โAt long last, after many forms and formalities, I find myself sinking into the plush leather backseat of Charlotte Prestonโs luxury car.โ
Once I left the courthouse, I was passed off to a clerk who said she knew Charlotte well and would bring me safely to her. She escorted me to a back door, where Mr. Preston and his daughter, as they had promised, were waiting for me. They whisked me away in this car. I am free, for now at least.
The dashboard of Charlotteโs car tells me itโs oneย P.M. I believe this vehicle is a Mercedes, but given that Iโve never owned a car myself and only ride in them on rare occasions, Iโm not up on the finer brands. Mr. Preston sits in the passenger seat while Charlotte drives.
Iโm tremendously grateful to be in this car rather than in court or in the filthy basement holding cell in the police station. I suppose I should focus on the bright side rather than on the unpleasantness. This day has afforded me many new experiences, and Gran used to say that new experiences open doors that lead to personal growth. Iโm not sure that Iโve enjoyed the doors that have opened today, nor the experiences Iโve had, but I do hope they lead to personal growth in the long run.
โDad, you have Mollyโs phone and keys, right?โ
โOh, yes,โ Mr. Preston says. โThank you for reminding me.โ He removes them from his pocket and passes them back to me.
โThank you, Mr. Preston,โ I say.
Only then does it occur to me. โMay I ask where weโre going?โ
โTo your home, Molly,โ Charlotte said. โWeโre going to take you home.โ Mr. Preston turns around in the passenger seat to meet my eye. โNow, donโt you worry, Molly,โ he says. โCharlotteโs going to help you out, pro
bono, and we wonโt stop until everythingโs back to normal, tickety-boo.โ โBut what about the bail?โ I ask. โI donโt have anywhere near that kind
of money.โ
โThatโs okay, Molly,โ Charlotte says, never taking her eyes off the road. โI donโt actually have to pay that, only if you run away.โ
โWell, Iโm not about to do that,โ I say, leaning into the space between the two front seats.
โSounds like old Judge Wight figured that out fairly quickly, or so Iโm told,โ Charlotte says.
โHow did you hear that so fast?โ Mr. Preston asks.
โThe clerks, the assistants, the court reporters. People talk. Treat them well and they give you the inside scoop. Most attorneys walk all over them, though.โ
โThe way of the world,โ Mr. Preston says.
โIโm afraid so. They also said Judge Wight was in no rush to release Mollyโs name to the press. Sounds to me like he knows Starkโs chasing the wrong fox.โ
โI donโt know how any of this could have happened,โ I say. โIโm just a maid, trying to do my job to the best of my abilities. IโmโฆIโm not guilty of any of these charges.โ
โWe know that, Molly,โ Mr. Preston says.
โSometimes life isnโt fair,โ Charlotte adds. โAnd if thereโs one thing Iโve learned over years of practice, itโs that thereโs no shortage of criminals out there who will prey on a personโs difference for their personal gain.โ
Mr. Preston turns around in his seat again to look at me. Deep wrinkles have emerged on his forehead.
โLife must be hard without your gran,โ he says. โI know you relied on her a lot. You know, she asked me to look out for you, before she passed.โ
โDid she?โ I say. How I wish she were here. I look out the window through the tears that have formed in my eyes. โThank you. For looking out for me,โ I say.
โThatโs quite all right,โ Mr. Preston replies.
My building comes into view, and Iโm fairly certain that Iโve never been happier to see it.
โDo you think itโs appropriate for me to go to work today as usual, Mr.
Preston?โ
Charlotte turns to her dad, then looks back to the road ahead.
โIโm afraid not, Molly. It will be expected that you take some time off,โ Mr. Preston says.
โWould it not be correct to call Mr. Snow?โ
โNo, not in this case. Itโs best right now not to contact anyone at the hotel.โ
โThereโs visitorsโ parking at the back of my building,โ I say. โIโve never used it, as the visitors Gran and I used to receive were mostly Granโs friends and none of them had vehicles.โ
โDo you keep in touch with them?โ Charlotte asks as she turns into a free spot.
