Chapter 2
The order hung there. Put the strap back in the lock cabinet. No one moved right away.
The blonde woman's hand stayed at her waist, fingers tight against that champagne satin. I could hear the soft buzz of the hallway lights. I was still holding the wine glass. The rim was warm from my palm, and I didn't set it down. I didn't know where I was supposed to put it.
He didn't look at me when he said it again, quieter. "Now."
She let out a breath through her nose, not quite a laugh. Her earrings swung when she shifted her weight. "You're serious right now? In front of her?"
He didn't answer. He just kept his eyes on her, and that was enough. He was standing close enough to me that I could feel the edge of his jacket near my arm, but he wasn't touching me. He just made a space where she couldn't come closer.
After a second she turned. The strap was not in her hand before. It was looped over the small hall table beside the framed painting, half hidden under a folded dinner napkin like she'd set it there earlier. Dark leather, thin, with a metal buckle that had caught the light in the video stills. I hadn't noticed it until she reached for it. My throat tightened when I saw it.
She picked it up with two fingers, like it was something distasteful, and held it out away from her body.
I looked down without meaning to. My left forearm was exposed under the short sleeve of my uniform, the faint reddish marks showing again in the warm light. I turned my hand slightly so the glass would cover them, but it didn't. I could feel him notice. He glanced down once, then back at her, and his jaw moved.
"Walk," he said to her.
She started toward the far end of the hallway. Past the staircase railing, there was a shallow niche in the cream paneling I had dusted that morning. I'd always thought it was just decorative trim. She stopped in front of it and waited, strap dangling.
He stepped forward and I had to go with him. He didn't grab me, he just shifted and I followed, my shoes quiet on the runner. I kept my hands around the glass. It steadied my breathing. I could hear his breathing too, even and controlled, while mine was shallow.
She tapped the panel with her nail. "It's locked."
"I know," he said.
For a moment I thought she had the key. She reached toward the small dress pocket at her hip, then stopped when she realized we were both watching. Her hand dropped. She looked at him.
He reached into his vest. Not his pants pocket, the inner pocket of his three-piece suit, under the lapel where the pocket square was. He took out a small brass key on a plain ring. Just one key. No other keys with it.
Her face changed. Not a lot, just a quick tightening around her mouth. I saw it because I was watching her so closely.
"You kept it on you," she said.
"Yes," he said. He didn't hold it out to her.
He stepped past me and fit the key into the niche. I hadn't seen the lock until then, a narrow slit in the wood the same color as the wall, almost invisible. He turned it. Something clicked, and a vertical seam released. The panel swung open an inch, then he pulled it the rest of the way with his fingertips.
Inside was a shallow cabinet, maybe twelve inches deep, lined in dark felt. There were two hooks set into the back. One already held something — a thin navy lanyard, I think — and the other was empty. The shape of it made it clear what belonged there. The inside smelled faintly like leather and cleaner.
She didn't move until he looked at her again.
"Put it back," he said.
She stepped forward and looped the strap over the empty hook. She was careful not to touch the felt more than she had to. The buckle clinked once against the wood, a small sound in that quiet hall.
I was still holding the glass. The wine at the bottom moved when my hand shook. A little dark red shifted and left a thin line on the inside. I could feel the dirty rim under my thumb where I'd first felt it upstairs when his mother's glass came through the kitchen pass. I wanted to pour it out, but there was no place to pour it and no one had told me to move.
He closed the cabinet. He turned the key back the other way until it clicked again, then tested the panel with a push. It didn't give. He slipped the key back into his vest pocket and buttoned the flap over it.
She stood back from the wall, her arms crossed now, the champagne dress pulling at the cowl. She wasn't looking at me anymore. She was looking at the locked panel.
He turned slightly toward me then, enough that his shoulder blocked her view of my arm. He spoke low, not to her. "Hold that for a minute. Don't put it down yet."
May you like
I nodded. I didn't try to speak. My hands stayed clasped around the glass, just like they had been in front of him before, and I could feel the faint sting on my forearm where the marks were, hot under the hallway lights.
The cabinet was locked. The key was with him. And I was still standing there with his mother's wine in my hands.
