“Yes. In fact, Mr. Barrister called her that—Fancy or Ms. Fancy—in kind of an affectionate way. She was a guest here, I believe it was December, as we had the decorations up, the December before Mr. Barrister passed. She had the Peacock guest room, which… hmm, adjoins to the main suite. She was in residence, I believe, for several days, perhaps up to a week.”
“Do you have a first name?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“I think she was here a time or two before. For a dinner party,” Tyler added, and cleared his throat. “I believe she may have remained overnight, but, ah, not in a guest room on those occasions.”
“One of those breakfast in bed for twos?” Divine pointed at Tyler. “Mr. Henry always came down for breakfast unless he had company of that nature. That was usually eggs Benedict and mimosas. And you’d take the tray up.”
“Yes. While you learn to do your job without seeing certain details, I can recall a young blond woman. But again, there were others.”
“Tell me what you know or remember about this particular one. About Ms. Fancy.”
“I called her Ms. Fakey.” At Uma’s wince, Divine just shook a finger. “I’m going to say what I think.”
“I wish you would. Why Fakey?” Eve asked.
“’Cause she was. Fake, and snooty with it. Didn’t you say how she told you she wanted you to hand-wash and press her panties, and said she expected her bed turned down every night at ten o’clock—no sooner, no later—and to leave a tray with a cup of jasmine tea?” Divine closed her eyes a moment. “Yes, jasmine, lightly steeped, no cream, no sugar, and two macaroons, baked fresh.”
“I’d forgotten the macaroons.”
“I make it, I remember it. And didn’t she go out every blessed afternoon? Sometimes Mr. Henry went with her, and even when he didn’t, she’d have a car and driver. And wouldn’t she come back loaded with shopping bags? She’d order you, John, to unload them and take them up to her room, and you, Uma, to unpack them and put everything away. Like she was queen of the place.”
“Can you describe her?”
“I didn’t see her much myself. Never once came back to the kitchen.”
“Very beautiful,” Uma offered. “I suppose mid-thirties, but it’s difficult to tell. Or I’m not particularly good at that. Long blond hair.” She waved her hands down to her shoulders. “I think blue eyes, but I’m not sure. Not brown.”
“Height, weight, race, accent?”
“Ah, five-four or -five, I suppose. She wore heels, even around the house. Slim, but curvy. Stylish, in a sophisticated way rather than trendy? No accent that I can recall.”
“Did she spend any time in the office?”
“As John said, you learn to do your job and not see. But yes, I believe they spent some time in there together.”
“They did,” Tyler confirmed.
“Would you work with a police artist?”
“Please.” Aileen reached out. “It could be important.”
“Yes, of course. I’m just afraid I might not be able to describe her well enough.”
“I’m going to arrange for a police artist to come to you. He’s very good.”
“Do you think she killed my father?” Chloe asked.
“I’d like to know if she has any connection to the break-in. Someone knew about the vault. If she did, I’d like to have a conversation with her. You had personal contact with her, too.”
Tyler nodded. “Yes.”
“He’ll work with both of you.”
“This is exciting. Oh, missus!” Divine hugged herself. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant. And it is exciting. Because it may be a step in finding out who did this to Nate. Who did this to all of us.”
