Today's Reading
"No pulse, of course. But I had to make sure. She is dead, but she has not been for long. Her hand is still warm."
Kay's stomach wanted to rebel and give up the piece of toast that had been breakfast. But Mrs. Roosevelt looked sad but also calm and resolute.
"Her hands are slightly damp. She must have been washing them, the poor thing—" Mrs. Roosevelt rose astonishingly swiftly to her feet. "Kay, you are as white as a sheet. You should sit down. You look as if you are about to faint."
Kay's aunt Tommy, Mrs. Roosevelt's regular secretary, had told Kay many things about "ER" to prepare her for the temporary job while Tommy recuperated from illness. ER was Mrs. Roosevelt's nickname, to go along with her husband's, FDR. She had also been known as "Mrs. R" at the White House.
Aunt Tommy explained that inner calm was Mrs. Roosevelt's first personal requirement, and she expected her staff to display it also. ER's remarkable inner calm was one part training and breeding and schooling, Aunt Tommy said. The second part? Living through loss and pain and finding strength.
"I'm fine, ma'am," Kay lied. She wanted to be the perfect secretary and show Mrs. Roosevelt she could be equally as unflappable.
Then she caught sight of her reflection in the washroom mirror. Her blush stood out like pink circles on her pale cheeks, her Revlon Love That Red lipstick looked like a garish smear, and one of her false eyelashes was sticking to her eyebrow—she must have brushed it off when she covered her eyes. She hastily pressed the lash down into place.
She always managed to make eye contact with her reflection. It wasn't just vanity, it was important. She used to eat salads for her waistline until she once discovered she had been smiling flirtatiously at an unmarried vice president with a glob of lettuce between her teeth.
Mrs. Roosevelt stepped out of the washroom. She nodded at Kay, then looked to the porter. The distinguished-looking man, who had cropped, grizzled gray hair, had sagged against the wall and was passing a pressed handkerchief over his forehead. "Mr. Jeffers," Mrs. Roosevelt said, "we will have to call the police."
He straightened hurriedly and Kay moved back to let him speak to Mrs. Roosevelt. When she moved back, she didn't have to look at poor Susan's body anymore. That helped to keep her head from swimming.
Mr. Jeffers's uniform was immaculate, but sweat had leaked once more onto his forehead from below his white cap. "I shouldn't have brought you here, Mrs. Roosevelt. I didn't realize it would be such a horrible sight. But you were asking about a blond woman, and Jackson, the young porter, was shouting about how he had found a woman's body on the train, and I thought you should see if it was the woman you knew."
"It is poor Susan Meyer. And I would not have been spared the sight. I would have made myself available to the police anyway, Mr. Jeffers. But the police must be contacted. At once."
Kay realized she had sunk her teeth into her lip—a nervous habit she hadn't done for years. "Mrs. Roosevelt, you can't be involved with the police."
Her boss, who she barely knew and who barely knew her yet, frowned. "I don't understand, Kay. What are you talking about?"
Kay swallowed hard. When Mrs. Roosevelt smiled, she was warm and friendly and kind. But her brows were drawn in a way that showed she was not pleased.
"Mr. Sandiston won't approve," Kay said. "He told me what working for a former First Lady should entail."
When she began her job two weeks ago, Mr. Sandiston of the State Department had invited her out for drinks to talk about her new job. Over too many martinis, Sandiston told her to keep him apprised of Mrs. Roosevelt's "activities," especially her search for missing Susan Meyer, because Susan was suspected of being involved with Communists.
Mrs. Roosevelt's tone was frosty as she pointed out, "Kay, you work for me. Not Mr. Sandiston."
Kay knew disapproval when she heard it. Dratted Sandiston—she'd recognized at once he was trying to get her to act like a spy. She'd told him no.
He had bought her another drink, then leaned over and told her she was an attractive woman. With his wide shoulders, muscular build, blue eyes, and sandy-blond hair, he was a good-looking man. Kay's gaze had flicked down to the ring finger of his left hand—no band of gold, but she knew men. She sensed he was one of those husbands who didn't wear his ring.
...