โNo,โ I reply. โNot since Gran died.โ
Once weโre parked, we get out of the car and I lead the way into the building. โThis way,โ I say, pointing to the stairwell.
โNo elevator?โ Charlotte asks. โIโm afraid not,โ I reply.
We climb silently to my floor and are walking down the hall toward my apartment when Mr. Rosso emerges from his.
โYou!โ he says, pointing a plump index finger at me. โYou brought the police into this building! They arrested you! Molly, youโre no good, and you canโt live here anymore. Iโm evicting you, you hear me?โ
Before I can answer, I feel a hand on my arm. Charlotte steps past me and stands a few inches from Mr. Rossoโs face.
โYouโre the slumlordโI mean landlordโI suppose?โ
Mr. Rosso pouts the way he always does when I tell him Iโm going to be a bit late with the rent.
โI am the landlord,โ he says. โWho the hell are you?โ
โIโm Mollyโs lawyer,โ Charlotte replies. โYou do realize that this building is in violation of more than a few codes and bylaws, right? Cracked fire door, parking too tightly spaced. And any residential building over five stories has to have a working elevator.โ
โToo expensive,โ Mr. Rosso says.
โIโm sure city inspectors have heard that excuse before. Let me offer you some free legal advice. Whatโs your name again?โ
โItโs Mr. Rosso,โ I offer helpfully.
โThank you, Molly,โ Charlotte replies. โIโll remember that.โ She turns back to him. โSo the free advice is: donโt think about my client, donโt talk about my client, donโt harass or threaten my client with eviction or anything else. Until you hear differently from me, sheโs got a right to be here, the same as anyone else. You got it? Clear?โ
Mr. Rossoโs face has turned bright red. I expect him to speak, but surprisingly, he does not. He merely nods, then backs away into his apartment, quietly closing the door behind him.
Mr. Preston smiles at Charlotte. โThatโs my girl,โ he says. I fumble for my keys and unlock my apartment door.
One of the great virtues of Granโs daily cleaning regimen is that the apartment is in a perpetually suitable state to receive unexpected visitors, not that I usually receive any. Besides the unwanted visit from police earlier today and the shocking visit from Giselle on Tuesday, this is one of the few times Iโm able to reap the benefits of this advantage.
โPlease come in,โ I say, directing Charlotte and Mr. Preston through my front door. I donโt take the polishing cloth out of my closet because Iโm still in slippers and they have spongy bottoms that canโt effectively be wiped. Instead, I grab a plastic bag from the closet and wrap my slippers in it,
TBSLโTo Be Sanitized Later. Mr. Preston and Charlotte elect to keep their shoes on, which is fine by me given how grateful I am to them at this particular juncture in time.
โMay I take your bag?โ I ask Charlotte. โThe closets are small, but Iโm a bit of a wizard when it comes to spatial organization.โ
โActually, Iโm going to need it,โ she says. โTo take notes.โ
โOf course,โ I say, though I feel the floors tilt under me as I realize what sheโs here for and whatโs about to happen next. Up to now Iโve been concentrating on the new delight of having peopleโfriendly people, helpful peopleโin my environs. Iโve tried to ignore the fact that very soon, Iโll have to think more deeply about all that has happened to me today and leading up to today. Iโll have to share details and recount things I donโt actually want to think about. Iโll have to explain all that has gone wrong. Iโll have to choose what to say.
