The Last of the Stanfields(8)
“Hey, you’re not the only one who’s scared shitless, but that’s what makes it such an exciting adventure, isn’t it?”
The rumble and purr of the Triumph drowned out most of what she said. May could only make out “scared shitless” and “exciting,” which did properly describe the mixed emotions she was feeling at that moment. She and Sally-Anne were fully in sync with each other.
Sally-Anne downshifted and tilted toward the pavement as she whipped around the last hairpin bend, hugging the tight curve before picking up speed again as it straightened out. Her masterful control of the Triumph would have turned any biker green with envy.
As they entered the home stretch, the manor stood out starkly at the top of the hill, its pretentious columns reigning over the entire valley. Such ostentatious and gaudy luxury was typically reserved for upstarts and the nouveau riche, yet the Stanfields were one of the oldest and most venerable families in the city, playing a major role in Baltimore life from its very founding. It was whispered that the family had amassed their fortune on the backs of slaves farming their lands. The rumor was contested by others, however, who claimed the esteemed Stanfield clan was among the first to have set slaves free, and that certain family members would have been ready to pay any price for their liberty—even in blood. The truth varied depending on whom you asked, and in what neighborhood.
Sally-Anne slowed the Triumph to a stop in the employee parking area, cut the engine, and lifted her helmet to just above her ears. As May stepped off the bike, Sally-Anne gestured across the way.
“The service entrance is straight ahead. Introduce yourself using the accent we practiced, and tell them you have an appointment with Miss Verdier.”
“Couldn’t she somehow still be inside?”
“Not unless she has the ability to be in two places at once. See the lady walking toward the black Ford right now, right over there? Miss Verdier, in the flesh. Like I told you, she takes her break at eleven in the morning every day like clockwork, jumping into her pretty little car and zipping into town for a nice lunch-break massage . . . and other things, if you know what I mean.”
“You know, you never fully explained how you know all this.”
“Well, when I said I’ve been following her closely for the past few weeks, I meant closely. Believe me, I know Miss Verdier a little too well at this point.”
“No. Even you wouldn’t have gone that far . . .”
“My dear, it is neither the time nor the place for such sordid details. Just take my word for it: Miss Verdier has a tough time getting off, which gives us a full forty-five minutes before she enjoys her little daily orgasm, knocks back a BLT and a Coke, and comes waltzing back in here. So, get moving. You know the plan by heart; we’ve run through it a hundred times. You’ve got this.”
But May wouldn’t budge. Sensing her hesitation, Sally-Anne drew her close and whispered into her ear how stunning she looked and promised that everything would be fine. Sally-Anne looked on from the parking lot as May crossed the road and made her way to the service entrance, where hired help brought in newspapers, fancy food, beverages, and flowers, as well as the spoils from Mrs. Stanfield’s or her son’s shopping runs to the city.
When the butler came to greet her, May gave the cover story, perfectly playing the part of a well-educated young jobseeker. The phony British accent that Sally-Anne had advised May to adopt worked brilliantly—its natural authority was so intimidating that she was granted entry, no questions asked. The butler could see she had arrived early, and there was no way he was going to ask someone like her to wait in the foyer. He led May straight up to a small study on the second floor . . . all just as Sally-Anne had predicted.
The man contritely offered May a seat, assuring her that Mr. Stanfield’s secretary had only stepped out for a moment and would be back shortly. He asked if May would like a glass of water, but she politely declined. The butler gracefully took his leave, and May found herself alone in the little study, just next door to Miss Verdier’s office.
The study was furnished with a pedestal table and two velvet armchairs that perfectly matched the plush curtains. An Aubusson rug covered the dark oak floors, and a small crystal chandelier hung above the wood-paneled walls.
May checked the timing. Meeting the butler, climbing the stairs, and walking the long corridor to the study . . . ten minutes in all. Another thirty-five minutes before the sex-obsessed secretary came back. Normally, the thought of her at that massage parlor downtown would have cracked May up, like it had when Sally-Anne first described Miss Verdier’s lunch-break escapades. But now that May was about to enter the woman’s office and commit an actual crime, the whole thing felt a lot less amusing. Getting caught in the act by Miss Verdier was not an option. May had to be long gone by the time she returned. If the police were called, it wouldn’t take long for them to connect the dots, and the charge would be far more serious than simple trespassing . . .
Don’t think like that, not now. May’s throat was dry. She was really wishing she had taken that glass of water, but it was too late now. She went through the steps in her head: Rise. Walk to the connecting door. Turn the handle and slip inside undetected.
She did exactly that, and was amazed by her own nerve. She felt like she was a robot programmed for this one specific task.
Once inside, she closed the door softly behind her. May knew that even the slightest noise would give her away. There was a good chance that the master of the house was sitting in the adjoining room at that very moment, fully aware that his assistant would not be at her desk at this time of day.