โIwill admit to having bad dreams last night. I dreamed that Mr. Black walked through the front door of my apartment, gray and ashen, likeโ
the living dead. I was sitting on the sofa, watchingย Columbo. I turned to him and said, โNo one comes here, not since Gran died.โ He started laughingโ laughing at me. But I focused my laser gaze on him, and his limbs turned to dust, a fine charcoal particulate that spread around the room and into my lungs. I started gagging and coughing.
โNo!โ I yelled. โI didnโt do this to you! It wasnโt me! Get out!โ
But it was too late. His grime was everywhere. I woke up gasping for air. Itโs now sixย A.M. Itโs time to rise and shine. Or just rise.
I get out of bed and make it properly, careful to position Granโs quilt so that the star in the middle points due north. I go to the kitchen, where I put on Granโs paisley apron and prepare tea and crumpets for one. Itโs too quiet in the mornings. The scratchy grate of my knife against the toasted crumpet is an offense to my ears. I eat quickly, then shower and leave for work.
Iโm locking the apartment door behind me when I hear someone clearing their throat in the hallway. Mr. Rosso.
I turn to face him. โHello, Mr. Rosso. Up early this morning?โ
Iโm expecting the basic civility of a good morning, but all I get is, โYour rent is overdue. When will you pay up?โ
I put my keys in my pocket. โThe rent will be paid in a few daysโ time, and at that point, I will make good on every penny I owe you. You knew my gran, and you know me. We are law-abiding citizens who believe in paying our fair share. And I will do so. Soon.โ
โYouโd better,โ he says, then shuffles back to his apartment, closing the door behind him.
I do wish people would pick up their feet when they walk. Itโs most slovenly to shuffle like that. It leaves a very poor impression.
Now, now, letโs not judge others too harshly.ย I hear it in my head in Granโs voice, a reminder to be gracious and forgiving. Itโs a fault of mine, to be quick to judge or to want the world to function according to my laws.
We must be like bamboo. We must learn to bend and flex with the wind.
Bend and flex. Not my strong suits.
I head down the stairs and out of my building. I decide to walk all the way to workโa twenty-minute jaunt thatโs pleasant enough in good weather, though today the clouds are broody and threaten rain. I breathe a sigh of relief the second I set eyes on the bustling hotel. Iโm a professional half hour early for my shift, as is my way.
I greet Mr. Preston at the front doors.
โOh Molly. Tell me youโre not working today.โ โI am. Cheryl called in sick last night.โ
He shakes his head. โNaturally. Molly, are you all right? You had quite a scare yesterday, so I hear. Iโm terribly sorryโฆabout what you saw.โ
My dream flashes in my head for a moment, mixed with the real vision of Mr. Black, dead in his bed. โNo need to be sorry, Mr. Preston. Itโs not your fault. But Iโll admit, this whole situation has been a bitโฆtrying. Iโll keep calm and carry on.โ A thought occurs to me. โMr. Preston, did Mr. Black receive any visitors yesterday, friendly orโฆotherwise?โ
Mr. Preston adjusts his cap. โNot that I noticed,โ he says. โWhy do you ask?โ
โOh, no reason,โ I say. โThe police will investigate, Iโm sure. Especially if something is amok.โ
โAmok?โ Mr. Preston fixes me with a serious stare. โMolly, if ever you need anythingโany help at allโyou just remember your olโ friend Mr. Preston, you hear?โ
I am not the kind to impose on other people. Surely Mr. Preston knows that much about me by now. His face is stern, his eyebrows knit with concern that even I can read clearly.
โThank you, Mr. Preston,โ I say. โI appreciate your kind offer. Now, if you donโt mind, Iโm sure thereโs extra cleaning to tackle today since there were many officers and paramedics traipsing through this hotel yesterday. I fear not all of their boots are as clean as yours.โ
He tips his hat and turns his attention to some guests who are trying, unsuccessfully, to hail a cab.
โTaxi!โ he calls out, then turns back to me for a moment, โTake good care, Molly. Please.โ
I nod and make my way up the plush red stairs. I push through the shiny revolving doors, jostling against guests heading in and out. In the front lobby, I see Mr. Snow by the reception desk. His glasses are akimbo, and a lock of hair has escaped his gelled-back coiffure. It wags back and forth on his head like a disapproving finger.
โMolly, Iโm so glad youโre here. Thank you,โ he says. He holds the dayโs newspaper in his hand. Itโs hard not to notice the headline:ย WEALTHY TYCOON CHARLES BLACK TURNS UP DEAD IN THE REGENCY GRAND HOTEL.