No sooner have I had these thoughts than I visibly begin to shake. โMolly,โ Mr. Preston says, putting a hand on my shoulder. โWould it be
all right if I went into the kitchen and prepared us all a pot of tea? Charlotte will tell you, Iโm very good at it, for a big old lug, anyhow.โ
Charlotte strolls into the living room. โHe makes a mean cuppa, my daddy does,โ she says. โLeave that to him, and you can go freshen up, Molly. Iโm sure youโre eager to change.โ
โI most certainly am,โ I say, looking down at my pajamas. โI wonโt take long.โ
โThereโs no rush. Weโll be here when youโre ready.โ
I can hear Mr. Preston clanging around in the kitchen and humming to himself while Iโm out here in the hall. This is most certainly a breach of proper etiquette. The guests should be seated comfortably in the sitting room and I should be tending to them, not the other way around. And yet, the truth of the matter is, I canโt follow protocols in this very moment. I can barely think straight. My nerves are too frayed. While I stand, immobilized in my own hallway, Charlotte joins Mr. Preston in my kitchen. They chatter back and forth to each other, like two birds on a wire. Itโs the most pleasing sound, like sunshine and hope, and for a moment I wonder what it is I have
done to deserve the good fortune of having them both here. My legs gradually regain mobility and I walk over to the kitchen and stand in the threshold. โThank you,โ I say. โI canโt thank you enough forโโ
Mr. Preston interrupts me. โSugar bowl? I know it must be here somewhere.โ
โIn the cupboard beside the stove. First shelf,โ I say. โOff you go then. Leave the rest to us.โ
I turn and head to the bathroom, where I shower quickly, grateful that thereโs proper hot water today and relieved to scrub the sour filth of the station and court off my skin. I enter the living room a few minutes later in a white, buttoned-down blouse and dark slacks. Iโm feeling quite a lot better.
Mr. Preston is seated on the sofa and Charlotte is sitting across from him on a chair sheโs brought from the kitchen. Heโs found Granโs beautiful silver serving tray in the cupboard, the one we bought for a most economical sum at a thrift store so long ago. Itโs so strange to see it in his large, masculine hands. The full tea service is expertly arranged on the table in front of the sofa.
โWhere did you learn to serve a proper tea, Mr. Preston?โ
โI wasnโt always a doorman, you know. I had to work my way up to that,โ he says. โAnd to think, I now have a daughter whoโs a lawyer.โ His eyes crinkle up as he looks upon his daughter. Itโs a look that reminds me so much of gran, I want to cry.
โShall I pour you a cup?โ Mr. Preston asks me. He doesnโt wait for an answer. โOne lump or two?โ
โItโs a two sort of day,โ I say.
โEvery day is a two sort of day for me,โ he says. โI need all the sweetness I can get.โ
Truthfully, so do I. I need the sugar because Iโm feeling a tad faint again. Iโve had nothing to eat since the raisin-bran muffin in the station this morning. I donโt have enough food in my cupboards to serve three people and eating on my own would be the very pinnacle of impropriety.
โDad, youโve got to cut back on sugar,โ Charlotte says, shaking her head. โYou know itโs not good for you.โ
โAh well,โ he replies. โHard to teach an old dog new tricks and all, right, Molly?โ He pats his belly and chuckles.
Charlotte puts her teacup on the table. She picks up the yellow pad of paper and a sleek gold pen sheโs placed on the floor beside her chair. โSo, Molly. Have a seat. Are you ready to talk? Iโll need you to tell me everything you know about the Blacks and why you think you stand accused ofโฆwell, many things.โ
โWrongly accused,โ I say as I take a seat beside Mr. Preston.
โThatโs a given, Molly,โ Charlotte replies. โIโm sorry I didnโt make that immediately clear. My father and I wouldnโt be here if we didnโt believe that. Dadโs convinced you had nothing to do with this. Heโs long suspected thereโs nefarious activity taking place at that hotel.โ She pauses and looks around the room. Her eyes land on Granโs flowered curtains, her curio cabinet, and the English landscape prints on the wall. โI can see why Dadโs so sure about you, Molly. But to absolve you, we need to figure out who might actually be guilty of these crimes. We both think youโve been played. Do you understand? Youโve been used as a pawn in Mr. Blackโs murder.โ
I recall the gun in my vacuum. The only people who knew about me and that gun were Giselle and Rodney. That thought alone sends a wave of sadness rushing through me. I slump over as it washes away all the gumption from my spine.
