โIโm at the Olive Garden eighteen minutes later, which is two minutes sooner than my ETA, mostly because Iโm so nervous that I speed-โ
walked the entire way. Iโm sitting at our booth under the glow of the pendant light, only this time, it doesnโt feel like our booth at all. It will never be our booth ever again.
Rodney hasnโt arrived yet. As I wait, horrific visions loop in my mindโ Mr. Black, his skin ashen and drawn, the photo of Rodney and Giselle, two slippery serpents entwined, Granโs last few minutes of life. I donโt know why these things replay in my mind, but itโs doing nothing to quell my extreme jitters. How Iโm going to get through this, I do not know. How will I act normally when the tension is already jangling the core of my being?
When I next look up, there he is, rushing into the restaurant, searching for me. His hair is tousled, the top two buttons of his shirt are open, revealing his exasperatingly smooth chest. I imagine taking the fork from my place setting and stabbing him with it, right there, where the V of his shirt frames his naked skin. But then I see his scar, and my dark desire evaporates.
โMolly,โ he says as he slides into the booth across from me, โI made an excuse to take off from work for a bit, but I donโt have much time. Letโs make this quick, okay? Tell me everything.โ
A waitress comes to our table. โWelcome to the Olive Garden. Can I get you started with some free salad and bread?โ
โWeโre here for a quick drink,โ Rodney replies. โA beer for me.โ
I put a finger in the air. โActually, salad and bread would be lovely. And Iโll also take an appetizer plate and a large pepperoni pizza, please. Oh, and some water? Very, very cold. With ice.โ No Chardonnay for me todayโI must remain clearheaded. Also, this is not a celebration, not in any way. โThank you,โ I say to the waitress.
Rodney runs his fingers through his hair and sighs.
โThank you for coming,โ I say once the waitress is gone. โIt means the world to me that youโre always there when I need you. Such a reliable friend you are.โ My face feels stiff and forced as I say this, but Rodney doesnโt seem to notice.
โIโm here for you, Molly. Just tell me what happened, okay?โ
โWell,โ I say as I conceal my shaking hands under the table, โafter the detective took me to the station, she told me Mr. Black did not die naturally. She said he was asphyxiated.โ
I wait for this to sink in.
โWhoa,โ Rodney says. โAnd youโre the obvious suspect.โ
โIn fact, Iโm not. Theyโre looking for someone else.โ These are the exact words Charlotte instructed me to say.
I watch him carefully. His Adamโs apple bobs up and down. The waitress returns with bread, salad, and our drinks. I take a long sip of cold water and revel in Rodneyโs growing discomfort. I do not touch the food at all. Iโm far too nervous. Plus, itโs for later.
โDetective Stark said the persons of interest were most likely motivated by Mr. Blackโs will. She thinks they maybe even discussed his will with him before they killed him. Poor Giselle. Do you know that Mr. Black didnโt leave her a thing? Not a single thing, the poor, poor woman.โ
โWhat? The detective told you that? But that canโt be. I know for a fact it canโt be.โ
โDo you? I thought you werenโt well acquainted with Giselle,โ I say. โIโm not,โ he says. He appears to be sweating though itโs not unduly
warm in here. โBut I know people who know her well. Anyhow, this isnโt what they told me. So itโsโฆwell, itโs a bit of a surprise.โ He takes a gulp of beer and puts his elbows on the table.
โRude,โ I say.
โWhat?โ
โYour elbows on the table. This is a restaurant. That is a dinner table.
Proper etiquette requires you to keep your elbows off it.โ
He shakes his head but takes his offensive appendages off the table.
Victory.
โSalad? Bread?โ I offer.
โNo,โ he replies. โLetโs just get to the point. Didnโt Mr. Black leave Giselle the villa in the Caymans? Did the detective mention that?โ
โHmm,โ I say. I pick up my napkin and grip it under the table between my perspiring hands. โI donโt recall anything about a villa. I think the detective said almost everything goes to the first Mrs. Black and the children.โ Another tidbit doled out as planned.
โYouโre telling me the police volunteered all of this information to you for no good reason?โ
โWhat? Of course not,โ I say. โWho would tell me anything? Iโm just the maid. Detective Stark left me in a room by myself, and you know how it is. People forget Iโm there. Or perhaps they think Iโm too daft to understand? I overheard all of this at the station.โ
โAnd werenโt the detectives concerned about the gun in your vacuum? I mean, Iโm assuming thatโs why they nabbed you, right?โ
โYes,โ I say. โIt seems Cheryl found the gun and alerted them. Interesting that she knew where to look. For someone so lazy, itโs hard to imagine her searching a dusty vacuum bag.โ
Rodneyโs face changes. โYouโre not suggesting I told her, are you?
Molly, you know I would neverโโ
โIโd never suggest that about you, Rodney. Youโre blameless. An innocent,โ I say. โMuch like me.โ
He nods. โGood. Iโm glad thereโs no misunderstanding here.โ He shakes his head the way a wet dog would when it comes out of the water. โSo what did you tell the police when they asked about the gun?โ
โI simply explained whose gun it was, and where I found it,โ I reply. โThat raised two eyebrows. Meaning I believe Detective Stark was surprised.โ
โSo you narced on Giselle, yourย friend?โ he asks. His elbows make an aggravating reappearance on the table.
