Page 39 of The Maid

She sighs. “I doubt you really understand, Molly, what it’s like to have a condition like mine. I have bowel issues. And stress aggravates things. Stress, such as a dead man discovered in my workplace. Stress that causes gastrointestinal dysfunction.”

“I’m sorry you were unwell,” I say.

I expect her to go away then, but she doesn’t. She just stands in my way. The plastic wrap of my uniform rattles ominously as she brushes against it.

“Too bad about the Blacks,” she says.

“You mean about Mr. Black,” I say. “Yes, it’s most dreadful.”

“No. I mean too bad you won’t get their tips anymore, now that Black’s dead.” Her face reminds me of an egg—featureless and bland.

“Actually,” I say, “I believe Mrs. Black is still a guest in the hotel.”

She sniffs. “Sunitha’s looking after Giselle in her new room. I’ll oversee her work, of course.”

“Of course,” I say. It’s yet another ploy to steal tips, but it won’t last for long. Giselle will talk to Mr. Snow. She will request that I look after her again. So for now, I’ll hold my tongue.

“The police are finished in the former Black suite,” Cheryl says. “They’ve turned it upside down. Quite a mess. You’ll have to work hard to set it right. Not big tippers either, cops. I’ll look after the Chens from now on. Wouldn’t want you overworked.”

“How considerate,” I say. “Thank you, Cheryl.”

She stands there for a moment longer, looking into my locker. I see her eyeing Giselle’s timer. I want to gouge out her eyes because she’s tainting it, just by looking at it with such envy. It is mine. It’smygift. Frommyfriend.Mine.

“Excuse me,” I say, and slam the locker door shut.

Cheryl flinches.

“I best be off. I must get to work.”

She mutters something unintelligible as I grab my uniform and head for the change room.

Once I’m uniformed and I’ve replenished my trolley, I make my way to the main lobby. I see Mr. Snow at Reception. He looks frosted over, like a sugar-glazed doughnut melting on a hot day. He beckons me to him.

I’m careful to allow the hordes of guests to pass before me and my trolley, bowing my head to each as they pay me no mind. “After you, ma’am/sir,” over and over again. It takes me an extraordinarily long time to navigate the short distance from the elevator to the reception desk.

“Mr. Snow, my apologies. It’s very busy today,” I say when I arrive at the desk.

“Molly, it’s good to see you. Thank you again for coming to work yesterday. And today. Many employees would simply use recent events as an excuse to feign illness. To shirk their duties.”

“I would never do that, Mr. Snow. ‘Every worker bee has her place in the hive.’ You taught me that.”

“Did I?”

“You did. It was part of your speech during last year’s professional-development day. The hotel is a hive, and every worker in it is a bee. Without each and every one of us, there would be no honey.”

Mr. Snow is looking past me into the busy lobby. It could use some attention. A child has left a sweater on one of the high-back chairs. A discarded plastic bag gusts up and then back to the marble floor as a busy porter sweeps past, wheeling a squeaky suitcase in his wake.

“It’s a strange world, Molly. Yesterday, I was worried that after recent unfortunate events, guests would cancel their reservations and our hotel would be empty. But today, the opposite has transpired. More guests are booking. Ladies groups are coming in droves for high tea just to snoop around. Our conference rooms are now booked fully for the next month. It seems everyone’s an amateur sleuth. They all believe they can waltz right into the hotel and solve the mystery of Mr. Black’s untimely demise. Look at Reception. They can barely keep up.”

He is right. The penguins behind the counter punch furiously at their screens, call out orders for valets and porters and the doorman.

“The Regency Grand has become a bit of a hot spot,” Mr. Snow says. “Thanks to Mr. Black.”

“How interesting,” I remark. “I was just thinking about how one day can be so utterly grim and the next such a blessing. In this life, you just never know what’s around the bend, be it a dead man or your next date.”

Mr. Snow coughs into his hand. I hope he’s not getting a cold. He comes closer and speaks in a whisper. “Listen, Molly. I’ll have you know the police are now finished with their investigation in the Black suite. I hope they haven’t uncovered anything unsavory.”

“If they have, I’ll just clean it up. Cheryl told me I’m to start there today. I’ll get right to it, sir.”

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