โHave you read this?โ he asks.
He passes me the paper and I scan the article. It explains how a maid found Mr. Black dead in his bed. My name, thank goodness, is not mentioned. Then it talks about the Black family and the strife between his children and his ex-wife. โRumors have been swirling for years around the legitimacy of Black Properties & Investments, with allegations of fraudulent dealings and embezzlement being shut down by Blackโs powerful team of attorneys.โ
Halfway through the article, I catch the name Giselle and read more carefully. โGiselle Black, Mr. Blackโs second wife, is thirty-five years his junior. She is the presumed heir to the Black fortunes, which have been the subject of family feuds in recent years. After Giselle Blackโs husband was found dead, she was seen leaving the hotel wearing dark glasses, accompanied by an unknown male. According to various staff members at the hotel, the Blacks are regular guests at the Regency Grand. When asked if Mr. Black conducted business at the hotel, Mr. Alexander Snow, the hotel manager, had no comment. According to lead detective Stark, foul play has not yet been ruled out as Mr. Blackโs cause of death.โ
I finish reading the article and pass the paper back to Mr. Snow. I suddenly feel unsteady on my feet as the implications of that final line sink in.
โDo you see, Molly? Theyโre suggesting that this hotel isโฆisโฆโ โFoul,โ I offer. โUnclean.โ
โYes, exactly.โ
Mr. Snow attempts to straighten his glasses, with limited success. โMolly, I must ask you, did you or have you, at any time, noticed anyโฆ questionable activities in this hotel? With the Blacks or any other guests?โ
โQuestionable?โ I say. โNefarious,โ he explains.
โNo!โ I reply. โAbsolutely not. If I had, youโd have been the first to know.โ
Mr. Snow releases a pent-up sigh. I feel sorry for him, for the burden he carriesโthe mighty reputation of the Regency Grand Hotel itself rests on his slight shoulders.
โSir, may I ask you a question?โ โOf course.โ
โThe article mentions Giselle Black. Do you know: is she still staying here? In the hotel, I mean?โ
Mr. Snowโs eyes dart left and right. He steps away from the reception desk and the smartly uniformed penguins manning it. He signals for me to do the same. Gaggles of guests are roaming the lobby; itโs unusually busy
this morning. Many of them hold newspapers in hand, and I suspect that Mr. Black may be the topic on the tip of many tongues.
Mr. Snow gestures to an emerald settee in a shadowy corner by the grand staircase. We make our way there. Itโs the first time Iโve ever sat on one of these settees. I sink into the soft velvet, no springs to circumvent, unlike our sofa at home. Mr. Snow perches beside me and speaks in a whisper. โTo answer your question, Giselle is still staying here at the hotel, but youโre not to pass that along. She has nowhere else to go, do you understand? And sheโs distraught, as you can imagine. Iโve moved her to the second floor. Sunitha will clean her room from now on.โ
I feel a nervous flutter in my stomach. โVery well,โ I say. โI best be off.
This hotel wonโt clean itself.โ
โOne more thing, Molly,โ Mr. Snow says. โThe Black suite? Itโs out of bounds today, obviously. The police are still conducting their investigation in the room. Youโll notice security tape, and a police guard posted outside the door.โ
โSo when should I clean that suite?โ
Mr. Snow stares at me for a long time. โYouโre not to clean it, Molly.
Thatโs what Iโm trying to tell you.โ โVery well. I wonโt then. Goodbye.โ
And with that, I stand, turn on my heel, and head down the marble stairs to my basement locker in the housekeeping quarters.
Iโm greeted by my trusty uniform, crisp and clean, encased in plastic wrap, hung on my locker door. Itโs as though yesterdayโs upheavals never happened, as though every day conveniently erases the one that came before. I quickly change, leaving my own clothes in my locker. Then I grab my maidโs trolleyโwhich is, miracle of miracles, fully stocked and replenished (no doubt owing to Sunshine or Sunitha, and certainly not to Cheryl).
I head through the labyrinth of too-bright hallways until I make it to the kitchen, where Juan Manuel is scraping the remnants of breakfasts into a large garbage can and putting plates into the industrial dishwasher. Iโve
never been in a sauna, but I imagine it must feel like thisโminus the offensive odor of a medley of breakfast foods.
As soon as Juan Manuel sees me, he puts down the spray nozzle and eyes me with concern.
