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Chapter no 21

The Maid (Molly the Maid, 1)

โ€ŒIโ€™m at the Olive Garden eighteen minutes later, which is two minutes sooner than my ETA, mostly because Iโ€™m so nervous that I speed-โ€Œ

walked the entire way. Iโ€™m sitting at our booth under the glow of the pendant light, only this time, it doesnโ€™t feel like our booth at all. It will never be our booth ever again.

Rodney hasnโ€™t 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, Granโ€™s last few minutes of life. I donโ€™t know why these things replay in my mind, but itโ€™s doing nothing to quell my extreme jitters. How Iโ€™m 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.

โ€œMolly,โ€ he says as he slides into the booth across from me, โ€œI made an excuse to take off from work for a bit, but I donโ€™t have much time. Letโ€™s make this quick, okay? Tell me everything.โ€

A waitress comes to our table. โ€œWelcome to the Olive Garden. Can I get you started with some free salad and bread?โ€

โ€œWeโ€™re here for a quick drink,โ€ Rodney replies. โ€œA beer for me.โ€

I put a finger in the air. โ€œActually, salad and bread would be lovely. And Iโ€™ll 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 todayโ€”I must remain clearheaded. Also, this is not a celebration, not in any way. โ€œThank you,โ€ I say to the waitress.

Rodney runs his fingers through his hair and sighs.

โ€œThank you for coming,โ€ I say once the waitress is gone. โ€œIt means the world to me that youโ€™re 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 doesnโ€™t seem to notice.

โ€œIโ€™m here for you, Molly. Just tell me what happened, okay?โ€

โ€œWell,โ€ I say as I conceal my shaking hands under the table, โ€œafter 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.

โ€œWhoa,โ€ Rodney says. โ€œAnd youโ€™re the obvious suspect.โ€

โ€œIn fact, Iโ€™m not. Theyโ€™re looking for someone else.โ€ These are the exact words Charlotte instructed me to say.

I watch him carefully. His Adamโ€™s 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 Rodneyโ€™s growing discomfort. I do not touch the food at all. Iโ€™m far too nervous. Plus, itโ€™s for later.

โ€œDetective Stark said the persons of interest were most likely motivated by Mr. Blackโ€™s will. She thinks they maybe even discussed his will with him before they killed him. Poor Giselle. Do you know that Mr. Black didnโ€™t leave her a thing? Not a single thing, the poor, poor woman.โ€

โ€œWhat? The detective told you that? But that canโ€™t be. I know for a fact it canโ€™t be.โ€

โ€œDo you? I thought you werenโ€™t well acquainted with Giselle,โ€ I say. โ€œIโ€™m not,โ€ he says. He appears to be sweating though itโ€™s not unduly

warm in here. โ€œBut I know people who know her well. Anyhow, this isnโ€™t what they told me. So itโ€™sโ€ฆwell, itโ€™s a bit of a surprise.โ€ He takes a gulp of beer and puts his elbows on the table.

โ€œRude,โ€ I say.

โ€œWhat?โ€

โ€œYour 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.

โ€œSalad? Bread?โ€ I offer.

โ€œNo,โ€ he replies. โ€œLetโ€™s just get to the point. Didnโ€™t Mr. Black leave Giselle the villa in the Caymans? Did the detective mention that?โ€

โ€œHmm,โ€ I say. I pick up my napkin and grip it under the table between my perspiring hands. โ€œI donโ€™t 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.

โ€œYouโ€™re telling me the police volunteered all of this information to you for no good reason?โ€

โ€œWhat? Of course not,โ€ I say. โ€œWho would tell me anything? Iโ€™m just the maid. Detective Stark left me in a room by myself, and you know how it is. People forget Iโ€™m there. Or perhaps they think Iโ€™m too daft to understand? I overheard all of this at the station.โ€

โ€œAnd werenโ€™t the detectives concerned about the gun in your vacuum? I mean, Iโ€™m assuming thatโ€™s why they nabbed you, right?โ€

โ€œYes,โ€ I say. โ€œIt seems Cheryl found the gun and alerted them. Interesting that she knew where to look. For someone so lazy, itโ€™s hard to imagine her searching a dusty vacuum bag.โ€

Rodneyโ€™s face changes. โ€œYouโ€™re not suggesting I told her, are you?

Molly, you know I would neverโ€”โ€

โ€œIโ€™d never suggest that about you, Rodney. Youโ€™re blameless. An innocent,โ€ I say. โ€œMuch like me.โ€

He nods. โ€œGood. Iโ€™m glad thereโ€™s no misunderstanding here.โ€ He shakes his head the way a wet dog would when it comes out of the water. โ€œSo what did you tell the police when they asked about the gun?โ€

โ€œI simply explained whose gun it was, and where I found it,โ€ I reply. โ€œThat raised two eyebrows. Meaning I believe Detective Stark was surprised.โ€

โ€œSo you narced on Giselle, yourย friend?โ€ he asks. His elbows make an aggravating reappearance on the table.

