But let's go back, briefly, to that Sunday mid-to-late morning. Oh, it was just a bit past 10, maybe a quarter past, and Daisy was fixing to get ready for a very important 1pm brunch. First off: the outfit which her maid had laid out for her, clearly was not the appropriate season; micro caprese were certainly not something you wear after Turkey Day (or before Halloween). Okay, Daisy had kept her cool so far, after all, what can you expect with ... a rude term applied to central american people - which, by the way, was acceptable speech among higher income-caste circles.
Daisy's phone buzzed. She picked up, chatted a bit, then - after several minutes - ended the call. She had to get ready, her clothes, her hair, her makeup ... yes, she had overslept some. The previous night had run it's usual too long into the am course.
She barked for her maid. Hearing no response, she cursed, and barked again. Still no response. Getting madder by the second, she went about the other rooms. The woman wasn't in the kitchen, nor was she in the laundry area, nor touching up in any of the parlors. Daisy went upstairs - which made her doubly irate (while the drugs, did wonders, her knees ... well, only so much can be done, when you continue to allow abuse of them).
The maid wasn't in any of the guestrooms, nor in any of the bathrooms, nor in the guest exercise rooms, nor in the upstairs portion of the library. Daisy arrived at the bottom of the staircase to the third floor, and barked again. No response. She climbed those steps, and peeked inside those several rooms. Back to the staircase, oh there was no way, she was going to climb that, just to check the two small rooms up there.
Back down, on the main floor, she made her way, past the foyer, into her suite of private rooms. The maid was not in Daisy's parlor, nor in her breakfast nook, nor her office. It was then Daisy noticed a strange smell. It was comming from the area of her bedroom. The smell was a bit stronger, as she neared her wardrobe room. Then she realized what the causing the smell. In the sewing, room adjoining the wardrobe room, the ironing board was up, and the the iron face down upon one of Daisy's better table-top sets.
Oh, Daisy was furious; that top was one of a kind, and had cost several thousand. Just plain livid, Daisy didn't notice the faded green cotton dress, the worn looking half-slip hem, peeking from beneath the dress. And underneath, those ugly brown shoes the woman always wore (uhm, if the woman had been paid decently for the some 70-freaking hours ... ugh!). Anyway, this poor pile lay upon the floor in front and center of the iron.
Oh course, Daisy didn't touch the pile. Along side it, maybe a few inches away, a silvery object caught her eye. She bent to look at it. It was her maid's wedding band (her husband was deceased). Just a plain piece, probably had cost maybe a $100, if that. Nearby, that abysmal little bracelet...hhmm, which dollar store did that thing come from?
Anyway, Daisy was clearly upset. She'd have to call this in, and miss the brunch.
Okay, moving forward: while her finances could be better, Daisy did manage to sell the beach place, and make some trades. She had come out ahead enough to finance a modest place in a sufficiently fashionable area, near Martha's Vinyard.
Dear Reader, you might want to know what Daisy thought about the "disappearance." Well, she didn't think too much about it; Daisy didn't want to think about it. You see, Daisy was going places, and it would only be a matter of time until she was able to have a place, a big place, AT - not just some knock-off, near - Martha's Vinyard.
Problem was, though Daisy didn't want to admit it, she knew full well, she was living on borrowed time. In short, she knew exactly what happened to those people. And she knew what would eventually become o her - and any body else, left behind.
Daisy, walked into her bathroom, opened the little cupboard along side the large mirror, took out a small bottle, opened the lid, and took a swallow of the smelly potion.
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