Excerpt

I left my clogs, coat and purse in a pile on the floor by the elevator then sized up the kitchen in a way that was impossible with a full catering team in it. There were four ovens, all of them pre-heating. Deanna had ever so casually told the entire Friday morning Weight Watcher’s group that Dick had the stupid thing gutted and rebuilt twice to get just the right distances for her because she had to skate between counters like a madwoman when she had a big order for Patis et Cie. Three dishwashers, including one of those really expensive types with two drawers were partly open and a Latina maid was removing expensive stemware from the top. A cookbook was open on the counter and canisters of flour were stacked neatly by height. The housekeeper pulled an industrial size mixer away from the wall and nodded to me. Since I didn’t even know how to turn it on, I figured I’d better stall a bit longer.

“Bathroom?” I whispered, pointing toward the powder room next to the elevator, as if I didn’t know.

“No, is not clean. “You go to Mrs. Deanna’s room upstairs.”  She jabbed her finger toward the ceiling and then returned her attention to the glasses. Deanna had draped herself across a divan in the sunken living room, absorbed in the tale of someone’s hysterectomy in New Jersey. I had hit pay dirt.