Along with Dorie’s face. And Joan’s. Always Joan’s. I told myself, just as I’d done when I’d first noticed Dorie gone all those years ago, that servants came and went all the time. Dorie’s absence, and now her reappearance, might mean nothing. Yet I knew things were being kept from me. I was sure Stewart had not wanted me to see that Dorie had returned, and I was certain not only that Mary did know Sid Stark, but that I’d heard fear in her voice at the mention of his name. There was no proof that these events were connected, but everything was beginning to feel like a deception. I called Ciela on Wednesday. “I’m sorry about the other night,” I said, right away, about our moment in the Petroleum Club bathroom. “I was a little tipsy.” “Is that what we’re calling it these days?” she asked, but then she quickly relented. “It’s fine. We all get a little ‘tipsy’ sometimes, I suppose.”