โIโm innocent,โ I say. โI didnโt kill Mr. Black.โ Tears prick my eyes and I drive them back. I donโt want to make a fool of myself, I really donโt.
โItโs all right,โ Mr. Preston says, giving my arm a little pat. โWe believe you. All you have to do is tell the truth,ย yourย truth, and Charlotte will see to the rest.โ
โMy truth. Yes,โ I say. โI can do that. I suppose itโs time.โ
I start with a full description of what I saw the day I entered the Black suite and found him dead in his bed. Charlotte furiously jots down my every word. I describe the drinks on the messy sitting-room table, Giselleโs spilled
pill bottle in the bedroom, the discarded robe on the floor, the three pillows on the bed rather than four. I start to shake as the memory returns.
โIโm not sure that pillows and messiness are the details Charlotteโs after here, Molly,โ Mr. Preston says. โI think sheโs looking for details that might suggest foul play.โ
โThatโs right,โ Charlotte adds. โSuch as the pills. You said the pills were Giselleโs. Did you touch them? Were they labeled?โ
โNo, I didnโt touch them. Not that day at least. And the container wasnโt labeled. I knew they were Giselleโs because sheโd often take them in my presence when I was cleaning the suite. Plus, I often saw the bottle in the bathroom. She called them her โbenz friendsโ or her โchill pills.โ I believe โbenzโ is a medicine of some sort? She did not seem ill to meโwell, not in the physical sense. But some illnesses are a lot like maidsโomnipresent but almost imperceptible.โ
Charlotte looks up from her pad. โSo true,โ she says. โBenz is short for benzodiazepine. Itโs an anti-anxiety and depression med. Small white pills?โ
โA lovely shade of robinโs-egg blue, actually.โ
โHuh,โ says Charlotte. โSo it was a street drug, not a prescription. Dad, did you ever talk to Giselle? Ever see any odd behavior from her?โ
โOdd behavior?โ he says, taking a sip of tea. โOdd behavior is par for the course when youโre a hotel doorman at the Regency Grand. It was clear that she and Mr. Black were often on the outs. On the day that Mr. Black died, she left in a hurry and was crying. A week before, same thing, but that was after a visit from Victoria, Mr. Blackโs daughter, and his ex-wife, the first Mrs. Black.โ
โI remember that day,โ I say. โMrs. Blackโthe firstโheld the elevator door open for me, but her daughter told me to take the service elevator instead. Giselle told me Victoria disliked her. Perhaps thatโs why Giselle was crying that day, Mr. Preston.โ
โTears and high drama were a rather regular occurrence for Giselle,โ Mr. Preston says. โI suppose thatโs not surprising when you consider the man
she married. Far be it from me to wish a man ill, but I was not sad to see that manโs life come to an early end.โ
โWhyโs that?โ Charlotte asks.
โYou work a door like the Regency Grand for as long as I have, and you can read people in a single glance. He was no gentleman, not to the new Mrs. Black or to the former Mrs. Black. Mark my words, that man was a bad one.โ
โA bad egg?โ I ask.
โA stinking, rotten egg,โ Mr. Preston confirms.
โDid he have any obvious enemies, Dad? Anyone who might have wanted him conveniently dispatched?โ
โOh, Iโm sure he did. I was one of them. But there were others. First off, there were the womenโtheย otherย women. When the Mrs. Blacks, new or old, were not around, there wereโฆhow should I call themโฆyoung female callers?โ
โDad, just say sex workers.โ
โI would call them that if I knew for sure thatโs what they were, but I never actually saw money exchange hands. Or the other part.โ Mr. Preston coughs and looks at me. โSorry, Molly. This is all quite dreadful.โ
โIt is,โ I say. โBut I can corroborate that. Giselle told me that Mr. Black was engaging in extramarital relations. With more than one woman too. It hurt Giselle. Understandably.โ
โShe told you that?โ Charlotte asks. โDid you tell anyone else?โ
โI most certainly did not,โ I say. I adjust the top button of my blouse. โDiscretion is our motto. Invisible customer service is our goal.โ
Charlotte looks at her father.
