Page 85 of The Maid's Secret

I recalled Penelope’s pale face in the doorway of the parlor. I thought she’d seen a ghost, but I was wrong—shewasa ghost.

“Mrs.Mead was so angry. ‘My brother and nephew won’t let this happen,’ she said. He won’t get away with any of this, not again.’ That was the last time I saw her alive. The next time I laid eyes on her was when they brought her into the conservatory and placed her body on the floor. And then, at the funeral, after I paid respects to Mr.Preston and his son, young Mr.Braun drew me aside. He knew I’d told Mrs.Mead everything. He said if a deer keeps quiet in the forest, it won’t get shot. Only the noisy ones get the bullet. That’s what he said.”

It’s hard to explain what I felt in that moment—the shock, the horror, the impotence, the outrage. And there was something else, too. It was as if a spell had been broken, as if some veil of enchantment had been fully cast aside. I saw everything clearly for the first time—who the Brauns really were, the lengths to which they’d go to protect themselves and their abominable son. I was a hair’s breadth away from being Algernon’s long-term partner and CEO of alibis. Marrying him would mean condemning myself to a lifetime of cleaning up after his crimes.

“Mrs.Mead was right,” I said. “He won’t get away with this.”

“But he’s your…your…”

“My fiancé?” I said. “No, he’s not. Not anymore.”

—

Chapter 25

Dear Molly,

Sell the egg or you die.

Detective Stark holds up the two-ply on which the message is written in block letters, the words formed in black marker, the intent crystal clear.

“Who writes a death threat on toilet paper?” Sunshine asks.

“I can’t decide if it’s ominous or hilarious,” Angela replies.

“First you’re dead if you find the egg; now you’re dead if you don’t sell it?” says Juan. “Detective Stark, is this serious?”

“It’s flushable. How serious can it be?” Angela says.

“My hope is that both threats are bluffs, but until we find the thief, we won’t know for sure,” Detective Stark replies.

“Did anyone see a man in a trench coat last night?” I ask. My mother had warned me to be on the lookout for such a man, one of her fly-by-night associates.

“Nope. We saw a guy like that once, on the day the egg was appraised, but never again,” says Sunshine.

“Describe him to the doorman and see if he entered the hotel last night,” Detective Stark suggests.

“Good idea,” says Mr.Snow. “Sunshine, Juan, let’s talk to Speedy now.”

“Before you go,” says Stark, “be sure not to mention the return of the egg to anyone. The last thing we need is for the media to descend on this hotel again and draw more attention to everything—and everyone,” she says, looking at me.

“Understood,” says Mr.Snow. “Molly, shall I stow the egg in the safe?”

“Please do,” I answer.

“And we’ll all stay quiet about it, right, Cheryl?” Mr.Snow suggests.

Cheryl nods, reluctantly. Mr.Snow picks up the egg and puts it in the wall safe behind his desk. He checks it’s secure before he walks away, the others following after him.

Once they’re gone, Angela collapses in the leather armchair opposite me.

“What now?” I ask her and the detective.

“I looked into Maggie, your mother, and so far, there’s no police record for a Margaret Gray. And we can’t find an address for her either.”

“I don’t get it,” says Angela. “If this was a professional heist, why return the egg?”

“The only thing I can think of is the thieves were worried they’d be caught. We need to consult experts in the art world.”

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