Page 8 of The Maid's Secret

“They’re filming now. Tell your staff to come up posthaste.”

“What?”he replied. “We’re not ready.”

“I know,” I said. “But come up anyhow. And, Juan?” I added, “Can you grab my name tag from my locker?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. And goodbye.”

No sooner had I slipped my phone into my pocket than a wood-paneled door leading to the greenroom opened beside the stage. Brown and Beagle—theBaxley Brown andtheThomas Beagle—walked out. The second I laid eyes on the stars, I felt weak in the knees and my heart clapped excitedly in my chest. It was them! It was really, truly them, and in person the celebrity couple was jaw-droppingly magnificent.

They were dressed in their trademark velvet waistcoats—Brown’s scarlet, and Beagle’s royal blue. Brown was brawny and wide-shouldered, a very tall Prince Charming, with blond locks fallingchurlishly around his angelic face, a twinkle in his curious blue eyes. He looked even more handsomely chiseled IRL (as Juan would say) than he did on TV. Beagle was his physical opposite, a diminutive man, low to the ground like his canine namesake, but perfectly proportioned and no less dashing than his husband. He had wavy, dark hair and discerning eyes. He reminded me of that pop star who sang about raspberry berets and who changed his name to a symbol, which in my mind is even more perplexing than a man with a name like Peter choosing to go by Speedy.

As Beagle surveyed the room, his eagle-eyed gaze fell on me, and he bowed slightly in my direction. I couldn’t believe it. I would have reciprocated with a curtsy, but I feared loosening my knees might bring me to a delirious faint in the middle of the floor.

Familiar faces appeared at the entrance. There was Angela and my gran-dad, and trailing behind them, the VIP studio audience of Bee-lievers, carrying their preciousobjetsin hand or wheeling larger items on trolleys. They streamed into the room and took their seats at the white-linened tables.

Next, in came Juan, heading straight for me. He was dressed in clean chef whites and his jaunty chef’s cap. “Your name tag,mi amor,” he said. “May I?” He pinned it on my left side, right above my heart.

“Make sure it’s on straight,” I insisted.

“Do you think I don’t know you?” he replied. “Done.”

He then led valets and bellhops, maids and waiters, laundry staff and receptionists, into the room, their treasures in tow. I marched over to my co-workers and asked them to form a neat line that snaked from the stage-right stairs all the way to the back of the room. Various clipboard-toting crew members expedited the signing of waivers with mind-boggling efficiency.

With my shoebox in hand, I headed to the front of the line, where Mr.Snow was standing beside Speedy, who was bobbing up and down so much, I felt seasick.

“I’ll go up first to quell everyone’s nerves,” Mr.Snow said. “Then it’s you, Speedy—and please, don’t talk over the hosts. After that, it’s your turn, Molly. Good?”

I managed a curt nod, but my mouth was suddenly dry.

“Have you ever met a star?” Speedy asked me. “I’ve never met a star. We’re gonna meet the stars!”

“Quiet on set, everyone!” Steve called out as he loped to the front of the stage. “Welcome toHidden Treasures,where Brown and Beagle find lost works of art, changing history and lives in a single moment. Cameras are rolling, and this might just be your lucky day. You never know what Brown and Beagle will find on…Hidden Treasures!”

He started clapping then, coaxing the audience to do the same. Onstage behind him, the two dapper costars blew kisses to the crowd. Then as the applause faded, they seated themselves on their thrones.

“Most of the time, we don’t find long-lost treasure,” Steve warned the audience, “but that’s not the point.”

“The point is to take the mystery out of history,” crooned Brown.

“And to dazzle and delight!” Beagle said as he flashed his bejeweled jazz hands, which elicitedoohs from the crowd. “Don’t be shy up here, folks. Remember, we appraiseyouas much as your treasure.”

“Camera’s rolling. First up!” Steve said as he pointed to Mr.Snow.

Mr.Snow walked up the stage stairs and took his seat across from the two expert appraisers. Under the strong lights, he started melting like soft-serve ice cream in the sun. He mopped his forehead with his pocket square, but the small cloth was insufficient for the task.

“Sir, I think you forgot something,” Brown said.

Mr.Snow looked with confusion from one Bee to the other. “I’m sorry?” he said.

“Your treasure. Or are you so precious you decided not to bring one?”

A hearty chuckle echoed through the crowd.

“My treasure is in my pocket,” Mr.Snow said.

“My, my, any takers?” Brown quipped as he sat up straight in his chair, more regal and taller than ever.

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