“The dining room is ready,” she said, giving a small, sharp smile. “Diane has been very particular about the seating tonight.”
“I am sure she has,” I said.
I moved past her, keeping my shoulder close to the wainscoting. I did not want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate. Behind me, I heard the soft click of her heels as she followed me toward the double doors of the dining room.
The dining table was set for four, the fine china rimmed with gold reflecting the crystal chandelier above. Diane stood at the head of the table, adjusting a heavy silver water pitcher that sat on a linen coaster. The pitcher was cold to the touch, covered in a thin layer of condensation that dripped onto the wood.
