her to.”
I considered the idea. “We should probably get some interviews done first.”
Bailey shrugged.
One second later, a slight young woman, no more than five feet one, dressed in a black cotton dress and white apron and looking like she was in her late teens, entered the room. I made the deductive leap that this was Sophie. Sophie asked what she could get us. We said water would be nice. She inquired whether we wanted tap or sparkling; we opted for tap. When she returned with two glasses, I asked in what I hoped was an offhand manner how long she’d been working there.
“Three years.”
“Pretty long time.” Especially for someone who looked no older than twenty. “What are your days?”
“Tuesday through Saturday,” she said.
“So you get Sundays off. That must be nice.”
Sophie shrugged. “Sure.”
I was trying to make this sound conversational so she wouldn’t get scared off, but Sophie was edging away from us. I’d have to get to the point.
“Do you ever work on Mondays?”
“Around the holidays and awards season, or if Frankie calls in sick, or if there’s a party and they need extra help. But then they pay me extra.”
“As they should. Glad to hear it.” And I really was. “Then Frankie usually works Mondays?”
Sophie nodded.
“So you weren’t here last Monday?”
“No. And thank goodness because the twins were home sick and I didn’t have anyone to stay with them.”
That meant she hadn’t been here on the day of the “kidnapping.” Also, she probably wasn’t eighteen. “You have twins?”
“I’m twenty-seven.” She smiled at my stunned expression. “I know, I’m lucky.”
