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“I believe you’re in some serious danger,” Mr. Preston explained. He went on to say that his daughter was a lawyer and that he knew Juan Manuel had been coerced at the hotel.
There was a short pause as Juan Manuel spoke.
“I understand,” Mr. Preston said. “We don’t want you hurt, and we don’t want your family hurt either. You should also know that Molly’s in trouble as well…. Yes, that’s right…. She’s been framed for Mr. Black’s murder,” Mr. Preston said.
Another short pause, a bit more back and forth, and then, “Thank you…Yes…Certainly, we can explain everything in detail. And please know, we’d never do anything to…Yes, of course. All decisions will be up to you…. I’ll text you the address. See you soon.”
It’s now been over an hour, and Juan Manuel is still not here. All of this waiting and anticipating is having a most deleterious effect on mynerves. To calm myself, I think about what a difference it makes having Mr. Preston and Charlotte on my side. Yesterday, I was alone. This apartment felt bleak and hollow. All of its color and vibrancy drained away the day Gran died. But now it’s alive again, revitalized. I look at the feeder outside the window. Perhaps later I will scrounge for crumbs and fill it, no matter what Mr. Rosso says.
I feel overcharged and I can’t stay still, which is why I’m now pacing. If I were here by myself, I’d probably scour the floors or scrub the bathroom tiles, but I’m not by myself, not anymore. It’s altogether new and odd to have company. It’s also a great comfort.
Mr. Preston takes his seat on the sofa.
Charlotte ends her call.
Something is eating away at me, and I decide to voice it. “Don’t you think I should call R-Rodney?” I ask. His name trips me up again, but I spit it out. “Perhaps he can offer an explanation? Maybe he has nothing at all to do with the cocaine found on my trolley. It could have been Cheryl, couldn’t it? Or someone else? What if Rodney’s the one who can actually explain all of this?”
“Absolutely not,” says Charlotte. “I’ve just done a background check on Rodney. Rich family but kicked out at fifteen. Then in a group home. Then petty theft, assault, and various drug charges that never stuck, and a string of different addresses a mile long before landing himself in this city.”
“See, Molly? Calling that cretin is a bad idea,” Mr. Preston says as he smooths out Gran’s crocheted blanket on the sofa. “He’ll only lie.”
“And then he’ll disappear,” Charlotte adds.
“What about Giselle? She must know something that can help me. Or Mr. Snow?”
Before either of them can answer, there’s a knock at my door.
My breath catches in my throat. “What if it’s the police?” The room starts to undulate and I fear I won’t make it to the front door.
Charlotte rises from her seat. “You have a legal representative now. The police would have called me if they wanted to contact you.”
She comes to my side. “It’s okay,” she says, putting a reassuring handon my wrist. It works. I immediately feel a little bit calmer and the ripples in the floor solidify.
Mr. Preston appears on my other side. “You can do this, Molly,” he says. “Let’s open the door together.”
I take a deep breath and walk to the entryway. I open the door.
Juan Manuel is standing before me. He’s wearing a pressed polo shirt, tucked into his neat jeans. He’s carrying a white plastic takeout bag in one hand. His eyes are wide and his breath is ragged as though he climbed the stairs two by two.
“Hello, Molly,” he says. “I can’t believe it. I never, ever wanted trouble for you. If I could have—”
He stops midsentence. “Who are you?” he asks, looking past me to Charlotte.
She steps forward. “I’m Charlotte, Molly’s lawyer and Mr. Preston’s daughter. Please don’t be afraid. We have no intention of turning you in. And we know you’re in grave danger.”
“I’m in too deep,” he says. “So deep. I never chose this situation. They made me. They made Molly, too. It’s the same but different.”
“We’re both in trouble, Juan Manuel,” I say. “It is most serious.”
“Yes, I know,” he says.
Mr. Preston speaks up from behind me. “What’s in the bag?”
“Leftovers from the hotel,” Juan Manuel replies. “I had to make it look like I was leaving for an early dinner break. There are afternoon tea sandwiches in there. I know you like them, Mr. Preston.”
“Oh, I do. Thank you,” says Mr. Preston. “I’ll lay them out. We all need to stay fortified.”
Mr. Preston takes the bag and brings it to the kitchen.