โ€œI would never betray a true friend,โ€ I say. โ€œBut thereโ€™s something dreadful I have to tell you. Itโ€™s why I called you here.โ€ Here it comes, the moment Iโ€™ve prepared for.

โ€œWhat is it already?โ€ he asks, barely able to keep the rage out of his voice.

โ€œOh, 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 youโ€™re more accustomed to such ordeals?โ€

โ€œMolly, get to the point.โ€

โ€œRight,โ€ I say, wringing my napkin in my hands. โ€œOnce the issue of Giselleโ€™s gun was out of the bagโ€”I suppose thatโ€™s both literal and figurative in this caseโ€”the 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.

โ€œGo on,โ€ he says.

โ€œI said, โ€˜Oh, you canโ€™t do that! Juan Manuel is staying in that suite.โ€™ And the detective asked, โ€˜Whoโ€™s Juan Manuel?โ€™ And so I told them. Oh, Rodney, I probably shouldnโ€™t have. I told them how Juan Manuel is your friend and how youโ€™ve been helping him because he has no work permit andโ€”โ€

โ€œYou mentioned me to the detective?โ€

โ€œYes,โ€ I say. โ€œAnd I told them about the overnight bags and the cleaning up after Juan Manuel and your friends, and how good and kind youโ€™ve all beenโ€”โ€

โ€œTheyโ€™re his friends, not mine.โ€

โ€œWell, whoever they are, they sure do drag a lot of mess into rooms. But donโ€™t worry, I made sure to let the detective know what a good man you are, even if your friends are a littleโ€ฆdusty.โ€

He takes his head in his hands. โ€œOh, Molly. What have you done?โ€

โ€œI told the truth,โ€ I say. โ€œBut I realize I have caused a bit of an issue for Juan Manuel. What if heโ€™s still in the Black suite when they check it again? Iโ€™d hate for him to get in any kind of trouble. Youโ€™d hate that, too, wouldnโ€™t you, Rodney?โ€

He nods vigorously. โ€œI would. Yeah. I mean, weโ€™ve got to make sure heโ€™s not in there when they check. And weโ€™ve got to clean that room out, fast, before the police arrive. You know, so there are no traces of Juan Manuel.โ€

โ€œOf course,โ€ I say. โ€œMy thoughts exactly.โ€ I smile at Rodney, but inside Iโ€™m pouring a full kettle of boiling water onto his dirty, lying face.

โ€œSo youโ€™ll do it?โ€ he asks. โ€œDo what?โ€ I reply.

โ€œSneak in and clean the suite. Now. Before the cops get there. Youโ€™re the only one besides Chernobyl and Snow who has access. If Mr. Snow catches Juan Manuel thereโ€”or worse, if the police doโ€”heโ€™ll be deported.โ€

โ€œBut Iโ€™m not supposed to be going to work today. Mr. Snow says Iโ€™m โ€˜a person of interestโ€™ to the police, soโ€”โ€

โ€œPlease, 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 itโ€™s not Granโ€™s voice this time. Itโ€™s Mr. Prestonโ€™s.

Then Charlotteโ€™s. Then Juan Manuelโ€™s.

I keep my hand steady under his, my gaze neutral. โ€œYou know,โ€ I say, โ€œIโ€™m not allowed to enter the hotel, but that doesnโ€™t meanย youย canโ€™t 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! Wouldnโ€™t that be somethingโ€”you cleaning up your own mess?โ€”I mean, Juan Manuelโ€™s 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, โ€œOkay. All right. You get me the suite key, I clean the room.โ€

โ€œThe 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.

โ€œWould you mind boxing that up, please?โ€ I ask.

โ€œSure,โ€ she says. โ€œWas there something wrong with the bread and salad?

You didnโ€™t even touch them.โ€

โ€œOh no,โ€ I say. โ€œItโ€™s all delightful. Itโ€™s just that weโ€™re in a bit of a rush.โ€ โ€œOf course,โ€ she says. โ€œIโ€™ll box everything.โ€ She gestures to a colleague,

and the two of them take care of the food.

โ€œHeโ€™ll have the bill, please,โ€ I say, pointing to Rodney.

His mouth drops open, but he doesnโ€™t 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, โ€œKeep the change.โ€ He stands abruptly. โ€œI better run, Molly. I should get back to the hotel and do this right away.โ€

โ€œOf course,โ€ I say. โ€œIโ€™ll take all this food home. Then Iโ€™ll text you as soon as I make it to the hotel. Oh, and Rodney?โ€

โ€œWhat?โ€ he asks.

โ€œIt really is a shame that you donโ€™t like jigsaw puzzles.โ€ โ€œWhy?โ€

โ€œBecause,โ€ I say, โ€œI donโ€™t think you quite know the pleasure one feels when suddenly, all the pieces come together.โ€

He looks at me, his lip curled. Itโ€™s so clear, the meaning of the look. Iโ€™m an idiot. A fool. And Iโ€™m too daft to even know it.

Thatโ€™s the expression thatโ€™s smeared all over his vulgar, lying face.

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