Page 23 of The Maid's Secret

Both maids turn when I enter the room.

“Molly!” says Lily. “We heard!”

“When are you quitting?” asks Cheryl. “Soon, I hope.”

“Don’t count your chickens,” I reply. “And turn that TV off right this second.”

Both Lily and Cheryl eye me curiously.

“Molly,” says Lily. “You were just onChatter Box.They ran a clip of you and the Bees.”

Slack-jawed, I stare at Lily exactly the way she’s staring at me. “You’re going viral,” she says.

“Just like a plague,” Cheryl says. “Hey, can I get a picture of you for my ’gram?” Cheryl removes her phone from her pocket and before I can even protest, she snaps a photo of me holding out my dustcloth.

“What on earth do you want my picture for, Cheryl?” I ask. “Put your phone away and tuck that sheet in properly.”

Cheryl reluctantly obeys, but Lily remains frozen in place, staring at me with her saucerlike eyes.

“Lily,” I say, “if you have something to say, say it.”

“Just don’t forget the little people,” she replies, “when you’re rich and famous.”

Lily’s words hit like an arrow. Without warning, tears spring to my eyes.

“Lily,” I say, waving my dustcloth in front of her face. “It’s me, Molly. I’m the same person I was yesterday, so why is everyone suddenly treating me differently?”

As Lily and I face each other, Cheryl, having abandoned the bedsheets yet again, punches at her phone with both thumbs. “Done,” she says as she looks up, a Cheshire cat grin claiming her face.

“What did you just do?” I ask her.

“I messaged some friends,” she replies.

“Can I leave you to it?” I ask Lily. “I need to check in on Sunitha and Sunshine.”

“Yes,” Lily replies. “And, Molly, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“My gran used to say to err is human, but to apologize is divine. Thank you, Lily,” I say.

We offer each other a curtsy while Cheryl rolls her eyes.

I leave them both and take the stairs to the third floor, where Sunitha and Sunshine are standing in the hall beside a short, bearded man in a trench coat.

Sunshine waves me over. “Molly! This man has been asking for you. He says you know him.”

The man in front of me adjusts his trench coat, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Do I know you?” I ask, trying to place him.

“I’ve stayed here before,” he replies. “So you’re Molly—spitting image. You’re the maid with the golden egg?”

“I am,” I say. “Which room are you staying in?”

The man stares at me and says nothing.

“Now before I alert security to an intruder in the corridor, what did you want to ask me?”

The man scurries down the hall without so much as a word.

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