Page 24 of The Maid's Secret

“Wait!” I yell.

He disappears through the stairwell exit. I turn to Sunshine.

“He was asking us for your address,” she says. “And your phone number, too.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing,” says Sunshine.

“I have a sneaking suspicion he was up to no good,” I say.

“I’ll tell Mr.Snow about him,” she says. “Molly, we heard about the appraisal. We’re so excited for you. This is going to change your life!”

Sunitha and Sunshine grab my hands, their faces beaming vicarious joy.

“Yes,” I say. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

—

The rest of the workday passes in a confusing blur. For the first time ever, I find myself the very epicenter of attention at the hotel. I try not to think about what happened this morning and what the news of the Fabergé egg will mean to my life in the future, but no matter howhard I wipe the slate of my mind clean, my environs find a way to remind me.

Normally, at least half of the rooms on any floor of the hotel have theShh—Please Do Not Disturbdoor hanger placed on the knobs, but today, when I arrived on the third floor, the hangers on every room read,Dear Maid, Please Clean!

Worse, every time I knocked on a guest’s door and called out, “Housekeeping! Is this a good time to return your room to a state of perfection?” the door swung open and smiling guests invited me in. One woman took the vacuum right out of my hands and sat me down in her guest chair to make me a cup of tea. Another guest offered me caviar. In summary, the guests in this hotel arenon compos mentis—ergo, they’ve gone completely and utterly batty.

But the worst happened just moments ago, when I was cleaning my final room before the end of my shift. I looked up from my bottle of air freshener to find a group of Bee-lievers peeking their heads around my trolley, which was propping open the door.

“It’s her!” they exclaimed as they rushed into the room.

“Can we have your autograph?” they asked while proffering Regency Grand pens and stationery.

“You want my signature? What for?”

“Do you realize that over three million people have watched thatHidden Treasuresclip since this morning? You should see the memes. You’re all over TikTok.”

I stared at the faces in front of me, sparkling like the very egg that got me into this situation.

“Is this your room?” I asked the Bee-lievers, who looked at each other with shifty eyes. “Are you the occupants?” I asked more firmly.

“We’re on the second floor. Hey, if you want to swing by after your shift, we’ll open a bottle to celebrate. What do you say?”

“I say no,” I replied. “Please leave this suitetout de suite.Guest privacy is paramount at the Regency Grand.”

A few minutes ago, shift complete, I changed into my civilianclothes, then rushed out the lobby’s revolving doors carrying my shoebox, this time sans egg. Now, I’m catching my breath on the red-carpeted stairs.

“Yo, there she is! It’s Molly the Maid!” Speedy yells to some guests the instant he spots me. “Juan should be out soon, too.”

“Speedy, what are you doing?” I hiss as he lumbers my way.

“They’ve been waiting for you all day,” he says.

The little gang bounds up the stairs and surrounds me, pushing flyers and business cards at me, making me offers for real estate and media appearances and trips to far-flung places I’ve seen only on postcards. Just as I’m getting weak at the knees, Mr.Snow emerges through the revolving doors with Juan behind him.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” Juan says as he grabs my arm.

“I’ve ordered you black car service,” Mr.Snow replies. “Hop in that limo. It will take you straight home.”

Juan rushes me down the red-carpeted stairs and into the waiting vehicle. Only when we’re two blocks from home do I dare draw a breath.

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