โDios te bendiga,โย he says, crossing himself. โI am glad to see you. Are you okay? Iโve been worried about you, Miss Molly.โ
Itโs becoming upsetting that everyone is making such a fuss about me today. Iโm not the one who died.
โIโm quite fine, thank you, Juan Manuel,โ I say.
โBut you found him,โ he whispers, eyes wide. โDead.โ โI did.โ
โI canโt believe heโs really gone. I wonder what it means,โ he says. โIt means heโs dead,โ I say.
โWhat Iโm saying is, what will it mean for the hotel?โ He takes a few steps closer to me, so close heโs only half a trolleyโs width away.
โMolly,โ he whispers. โThat man. Mr. Black? He was powerful. Too powerful. Who will be the boss now?โ
โThe boss is Mr. Snow,โ I say.
He looks at me strangely. โIs he? Is he really?โ
โYes,โ I reply with utmost confidence. โMr. Snow is most definitely the boss of this hotel. Now, can we stop discussing this? I really need to get to work. Today, Iโll make some new arrangements for tonight. Iโve just heard that the fourth floor is under surveillance. The police are still up there. I need you to stay in Room 202 tonight, okay? Second floor, not the fourth. To avoid the police.โ
โOkay. Donโt worry. Iโll stay clear.โ
โAnd Juan Manuel, I shouldnโt be telling you this, but Giselle Black is staying somewhere on the same floor. On the second. So be careful. There may be investigators, even on her floor. You have to keep a low profile until this investigation is over. Understood?โ
I hand him a keycard for Room 202. โYes, Molly. Understood. You need to keep a low profile, too, okay? I worry about you.โ
โThereโs nothing to worry about,โ I say. โI best be off.โ Then I exit the kitchen and wheel my trolley to the service elevator. I step in, the air instantly fresher and cooler, and I ride up to the lobby, where Iโll retrieve my daily stack of papers from the Social.
Even from afar, I can spot Rodney behind the bar. When he sees me, he rushes out to greet me.
โMolly! Youโre here.โ He puts his hands on my shoulders. I feel them like electricity, warming me to my core. โAre you all right?โ
โEveryone keeps asking me that. Iโm all right,โ I say. โPerhaps a hug would not be too much to ask of you?โ
โOf course!โ he says. โYouโre actually just the person I wanted to see today.โ He folds me into his chest. I rest my head on his shoulder and take in the scent of him.
Itโs been so long since Iโve been hugged that I donโt know what Iโm supposed to do with my arms. I opt to wrap them around his back and rest them on his shoulder blades, which are even stronger than I would have imagined.
He pulls away before Iโm ready. Itโs only then that I notice his right eye. Itโs swollen and purple, as though heโs been punched. โWhat happened to you?โ I ask.
โOh, it was stupid. I was helping Juan Manuel with a bag in his room, and IโฆI ran into the door. Ask him. Heโll tell you.โ
โYou should ice that. It looks sore.โ
โEnough about me, I want to hear howย youโreย doing.โ He looks around the bar as he says this. Groups of middle-aged women eat breakfast together, teaspoons tinkling against ceramic, laughter echoing as they while away the morning hours before their theater matinees. A few families are filling up on stacks of pancakes before a day full of museums and sightseeing. And two lone-wolf business travelers peck at continental breakfasts, their eyes glued to their phones or the newspapers splayed in front of them. Who is Rodney looking for? Surely itโs none of these guests. But if not them, who?
โListen,โ Rodney says in a hush. โI heard you found Mr. Black yesterday and that they took you to the cop shop to ask you questions. I canโt talk now, but why donโt you come by after your shift? We can grab a quiet booth and you can tell me everything. Every last detail, okay?โ He reaches for my hand and squeezes it in his. His eyes are deep pools of blue. He is concerned. Concerned for me. For a moment, I wonder if heโs going to kiss me, but then I realize how daft that isโkissing a fellow employee in the middle of the bar and grill. Of course he wouldnโt do that. But itโs a pity nonetheless.
โIt would be lovely to meet you later,โ I say, aiming for coy nonchalance. โSo fiveย P.M.? Sharp? Is this a date?โ
โUh, yeah. Okay.โ
โIโll see you then,โ I say, and start to walk away.
โDonโt forget your newspapers,โ he says. He grabs a stack from the floor and plops them on the bar.
โOh, silly me.โ I struggle with the full stack as I carry them to my trolley. Heโs now distracted behind the bar, pouring a coffee for a customer. I try to make eye contact with him one last time, but to no avail.
Thatโs fine. Weโll have plenty of time for eye contact tonight.