โMr. Snowโs edict for hotel employees,โ he explains. โHeโs the hotel manager and self-proclaimed Grand Vizier of hotel hospitality and hygiene. But Iโm starting to wonder if his Mr. Clean act is all just a clever front.โ
โMolly,โ Charlotte says. โCan you tell me anything that might help me understand the drug and weapons charges against you?โ
โI can shed some light, I hope. Giselle and I were more than just maid and guest. She trusted me. She shared her secrets with me. She was my
friend.โ I look to Mr. Preston, fearing Iโm disappointing him since I crossed a guest-employee boundary. But he doesnโt look upset, just concerned.
โGiselle came to my house the day after Mr. Black died. I didnโt tell the police about that. I figured it was a private visit in my own home and therefore none of their concern. She was very upset. And she needed a favor from me. I obliged.โ
โOh dear,โ says Mr. Preston.
โDad,โ Charlotte says. Then to me, โWhat did she ask you to do?โ
โTo remove the handgun sheโd hidden in the suite. In the bathroom fan.โ
Charlotte and Mr. Preston exchange another look, one Iโm all too familiar withโthey understand something that I donโt.
โBut there werenโt any gunshots heard, or even reports of wounds on Mr.
Blackโs body,โ Mr. Preston says.
โNo, not according to any news feeds Iโve seen,โ Charlotte replies. โAsphyxiated,โ I say. โThatโs what Detective Stark said.โ
Charlotteโs mouth falls open. โGood to know,โ she says and scribbles something on her yellow pad. โSo the gun wasnโt the murder weapon. Did you return it to Giselle?โ
โI didnโt get the chance. I hid it in my vacuum cleaner, expecting to give it to her later. Then at lunch, I left the hotel.โ
โThatโs right,โ says Mr. Preston. โI saw you rushing out the doors and was wondering where you were off to in such a hurry.โ
I look down at the cup in my lap. Something niggles at my conscience; the dragon in my belly stirs. โI found Mr. Blackโs wedding ring,โ I say. โAnd I pawned it. I know that was wrong. Itโs just been very hard on my own to make ends meet financially. My gran. Sheโd be so ashamed of me.โ I canโt bear to look up at either of them. Instead, I just stare into the black hole of my teacup.
โDear girl,โ Mr. Preston says. โYour gran understood money troubles better than most. Believe me, I know that much about her and a whole lot more. Itโs my understanding that she left you some savings, after she passed?โ
โGone,โ I say. โFrittered away.โ I canโt explain about Wilbur and the Fabergรฉ. Thereโs only so much shame I can confess to at once.
โSo you pawned the ring and then went back to work?โ Charlotte asks. โYes.โ
โAnd the police were waiting for you when you came back?โ
Mr. Preston steps in. โThatโs correct, Charlotte. I was there. Couldnโt do a damn thing to stop it either, though I tried.โ
Charlotte shifts her weight in the chair, crosses her legs. โWhat about the drug charges? Do you understand how those came about?โ
โThere were traces of cocaine on my maidโs trolley. I have no idea how thatโs even possible. I promised Gran long ago that Iโd never in my life touch a drug. Now I fear Iโve broken my promise.โ
โDear girl,โ Mr. Preston says. โIโm sure she didnโt mean it literally.โ โLetโs go back to the gun,โ Charlotte says. โHow did the police find it in
your vacuum cleaner?โ
And hereโs where I must confess the pieces that Iโve put together myself since my arrest. โRodney,โ I say, choking on the two syllables, barely able to spit them up and eject them from my mouth.
