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I stare at the spoon. It wasn’t tarnished when I started. How the hell can it be tarnished now?

“Uh…it looks fine to me.”

She brandishes it in front of my eyes. “It’s not fine. How many pieces have you done so far?”

“All the silverware. Now I’m starting on the serving utensils. I still have to do the coffee and tea service.”

Audrey pulls out the drawer of the china cabinet that houses the silverware. “You call this polished?” She begins throwing knives, spoons, and forks onto the hardwood floor. “Again. Do them all again.”

I open my mouth to argue but then think better of it. I’ll probably only make it worse. “Of course,” I say, bending to pick up the silver.

“And be quick about it,” she says. “You’re slow today.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps in the future you shouldn’t have overnight guests. You were late starting.”

“I—”

“I’m not interested in your excuses. Get back to work.”

I keep my face blank. “I will.”

“Good.” She walks away but then looks over her shoulder before she leaves the room. “I’ll be keeping my eyes on you.”

I roll my eyes. Of course she will. She always finds fault with me. And with Hazel. Never with Charlotte or Tiffany.

I finish the silver. What’s next? Guest baths…curtains in the blue salon. Assist with lunch cleanup.

I glance at my watch. Kitchen first. Lunch is being served right about now. I’ll eat quickly and then help with the cleanup.

Once I get there, I look around, check to see what might be different.

Hmm. The kitchen delivery log has a missing line between the morning produce delivery and the florist arrival.

Not crossed out.

Removed.

Someone tore the bottom half of the page away and replaced it with a clean sheet. The paper color is slightly different. Most people wouldn’t notice.

It’s probably nothing, but I take note.

I eat a quick lunch alone. Charlotte and Tiffany never invite me to join them, and I don’t know any of the other servants well, other than Hazel, and she always eats in her room. Afterward, I assist with cleanup as ordered and move on to the next item on my list, the curtains in the blue salon.

By late afternoon, my head is crowded with locked doors and shifted furniture.

To anyone else, the details might mean nothing.

Maybe that’s all they are.

Small irregularities in a large house with too much money and too many secrets.

I’m pondering all of this when I think of the hall near the old guest rooms. I stop walking.

The phone.

The one I found on my bed.