Page 98 of The Maid's Secret

“Now?” says Juan.

“As Gran would say,there’s no time like the present.”

—

Juan makes some coffee and brings out a tray with crumpets, honey, and jam. He puts the spread on the living room table beside Gran’s diary. “The detective should be here any minute,” he says.

“Yes,” I say. “And the others.”

After trying—and failing—to explain to Juan everything I learned from Gran’s diary, I made a series of calls, first to Detective Stark, then to my gran-dad, and finally, to Angela.

As usual, Angela’s was the most colorful response. “For the love of ducks, it’s still dark out, Molly. You need me to come overnow?”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “But the detective’s on her way. She was very interested in what I told her on the phone.”

“I’ll be there. But there better be coffee.”

Now, I’m pacing in the living room, thinking about how I’ll explain it to everyone when they arrive.

There’s a knock on the door. I rush to the peephole and see my gran-dad looking as bleary-eyed as I feel. The second he enters, I rush at him, hugging him as tight as I can.

“Good heavens, Molly,” he says from the midst of my full-body grip. “What’s all this?”

“You loved her so much,” I say, squeezing him even harder.

“Your gran? Of course I did,” he says as he tries, unsuccessfully, to free himself from my grip. “But you knew that.”

“Not the way I do now,” I say. “Her diary. It’s a tell-all. And you—you kept so many secrets!”

“I did not,” he says.

“You and Gran came from totally different worlds. You were set to go to university. Your father was a butler.”

“But I’ve told you those things before,” he says.

He’s right. He has. And yet that only proves you can know something—it can be staring you right in the face—and the deeper meaning can escape you entirely.

“Your aunt, Mrs.Mead, she died a tragic death. This Claddagh ring,” I say, pointing to it on my finger, “it was hers before it was Gran’s. Your father, William Preston—a.k.a. Uncle Willy—he was my great-grandfather’s butler!”

“All true,” says my gran-dad. “I suppose I never shared those particular details. Didn’t see the point. Like your gran used to say,it’s all water under the bridge.”

“She loved you with her entire being,” I say. “She really did.”

“Molly,” Juan says, “if you don’t let go of Mr.Preston soon, he’s going to lose circulation.”

“Sorry,” I say, releasing him. “I’ve had quite a night. I feel like I’m seeing for the very first time.”

“Molly, you said on the phone that you know more about the egg,” says Gran-dad.

“Yes,” I say. “I do.”

“Hello? Can we come in? And if you hug me like that, I swear I’ll scream blue murder,” Angela warns. She and Detective Stark are standing behind my gran-dad. Angela looks like the Bride of Frankenstein, her red hair in statically charged disarray. Detective Stark is wearing a tracksuit, her hoodie pulled over her head. They both appear barely conscious, though they’ve certainly had more sleep than I have.

“Come in,” I say. “I know it’s early.”

“This better be good, Molly,” says Stark.

“Have a seat,” says Juan after he wipes down everyone’s shoes and stores them neatly in the front closet.

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