โI was wondering when his name would pop up,โ Mr. Preston says. โWhen the police talked to me yesterday, I was afraid. Very afraid. I
went straight home and called Rodney.โ
โHeโs the bartender at the Social,โ Mr. Preston adds for Charlotteโs benefit. โSmarmy cretin. Write that down.โ
It hurts to hear Mr. Preston say it. โI called Rodney,โ I say. โI didnโt know what else to do. Heโs been a loyal friend to me, maybe even a little bit more than a friend. I told him about the police questioning me, about Giselle and the gun in my vacuum cleaner, and about the ring Iโd found and pawned.โ
โLet me guess. Rodney said heโd be all too happy to help a nice girl like you,โ says Mr. Preston.
โSomething to that effect,โ I say. โBut Detective Stark said it was Cheryl, my supervisor, who followed me to the pawn shop. Maybe sheโs the
culprit in all of this? Sheโs definitely untrustworthy. The stories I could tell you.โ
โMy dear Molly,โ Mr. Preston says with a sigh. โRodney used Cheryl to tip off the police. Can you see that? He likely used the gun and the ring in your possession to divert suspicion away from himself and toward you. He may very well be connected to the cocaine found on your cart. And to the murder of Mr. Black.โ
I know Gran would be displeased, but my shoulders slump even more. I can barely keep myself upright. โDo you think that perhaps Rodney and Giselle are in cahoots?โ I ask.
Mr. Preston nods slowly. โI see,โ I say.
โIโm sorry, Molly. I tried to warn you about Rodney,โ he says.
โYou did, Mr. Preston. You can add the โI told you so.โ I deserve it.โ โYou do not deserve it,โ he replies. โWe all have our blind spots.โ
He stands and walks over to Granโs curio cabinet. He looks at the photo of my mother, then puts it down. He picks up the photo of Gran and me at the Olive Garden. He smiles, then returns to his seat on the sofa.
โDad, what exactly did you see at the hotel that made you suspicious of illegal activity? Do you think thereโs actual drug-running happening at the Regency Grand?โ
โNo,โ I say definitively before he can answer. โThe Regency Grand is a clean establishment. Mr. Snow wouldnโt have it any other way. The only other issue is Juan Manuel.โ
โJuan Manuel Morales, the dishwasher?โ Mr. Preston asks.
โYes,โ I reply. โI certainly wouldnโt tell tales under ordinary circumstances, but these are far from ordinary circumstances.โ
โGo on,โ Charlotte says.
Mr. Preston leans forward, adjusting himself around the sofaโs pointier springs.
I explain everything. How Juan Manuelโs work permit expired some time ago, how he has nowhere to live, and how Rodney secretly lets him
stay overnight in empty hotel rooms. I explain the overnight bags I drop off, and how I clean up after Juan Manuel and his friends every morning.
โIโll admit,โ I say, โI really donโt know how so much dust can be tracked into a room in just one night.โ
Charlotte puts her pen down on her pad and addresses her father. โWow, Dad. What a fine establishment you work at.โ
โPar excellence,ย as they say in France,โ I add.
Mr. Preston has his head in his hands and is shaking it back and forth. โI should have known,โ he says. โThe burn marks on Juan Manuelโs arms, the way he avoided me whenever I asked how he was doing.โ
Itโs only then that the jigsaw pieces connect in my mind. Rodneyโs behemoth friends, the dust, the parcels and overnight bags. The traces of cocaine on my trolley.
โOh my lord,โ I say. โJuan Manuel. Heโs being abused and coerced.โ โHeโs being forced to cut drugs every night in the hotel,โ Mr. Preston
says. โAnd heโs not the only one being used. Theyโve been using you, too, Molly.โ
I try to swallow the enormous lump that has formed in my throat.
I see it all clearly, all of it. โI havenโt only been working as a maid, have I?โ I ask.
โIโm afraid not,โ Charlotte replies. โIโm sorry to say it, Molly, but youโve also been working as a mule.โ