โThe car ride is silent. This time, Iโm seated in the back of the police cruiser instead of up front. I donโt like it back here. The vinylโ
upholstery squeaks under me every time I make the slightest move. A bullet-proof glass barrier separates Detective Stark from me. It is smeared with grubby fingerprints and dark-brown blood stains.
Imagine youโre in a limousine, sitting in the back seat, being driven to the opera.
Gran reminds me that entrapment is only a state of mind, that thereโs always a way out. I join my hands in my lap and breathe deeply. I will admire the view out the window. Yes. I will concentrate on that.
We are at the station in what feels like seconds. Once inside, Detective Stark leads me to the same white room in which I was questioned before. On our way there, I feel more eyes upon meโuniformed officers who gawk as I pass, some of them offering a nod, not to me, but to Detective Stark. I hold my head high.
โHave a seat,โ the detective says. I sit down in the same seat where I sat before, and Detective Stark sits across from me. She closes the door. She doesnโt offer me coffee or even water this time, which is a shame. I could
use some water, though I know if I ask for some it will arrive in a dastardly Styrofoam cup.
Shoulders back, chin up, breathe.
Detective Stark has not said a word. Sheโs sitting there in front of me, watching me. The camera in the corner blinks its red eye at me.
Iโm the first to break the silence. โHow may I be of service to you, Detective Stark?โ I ask.
โHow can you be of service to me? Well, Molly the Maid. You can start by telling the truth.โ
โMy gran used to say that the truth is subjective. But Iโve never quite believed that. I believe the truth is absolute,โ I say.
โThen thereโs something we agree on,โ Detective Stark replies. She leans forward and puts her elbows on the scuffed white table between us. I wish she wouldnโt. I disapprove of elbows on the table. But I donโt say anything.
She is close enough that I can see tiny gold flecks in the irises of her blue eyes. โSince weโre talking about truth,โ she says, โIโd like to share with you the results of Mr. Blackโs toxicology report. No autopsy report yet, but weโll have that soon enough. Mr. Black had drugs in his system, the same drug that was on his bedside table and strewn on the floor of his bedroom.โ
โGiselleโs medicine,โ I say.
โMedicine? Benzodiazepine, laced with some other street drugs.โ
It takes me a moment to change the picture in my head from Giselle at the drugstore counter to her acquiring something illicit in a sordid back alley. Something isnโt right. It doesnโt make sense.
โAnyhow,โ Detective Stark says, โIt wasnโt the pills that killed him. He had a lot in his system, but not enough to kill him.โ
โWhat do you believe killed him then?โ I ask.
โWe donโt know yet. But I assure you, weโll get to the bottom of it,โ she says. โThe full autopsy report will determine if the petechial hemorrhaging was due to a cardiac arrest or if something more sinister happened.โ
It comes back to me in a flash. The room starts to spin. I see Mr. Black, his skin gray and taut, the little pinprick bruises around his eyes, his body
stiff and lifeless. After I made the call to the front desk, I looked up. I caught my reflection in the mirror on the wall in front of the bed.
Suddenly, I feel clammy and cold, like Iโm about to faint.
Detective Stark purses her lips, bides her time. Eventually, she says, โIf you know something, nowโs your chance to be on the side of good. You do understand that Mr. Black was a very important man? A VIP?โ
โNo,โ I say.
โExcuse me?โ Detective Stark replies.
โI donโt believe that some people are more important than other people. Weโre all very important in our own way, Detective. For instance, Iโm sitting here with youโa lowly hotel maidโand yet clearly there is something very important about me. Otherwise, you wouldnโt have brought me here today.โ
Detective Stark is listening carefully. She zeroes in on my every word. โLet me ask you something,โ she says. โDoes it ever make you angry?
Being a maid, I mean? Cleaning up after rich people? Taking care of their messes?โ
Iโm impressed by this line of questioning. This is not what I was expecting at all when I was escorted here.
โYes,โ I answer truthfully. โI do sometimes feel angry. Especially when guests are careless. When they forget that their actions have an impact on others, when Iโm treated like I donโt matter.โ
Detective Stark says nothing. Her elbows remain on the table, which continues to grate on my nerves even though itโs only officially a breach of etiquette when thereโs a meal being served.
โNow let me askย youย a question,โ I say. โDoes it ever botherย you?โ โDoes what ever bother me?โ
โCleaning up after rich people. Taking care of their messes,โ I say.
The detective pulls back as though Iโve sprouted the head of Hydra and one hundred serpents are hissing in her face. What pleases me, though, is that her elbows are no longer on the table.
โIs that how you see this? That my job as a detective is to clean up after a man has died?โ
it.โ
โWhat Iโm saying is that weโre not so different, when it comes down to
โIs that so?โ
โYou want this mess cleaned up, and so do I. We both seek a tidy closure
to this unfortunate situation. A return to normalcy.โ
โWhat Iโm seeking is the truth, Molly. About how Mr. Black died. And right now, I also want to know the truth about you. Weโve uncovered some interesting information in the last forty-eight hours. When we spoke the other day, you said you didnโt know Giselle Black particularly well. But as it turns out, thatโs not true.โ
I wonโt give her the satisfaction of flinching. Giselle is my friend. Iโve never had a friend like her before, and Iโm acutely aware of how easy it would be to lose her. I consider how to protect her and tell the truth at the same time.