โI would never betray a true friend,โ I say. โBut thereโs something dreadful I have to tell you. Itโs why I called you here.โ Here it comes, the moment Iโve prepared for.
โWhat is it already?โ he asks, barely able to keep the rage out of his voice.
โOh, Rodney. You know how nervous I get in social situations, and I must say that being interrogated by detectives caused me much consternation, as I have very little experience in such matters. Perhaps youโre more accustomed to such ordeals?โ
โMolly, get to the point.โ
โRight,โ I say, wringing my napkin in my hands. โOnce the issue of Giselleโs gun was out of the bagโI suppose thatโs both literal and figurative in this caseโthe detective said they would sweep the former Black suite yet again.โ I bring my napkin to my eyes as I try to gauge his response to this.
โGo on,โ he says.
โI said, โOh, you canโt do that! Juan Manuel is staying in that suite.โ And the detective asked, โWhoโs Juan Manuel?โ And so I told them. Oh, Rodney, I probably shouldnโt have. I told them how Juan Manuel is your friend and how youโve been helping him because he has no work permit andโโ
โYou mentioned me to the detective?โ
โYes,โ I say. โAnd I told them about the overnight bags and the cleaning up after Juan Manuel and your friends, and how good and kind youโve all beenโโ
โTheyโre his friends, not mine.โ
โWell, whoever they are, they sure do drag a lot of mess into rooms. But donโt worry, I made sure to let the detective know what a good man you are, even if your friends are a littleโฆdusty.โ
He takes his head in his hands. โOh, Molly. What have you done?โ
โI told the truth,โ I say. โBut I realize I have caused a bit of an issue for Juan Manuel. What if heโs still in the Black suite when they check it again? Iโd hate for him to get in any kind of trouble. Youโd hate that, too, wouldnโt you, Rodney?โ
He nods vigorously. โI would. Yeah. I mean, weโve got to make sure heโs not in there when they check. And weโve got to clean that room out, fast, before the police arrive. You know, so there are no traces of Juan Manuel.โ
โOf course,โ I say. โMy thoughts exactly.โ I smile at Rodney, but inside Iโm pouring a full kettle of boiling water onto his dirty, lying face.
โSo youโll do it?โ he asks. โDo what?โ I reply.
โSneak in and clean the suite. Now. Before the cops get there. Youโre the only one besides Chernobyl and Snow who has access. If Mr. Snow catches Juan Manuel thereโor worse, if the police doโheโll be deported.โ
โBut Iโm not supposed to be going to work today. Mr. Snow says Iโm โa person of interestโ to the police, soโโ
โPlease, Molly! This is important.โ He reaches out and grabs my hand. I want to wrench mine away, but I know I must not move.
We have faith in you.
I hear it in my head, but itโs not Granโs voice this time. Itโs Mr. Prestonโs.
Then Charlotteโs. Then Juan Manuelโs.
I keep my hand steady under his, my gaze neutral. โYou know,โ I say, โIโm not allowed to enter the hotel, but that doesnโt meanย youย canโt enter. What if I quickly sneak into the hotel, grab the right room key, and give it to you? You can then use my trolley and clean up the room yourself! Wouldnโt that be somethingโyou cleaning up your own mess?โI mean, Juan Manuelโs mess.โ
His eyes are darting all over the place. The sheen on his forehead is condensing into droplets.
After a few moments, he says, โOkay. All right. You get me the suite key, I clean the room.โ
โThe suite keyย tout suite,โ I say, but he fails to register my cleverness.
The waitress arrives at our table with the pepperoni pizza and the appetizer plate.
โWould you mind boxing that up, please?โ I ask.
โSure,โ she says. โWas there something wrong with the bread and salad?
You didnโt even touch them.โ
โOh no,โ I say. โItโs all delightful. Itโs just that weโre in a bit of a rush.โ โOf course,โ she says. โIโll box everything.โ She gestures to a colleague,
and the two of them take care of the food.
โHeโll have the bill, please,โ I say, pointing to Rodney.
His mouth drops open, but he doesnโt say anything, not so much as a word.
Our waitress retrieves the bill from her apron and hands it to him. He pulls out a crisp, fresh $100 bill from his wallet, passes it to her, and says, โKeep the change.โ He stands abruptly. โI better run, Molly. I should get back to the hotel and do this right away.โ
โOf course,โ I say. โIโll take all this food home. Then Iโll text you as soon as I make it to the hotel. Oh, and Rodney?โ
โWhat?โ he asks.
โIt really is a shame that you donโt like jigsaw puzzles.โ โWhy?โ
โBecause,โ I say, โI donโt think you quite know the pleasure one feels when suddenly, all the pieces come together.โ
He looks at me, his lip curled. Itโs so clear, the meaning of the look. Iโm an idiot. A fool. And Iโm too daft to even know it.
Thatโs the expression thatโs smeared all over his vulgar, lying face.