Matthew’s sister, Miss Nancy. And she wasn't exactly chatty. This evening was particularly odd, as Annie served the older lady in the dining room in solitary splendor. Although she was glad to have that practice before being asked to serve the whole family at once, it meant she had so far learned precious little, except how tiring it was to run up and down the stairs from the basement kitchen to the dining room.
She had arrived at the house this morning at six o’clock and had been busy doing the ironing and helping Wong prepare and serve meals since then. As a result, Annie had found few opportunities for exploring. So far, she had access only to the kitchen, the dining room, and the front parlor, and none of these rooms had revealed anything of interest, except that Matthew’s family had dutifully draped every possible surface of the public rooms with black crape. Even more frustratingly, Miss Nancy had explicitly instructed her not to go into Matthew’s first-floor study, the room she most wanted to search for clues about the missing assets.
She had learned one piece of information. Cartier seemed jealous of Miss Nancy's position in the household. Miss Nancy made it clear she was responsible for the day-to-day management of the house, but Cartier kept insisting on checking with Matthew's wife before she carried out any command. This, however, seemed to be a long-standing struggle; the icily polite conversations between Miss Nancy and Cartier contained a well-rehearsed quality to them. And Annie couldn't see how it had any bearing on Matthew's death.
Entering the warmly lit kitchen, Annie paused in surprise. Wong had completed the dish-washing. Miss Nancy had informed her that since Wong was responsible for cooking the dinner, it would be her duty to clean up afterwards. Because of her aching feet and shoulders, she had been dreading this task. Wong turned from the sink and waved her towards the large kitchen table, where he had set out a late snack for her.
No, Annie thought, not a snack, a piece of artwork! A thick blue kitchen plate sat squarely in the middle of a woven mat of burnt orange. Echoing the colors of plate and mat, a sky-blue vase held a single golden chrysanthemum. Continuing the autumnal color scheme, on the plate rested a thick slice of apple pie, its buttery crust baked so delicately that it was difficult to determine where the piecrust ended and the slab of mellow cheddar cheese beside it began. And as Annie sank gratefully into the seat in front of this culinary masterpiece, Wong added the finishing touches to the picture by placing at her side a delicately crafted cup of robin's-egg blue, in which strong, fall-colored tea swirled.
"Oh, Wong," Annie sighed. "You are wonderful! I don't know that I have ever seen anything so beautiful in my life." Her stomach then growled out its opinion, and she continued, laughing, "I am certainly sure that I have never seen anything as beautiful and utilitarian at the same time. It seems almost a sacrilege to disturb it by eating, but I am afraid that while the mind is strong, the flesh is weak."
With this, Annie picked up the fork and began to eat. She didn’t know if he understood her but hoped that at least her tone of voice conveyed her sentiments. As she finished up the pie and sipped at the tea, her spirits unaccountably rose. Wong sat down across from her and beamed. She smiled back, nodding in pantomime her appreciation. He was older than most of the Chinese she had known, with white hairs that looked like thin white wires threaded through the black braid that hung down his back. She thought Matthew had once mentioned that his manservant had started working for him in the mining camps. Wong must have some insight into who might have wanted his master dead. She wished she could remember some of the Cantonese she had learned from Choy, who worked for her family on their Los Angeles ranch while she was growing up. But she couldn't.
She knew that many
She had arrived at the house this morning at six o’clock and had been busy doing the ironing and helping Wong prepare and serve meals since then. As a result, Annie had found few opportunities for exploring. So far, she had access only to the kitchen, the dining room, and the front parlor, and none of these rooms had revealed anything of interest, except that Matthew’s family had dutifully draped every possible surface of the public rooms with black crape. Even more frustratingly, Miss Nancy had explicitly instructed her not to go into Matthew’s first-floor study, the room she most wanted to search for clues about the missing assets.
She had learned one piece of information. Cartier seemed jealous of Miss Nancy's position in the household. Miss Nancy made it clear she was responsible for the day-to-day management of the house, but Cartier kept insisting on checking with Matthew's wife before she carried out any command. This, however, seemed to be a long-standing struggle; the icily polite conversations between Miss Nancy and Cartier contained a well-rehearsed quality to them. And Annie couldn't see how it had any bearing on Matthew's death.
Entering the warmly lit kitchen, Annie paused in surprise. Wong had completed the dish-washing. Miss Nancy had informed her that since Wong was responsible for cooking the dinner, it would be her duty to clean up afterwards. Because of her aching feet and shoulders, she had been dreading this task. Wong turned from the sink and waved her towards the large kitchen table, where he had set out a late snack for her.
No, Annie thought, not a snack, a piece of artwork! A thick blue kitchen plate sat squarely in the middle of a woven mat of burnt orange. Echoing the colors of plate and mat, a sky-blue vase held a single golden chrysanthemum. Continuing the autumnal color scheme, on the plate rested a thick slice of apple pie, its buttery crust baked so delicately that it was difficult to determine where the piecrust ended and the slab of mellow cheddar cheese beside it began. And as Annie sank gratefully into the seat in front of this culinary masterpiece, Wong added the finishing touches to the picture by placing at her side a delicately crafted cup of robin's-egg blue, in which strong, fall-colored tea swirled.
"Oh, Wong," Annie sighed. "You are wonderful! I don't know that I have ever seen anything so beautiful in my life." Her stomach then growled out its opinion, and she continued, laughing, "I am certainly sure that I have never seen anything as beautiful and utilitarian at the same time. It seems almost a sacrilege to disturb it by eating, but I am afraid that while the mind is strong, the flesh is weak."
With this, Annie picked up the fork and began to eat. She didn’t know if he understood her but hoped that at least her tone of voice conveyed her sentiments. As she finished up the pie and sipped at the tea, her spirits unaccountably rose. Wong sat down across from her and beamed. She smiled back, nodding in pantomime her appreciation. He was older than most of the Chinese she had known, with white hairs that looked like thin white wires threaded through the black braid that hung down his back. She thought Matthew had once mentioned that his manservant had started working for him in the mining camps. Wong must have some insight into who might have wanted his master dead. She wished she could remember some of the Cantonese she had learned from Choy, who worked for her family on their Los Angeles ranch while she was growing up. But she couldn't.
She knew that many
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