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I scoot down the hall with my trolley to let Sunshine know I’m done cleaning all my rooms, including the one Juan Manuel stayed in last night.
“You’re a quick one, you are, Miss Molly!” Sunshine says. “I’ve got more rooms to finish, myself.”
I say goodbye for the day, then pass by the police officer on my way to the elevator, but he barely registers my presence. I take the elevator to the basement. I peel off my maid uniform and change into my regular clothes, some jeans and a floral blouse—not quite what I would have chosen for a date with Rodney, but I’ve no more money to spend on excesses such as kitten heels and polka dots. Besides, if Rodney’s truly a good egg, he’ll judge by the yolk, not by the shell.
At five to five, I’m downstairs at the front of the Social, waiting by the Please Be Seated sign, looking around for Rodney. He sees me, comes from the back of the restaurant right to my side.
“Just in time, I see.”
“I pride myself on punctuality,” I reply.
“Let’s go to a booth at the back.”
“Privacy. Yes, that seems appropriate.”
We walk through the restaurant to the most secluded—and romantic—booth at the back.
“It’s very quiet here now,” I say, taking in the empty chairs, the twowaitresses by their service station talking to each other because there’s hardly a customer in sight.
“Yeah. Wasn’t like this earlier. Lots of cops. And reporters.” He looks around the room, then at me. His bruised eye looks a bit better than it did this morning, but it’s still swollen.
“Listen, I’m really sorry about what happened to you yesterday, finding Mr. Black and all that. Plus, being taken to the cop shop. That must have been intense.”
“It was a disruptive day. Today is going much better. Especially now,” I add.
“So tell me, when you were with the cops, I hope nothing about Juan Manuel came up.”
This is a perplexing line of inquiry. “No,” I say. “That has nothing to do with Mr. Black.”
“Right. Of course it doesn’t. But you know. Cops can be nosy. I just want to make sure he’s safe.” He runs the fingers of one hand through his thick, wavy hair. “Can you tell me what happened, what you saw in that suite yesterday?” he asks. “I mean, I’m sure you’re feeling really scared, and maybe it would help to say it all out loud to, you know, a friend.”
He reaches his hand out to touch mine. It’s amazing, the human hand, how much warmth it conveys. I’ve missed physical contact, what without Gran in my life. She used to do exactly this, put her hand over mine to draw me out and get me to talk. Her hand let me know that no matter what, everything would be okay.
“Thank you,” I say to Rodney. It surprises me; it comes out of nowhere—the urge to cry. I fight it as I tell him about yesterday. “It all seemed like a normal day until I went to finish cleaning the Blacks’ room. I stepped inside and saw that the sitting room was untidy. I was only supposed to clean the bathroom, but then I went into the bedroom to see if that was a mess as well, and there he was, laid out on the bed. I thought he was napping, but…it turns out he was dead. Very dead.”
At this, Rodney takes his other hand so that he’s cradling mine inboth of his. “Oh, Molly,” he says. “That’s just awful. And…did you see anything in the room? Anything out of place or suspicious?”
I tell him about the safe being open, how the money was gone, along with the deed I’d seen in Mr. Black’s breast pocket earlier in the day.
“And that’s it? Nothing else out of the ordinary?”
“Actually, yes,” I say. I tell him about Giselle’s pills spilled on the floor.
“What pills?” he asks.
“Giselle has an unmarked bottle. It was that bottle, spilled by Mr. Black’s bedside.”
“Shit. You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not.”
“And where was Giselle?”
“I don’t know. She wasn’t in the suite. In the morning, she seemed quite upset. I know she was planning a trip, because I saw her flight itinerary sticking out of her purse.” I shift in my chair, bringing my chin to rest on my hand coquettishly, like a starlet in a classic film.
“Did you tell the cops that? About the itinerary? Or the pills?”
I’m growing increasingly impatient with this line of interrogation, yet I know that patience is a virtue, a virtue that, among others, I hope he attributes to me.
