Page 63 of The Maid

“I didn’t get the chance. I hid it in my vacuum cleaner, expecting to give it to her later. Then at lunch, I left the hotel.”

“That’s right,” says Mr. Preston. “I saw you rushing out the doors and was wondering where you were off to in such a hurry.”

I look down at the cup in my lap. Something niggles at my conscience; the dragon in my belly stirs. “I found Mr. Black’s wedding ring,” I say. “And I pawned it. I know that was wrong. It’s just been very hard on my own to make ends meet financially. My gran. She’d be so ashamed of me.” I can’t bear to look up at either of them. Instead, I just stare into the black hole of my teacup.

“Dear girl,” Mr. Preston says. “Your gran understood money troubles better than most. Believe me, I know that much about her and a whole lot more. It’s my understanding that she left you some savings, after she passed?”

“Gone,” I say. “Frittered away.” I can’t explain about Wilbur and the Fabergé. There’s only so much shame I can confess to at once.

“So you pawned the ring and then went back to work?” Charlotte asks.

“Yes.”

“And the police were waiting for you when you came back?”

Mr. Preston steps in. “That’s correct, Charlotte. I was there. Couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it either, though I tried.”

Charlotte shifts her weight in the chair, crosses her legs. “What about the drug charges? Do you understand how those came about?”

“There were traces of cocaine on my maid’s trolley. I have no idea how that’s even possible. I promised Gran long ago that I’d never in my life touch a drug. Now I fear I’ve broken my promise.”

“Dear girl,” Mr. Preston says. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it literally.”

“Let’s go back to the gun,” Charlotte says. “How did the police find it in your vacuum cleaner?”

And here’s where I must confess the pieces that I’ve put together myself since my arrest. “Rodney,” I say, choking on the two syllables, barely able to spit them up and eject them from my mouth.

“I was wondering when his name would pop up,” Mr. Preston says.

“When the police talked to me yesterday, I was afraid. Very afraid. I went straight home and called Rodney.”

“He’s the bartender at the Social,” Mr. Preston adds for Charlotte’s benefit. “Smarmy cretin. Write that down.”

It hurts to hear Mr. Preston say it. “I called Rodney,” I say. “I didn’t know what else to do. He’s been a loyal friend to me, maybe even a little bit more than a friend. I told him about the police questioning me, about Giselle and the gun in my vacuum cleaner, and about the ring I’d found and pawned.”

“Let me guess. Rodney said he’d be all too happy to help a nice girl like you,” says Mr. Preston.

“Something to that effect,” I say. “But Detective Stark said it was Cheryl, my supervisor, who followed me to the pawn shop. Maybe she’sthe culprit in all of this? She’s definitely untrustworthy. The stories I could tell you.”

“My dear Molly,” Mr. Preston says with a sigh. “Rodney used Cheryl to tip off the police. Can you see that? He likely used the gun and the ring in your possession to divert suspicion away from himself and toward you. He may very well be connected to the cocaine found on your cart. And to the murder of Mr. Black.”

I know Gran would be displeased, but my shoulders slump even more. I can barely keep myself upright. “Do you think that perhaps Rodney and Giselle are in cahoots?” I ask.

Mr. Preston nods slowly.

“I see,” I say.

“I’m sorry, Molly. I tried to warn you about Rodney,” he says.

“You did, Mr. Preston. You can add the ‘I told you so.’ I deserve it.”

“You do not deserve it,” he replies. “We all have our blind spots.”

He stands and walks over to Gran’s curio cabinet. He looks at the photo of my mother, then puts it down. He picks up the photo of Gran and me at the Olive Garden. He smiles, then returns to his seat on the sofa.

“Dad, what exactly did you see at the hotel that made you suspicious of illegal activity? Do you think there’s actual drug-running happening at the Regency Grand?”

“No,” I say definitively before he can answer. “The Regency Grand is a clean establishment. Mr. Snow wouldn’t have it any other way. The only other issue is Juan Manuel.”

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