If Trevor were here, he would say something crude. He's not, but I'm sure he would appreciate it if we pretended he were here and had said it anyway.

[Regardless, she's back to eating, which means her thoughts are interspersed by the light click of fork against plate, and the occasional garbled word because she's chewing around it.]

In short, secrecy and anonymity are, in this case, mutually exclusive. To be truly secret, our patron would have to do everything themselves, but to be truly anonymous, they would have to use middlemen, which creates a trail.