One foot in front of the other, girl, I tell myself. I head straight for the kitchen. I expect to find it empty, but when I walk in, there’s a maid wiping down the counters. She looks to be in her forties, maybe fifties. Brunette with a streak of gray, petite, pretty in an understated sort of way.
“Hi.”
She turns to me, looking extremely curious. “You must be the new chef.”
“Jessa,” I say, offering my hand to her. “And you are…?”
“Vinita,” she says.
“Nice to meet you, Vinita. How long have you worked here?”
“Seven years.”
I raise my eyebrows. She’ll have definitely met Anton’s wife, Marina.
Vinita immediately goes back to cleaning the counters and I wonder how to bring up the topic without making it obvious that I’m prying.
I decide to play the long game, take my time. I tell myself I’m not procrastinating. Going slow is strategy, not cowardice.
I go to the dressing room to drop off my bag and put on my “work” clothes. Which in this case, is essentially a t-shirt that I don’t mind getting dirty. It makes me feel even more ridiculous for picking out my outfit so carefully this morning.
When I walk back into the kitchen, Vinita is still there mopping the floors. “I didn’t expect you so early,” she says. “I only need another fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I say, realizing I need to make fast friends in order for this conversation to take off. “Can I help?”
She looks at me in surprise. “Sorry?”
“Can I help?” I repeat.
“Oh. That’s nice of you to offer, but it’s not necessary.”
“I really don’t mind,” I say. “Apparently, I don’t have breakfast to prep today, so I can take it easy this morning.”
“Why would you come in so early then?” she asks.
“I was told to.”
The message appeared on my phone last last night. It came from a number that wasn’t Anton’s.
Whoever sent me the message gave me no indication of who they were. Just that they managed affairs for Anton’s “estate,” as they put it, and I needed to come in early. I knew better than to ask questions.
“You sure I can’t help?” I press.
Vinita squints at me, gauging how serious I am. I give her back what I hope is a pleasant smile. “You could mop that side of the room,” she relents. “I have a second mop in the cupboard over there.”
“Consider it done.”
I head straight for it and pull out the second mop. It’s got a stainless steel handle. Even the cleaning equipment looks fancy as hell.
“You said you’ve been here seven years, right?” I ask as I get to mopping.
“That’s right.”
“You must like working for Anton, then.”
She gives me a strange look. “Mr. Stepanov,” she corrects pointedly. “He’s a good boss. But he keeps to himself.”
“Was his wife like that, too?”