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forward—pointedly away from me.
    “Run it past me before you give it to them, okay?” I didn’t wait for acknowledgment, but mused aloud. “Today’s Wednesday.”
    “Uh-huh. All day,” she said sing-song.
    Ignoring her tone, I continued. “Good thing. Wednesday is one of our slower days.” Being early spring meant we weren’t in high season yet. That time would come just after Memorial Day. “Chances are, most of our guests are on multiday tickets. They can still have access to the grounds and enjoy all the amenities of the hotel and outdoor attractions. We can offer to extend their hotel stay by an extra day, or we can offer them entrance tickets again at any time of their choosing.”
    Arranging her already neat desk—aligning paper corners and reshuffling pens—Frances made a show of not listening. But I knew better. Despite all her guff, she excelled at her job. If a detail needed to be remembered, you could be sure Frances remembered it. She spent the mansion’s money as if it were her own, and she guarded the place and its people with unsurpassed vigor. She was not, however, a woman prone to displays of sentiment and I wondered how much Abe’s death had really hit her. They had known each other since they both started here, almost forty years ago. She couldn’t be as unfeeling as she came across.
    I started toward Abe’s office again.
    Frances asked, “What about guests who can’t stay or can’t come back?” I moved closer to her desk and she finally looked up. “What if this was a family’s onetime trip and they can’t extend it an extra day. What then?”
    “Let’s deal with those situations on a case-by-case basis,” I said. “In the meantime, do whatever it takes to keep our guests happy.”
    “Happy. Pheh .” Her mouth twisted downward. “They wouldn’t know happy if it came up and bit them. All they ever do is complain.”
    I refrained from making a comment about pots and kettles, and entered Abe’s sanctuary without further resistance.
    Closing the door behind me, I leaned against it for a long moment. Abe’s office was as spartan as Bennett’s room had been cluttered, but it was stunning nonetheless. Enormous mullioned windows spanned one wall, and I gasped in awe at the endless vista before me. I had been in this room before, of course, but today—for the first time—spring had taken hold of the estate, creating a feast of color as though to dispel the mansion’s overwhelming sadness. The rain had worked wonders, creating a panorama of shocking green. Grassy fields, ornamental gardens, and a maze of evergreens were brighter in hue than they had been since I began working here. As a child, I’d walked the grounds with my hand tucked firmly in my mom’s but I had never seen the change into spring from this vantage point before.
    Just as I stepped away from the door it opened behind me, smacking me in the back. Hard.
    Frances’s voice was high, agitated. “Why are you standing behind the door? You scared of getting too close to the desk? Afraid Abe’s ghost will come back and haunt you for messing with his things?”
    “I’m fine, thanks,” I said, massaging my left shoulder.
    “I hope you’re not expecting me to knock every time I come in. Abe never did. Of course, he never stood right behind the door either.” She made a face. “Were you spying on me?”
    “What did you need, Frances?”
    Thrusting a sheet of paper at me, she cocked one of her tadpole eyebrows. “Here’s that script you wanted.”
    “But I asked you for it less than a minute ago.”
    With an exaggerated shrug she turned back to her desk. “Guess maybe I knew exactly what you needed before you did, huh?”
    She was absolutely right. She had anticipated our exact needs. I watched her settle herself back at her desk, squirming into her seat with a self-satisfied grin. We would get along so much better if she could pair her expert efficiency with a smidgen of friendliness, but today wasn’t