Wide-set, with a neck that cascaded over the top of her lavender turtleneck, she looked up when I walked in. Her carefully penciled eyebrows always reminded me of fat tadpoles. Right now they were raised high over half-moon glasses. Whether that was an expression of anticipation or annoyance, I couldn’t tell. “We’ve never closed Marshfield before,” she said by way of greeting. “This is a first. Except for Christmas and Thanksgiving every year, we don’t ever close the manor.” Making a clucking sound, she added, “There’s going to be trouble. You’ll see.” I was perturbed, both by her tone and by her apparent lack of concern after yesterday’s murder. “There already has been trouble,” I said. “Didn’t you hear about Abe?” For a woman who prided herself on knowing everything that went on at the mansion at any given minute, I’d pushed a button. She shot me a withering glare. “Who hasn’t?” Continuing to press her point, she said, “Just wait. I predict that by nine o’clock this morning we won’t be able to handle all the calls.
What do You think about Grace Under Pressure (2010)?
