Janet Kylieh’s backstory was relatively and unsurprisingly similar. A devoted Motta employee, overworked, and unappreciated. So when she “spotted” the smashed trophies and pictures scattered in the trunk of the car, it was as if fate handed her an opportunity. 

For Janet there was no modulator or nervousness over conflict of loyalty. She made the call happily, rattling off with precision the make, model, license plate number, and exactly where the stolen and smashed awards could be found. 

Her voice had a faint trace of the South Boston accent she never quite lost when she relocated from her hometown to Castleport for the Motta’s. After all a good performance was about the details, even the minor, unassuming facts and traits could take a role from mediocre to completely convincing.

 And as Rachel set the phone down for the second time, her smile blossomed into a wide victorious grin. 

Checkmate.

sam: hey there, little red riding hood.

mercedes: so um, in the interest of trying to be better. thanks for offering your ear.

QUINN: Sugar?

QUINN: I never thanked you for coming up last weekend. I'm glad you were able to come with.