Sixty-two:
Piper Powell
The butler had been unusually quiet since we had entered the house. “So,” I said, “what’s your name?”
The butler turned, looking over his shoulder, and smiled at me. “I’m Mr. Flemming, Miss.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Flemming.”
“It’s nice to re-meet you, Miss Powell,” he said, “I had hoped that it would have been sooner.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Me too,” I settled on. “I’ve got a question for you.”
“I expected you might. Perhaps we can do the questions over some tea? I find that sometimes, if you have things to stir, it makes things better. You can concentrate on something else instead of awkwardly staring at each other.”
I smiled. “Ransom’s butler would say the same thing. Alright. If that would make you feel b