โGiselle has confided in me in the past. That doesnโt mean I know her as well as Iโd like. Mr. Black definitely had a temper. It was hard not to notice Giselleโs bruises. She confessed he was the cause of them.โ
โYou do realize weโve been talking to other employees at the hotel, right?โ
โI would have expected as much, yes. Iโm sure youโll find them very helpful to your investigation,โ I say.
โTheyโve told us a lot. Not only about Giselle and Mr. Black. But about you.โ
I feel my stomach twist. Surely whoever spoke to Detective Stark would have been fair in their commentary, even if Iโm not their cup of tea? And if the detective consulted Mr. Snow, Mr. Preston, or Rodney, she would have received a glowing report on my employee conduct and general reliability.
A thought occurs to me. Cheryl. She was โsickโ yesterdayโthough probably not so sick that she couldnโt make her way down to this very station.
As if reading my mind, the detective says, โMolly, weโve been talking to Cheryl, your supervisor.โ
โI do hope she was helpful,โ I reply, though I highly doubt she was.
โWe asked Cheryl if she ever cleaned the Blacksโ suite when they stayed at the hotel. She said that for a while she did clean their suite alongside you. It was her way of maintaining quality control and keeping her maids sharp.โ The acid builds in my stomach. โIt was her way of siphoning off tips that were meant for those who do the work rather than for those who stand
around watching,โ I say.
The detective ignores my words entirely. โCheryl said that she observed a friendly relationship between you and Giselle, a kind of special kinship that was unusual between a guest and a maid, especially for you, since you donโt really have friends, so Iโm told.โ
I knew Cheryl was watching me, but I never realized just how much. I take a moment to collect my thoughts before I respond. โGiselle was grateful for my services,โ I say. โThat was the basis for our relationship.โ
โTell me, did you ever receive tips from Giselle? Or large sums of money?โ she asks.
โShe and Mr. Black tipped me well,โ I answer. I wonโt go into further details about the countless times Giselle placed brand-new $100 bills into the palm of my hand to thank me for keeping the suite clean. And I wonโt mention her visit to my home nor the charitable monetary gift she left me last night. Itโs no oneโs business except mine.
โDid Giselle ever give you anything besides money?โ
Kindness. Friendship. Help. Trust. โNothing out of the ordinary,โ I say. โNothing at all?โ
Detective Stark digs in her pocket and takes out a small key. She opens a drawer in the table between us. She takes out the timer, Giselleโs timer, her golden gift to me. The detective places it on the table.
I feel a surge of heat rise to my face. โCheryl let you into my locker. Thatโsย myย locker, itโs my personal space. Thatโs not right, invading someoneโs privacy, touching their things without permission.โ
โThose lockers are hotel property, Molly. Please remember youโre just an employee, not the owner of the hotel. Now, tell me: are you ready to confess the truth about you and Giselle?โ
The truth about Giselle and me is something I barely understand. Itโs as strange as a baby rhino being adopted by a tortoise. How am I supposed to explain such a thing? โI donโt know what to tell you,โ I say.
โThen let me tellย youย something,โ Detective Stark replies as her elbows reclaim the table. โYouโre rapidly becoming a person of interest to us. Do you understand what that means?โ
Iโm detecting an air of condescension. Iโve encountered this beforeโ people who assume that Iโm a complete idiot just because I donโt grasp things that come easily to them.
โYouโre becoming a VIP, Molly,โ Detective Stark adds. โAnd not the good kind. Youโve proven that youโre capable of leaving out important details, of bending the truth to suit you. Iโm going to ask you one more time: are you in contact with Giselle Black?โ
I deliberate once more and find Iโm able to answer this with 100 percent honesty. โI am not currently in contact with Giselle, though as I understand it, she remains a guest at the hotel.โ
โLetโs hope for your sake thatโs the truth. And letโs hope the autopsy report shows a natural cause of death. Until then, youโre not to leave the country or attempt to hide from us in any way. Youโre not under arrest.โ
โI most certainly hope not. Iโve done nothing wrong!โ โDo you have a valid passport?โ
โNo.โ
She cocks her head to one side. โIf youโre lying, Iโll find out. I can look you up, you know.โ
โAnd when you do,โ I say, โyouโll find that I do not have a passport because Iโve never left the country in my life. Youโll also find Iโm a model citizen and that I have a completely clean record.โ
โDonโt go anywhere, you understand?โ
Itโs precisely this kind of language that always trips me up. โMay I go to my home? May I go to the store? To the restroom? And what about work?โ
She sighs. โYes, of course you can go home and to all the places youโd usually go. And yes, you can go to work. What Iโm saying is weโll be watching you.โ
Here we go again. โWatching me do what?โ I ask.
Her eyes drill into mine. โWhatever it is youโre hiding, whoever youโre trying to protect, weโll find out. One thing Iโve learned in my business is that you can hide dirt for a while, but at some point, it all comes to the surface. Do you understand?โ
โYouโre asking me if I understand dirt?โ
Smudges on doorknobs. Shoe prints on floors. Dust rings on tabletops.
Mr. Black dead in his bed.
โYes, Detective. I understand dirt better than most.โ