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“He’d been drinking,” I say. “Which I’m afraid I don’t consider unusual for Mr. Black.”
“You got that right,” she says.
“But…your pills. They’re usually in the bathroom, and they were on the bedside table, open, with some spilled onto the carpet.”
Her whole body stiffens. “What?”
“Yes, and some pills had been stepped on and were ground into the carpet, which is problematic for those of us who have to clean the suite after.” I wish she wouldn’t nibble her nails like a cob of corn.
“Anything else?” Giselle asks.
“The safe was open.”
Giselle nods. “Of course. Normally he kept it locked, never gave me the code. But that day, he took whatever it was he wanted and left it open when he stormed out.”
She picks up her teacup and takes a polite sip. “Molly, did you tell the police anything about Charles and me? About…our relationship?”
“No,” I say.
“Did you…did you tell them anything about me?”
“I did not hide the truth,” I say. “But I also didn’t volunteer it.”
Giselle stares at me for a second, then leaps forward and hugs me, which catches me off guard. I can smell her expensive perfume. Isn’t it interesting how luxury has an unmistakable scent, as unmistakable as fear or death?
“Molly, you’re a very special person, you know that?”
“Yes, I know,” I say. “I’ve been told that before.”
“You’re a good person and a good friend. I don’t think I could ever be as good as you, so long as I live. But I want you to know something: whatever happens, don’t you think for a second that I don’t appreciate you.”
She pulls back from me and springs to her feet. A few minutes ago, she was willowy and relaxed; now she’s overcharged.
“What are you going to do? Now that Mr. Black is dead?”
“Not much,” she says. “The police won’t let me go anywhere until the toxicology and autopsy reports are complete. Because if some rich guy turns up dead, then obviously his wife offed him, right? Couldn’t be that he died of natural causes, of the stress he caused himself and everyone else around him. Stress that his wife was trying to relieve him from so he wouldn’t drop dead.”
“Is that what you think happened? He dropped dead, just like that?”
She sighs. Tears spring to her eyes. “There are so many reasons a heart can stop beating.”
I feel a lump in my throat. I think of Gran, of her good heart and how it came to a stop.
“Will you continue to stay at the hotel while you wait for the reports?” I ask.
“I don’t have much choice. I’ve got nowhere else to go. And I can barely step outside of the hotel without being mobbed by reporters. I don’t own any property. I’ve got nothing that’s mine and only mine, Molly. Not even a crappy apartment like this.” She winces. “Sorry. See? You’re not the only one who steps in it from time to time.”
“That’s quite all right. I take no offense.”
She reaches out and puts a hand on my knee. “Molly,” she says, “I won’t know what Charles’s will says for a while. Which means I won’t know what becomes of me for a while. Until then, I’ll stay at the hotel. At least there, the bill is already paid.”
She pauses, looks at me. “Will you look after me? At the hotel, I mean. Will you be my maid? Sunitha is nice and all, but it’s not the same. You’re like a sister to me, you know that? A sister who sometimes says crazy shit and likes dusting way too much, but a sister nonetheless.”
I’m flattered that Giselle thinks of me in such a positive light, that she sees past what others don’t, that she sees me as…family.
“I’d be honored to look after you,” I say. “If Mr. Snow is fine with it.”
“Great. I’ll tell him when I go back.” She stands, walks to the door, and grabs her yellow purse. She brings it to the sofa and takes out a stack of bills—a stack that looks all too familiar. She flicks off two crisp hundred-dollar bills and places them on Gran’s silver tea tray.
