Page 63 of The Mystery Guest

It feels like déjà vu. We’ve finished speaking with Lily, and now I’m rushing through the lobby and down the stairs to the housekeeping quarters to find a maid but a different one this time. I’m late for my shift, which concerns me deeply, but not as much as Lily’s recent revelation does.

I find her by her locker, fully dressed and about to fasten a Head Maid pin on her left side, right above her heart. How dare she. It’s all I can do not to rip it from her hand and stab her with it.

Anger solves nothing.Good things come to those who wait.

“Cheryl,” I say, forcing an ersatz smile to my lips. “How lovely to see you this morning, and only fifteen minutes late, too. I’ve come to tell you there’s free orange juice and muffins upstairs at the bar.”

Her floppy feet shuffle my way until she’s standing right in front of me.

“Angela said you love freebies,” I add.

She puts a hand on her hip. “Did she?” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. It actually happened like this: when I asked Mr. Preston and Angela how on earth I was supposed to convince slovenly, ornery, petty-thieving, good-for-nothing Cheryl to join us upstairs at the Social, Angela contrived the trap. “Just tell her there’s food. She’ll take the bait.”

Now, Cheryl eyes me, then shrugs. “Muffins sound good. Anything to get out of work.”

And just like that, I’m walking up the stairs and through the lobby making small talk about the weather with my archnemesis and chief rival. I smile and smile and smile as I lead her through the glorious front lobby to the bar at the Social, where Mr. Preston is midway through a chocolate chip muffin that he’s lifted from the heaping plate Angela has placed on the bar. Lily sits stock-still on her stool.

“Oh, hello, Cheryl,” Mr. Preston says as he offers her his seat. “We’re thrilled you’re joining us. Do me the honor?”

Cheryl plops herself down. “Thanks,” she says as she helps herself to a muffin and snaps her fingers at Lily for a glass of orange juice, which Lily pours and hands to her without a word.

“Uff, nice to take a load off,” Cheryl says.

“Working hard this morning, though you’ve just arrived for your shift?” I say, which is when Angela shoves the plate of muffins at me and kindly suggests I stuff one in my mouth.

“Hey, if Snow wanders in and sees us all shirking, this was your idea, not mine,” Cheryl says.

“Of course!” Angela replies. “We wouldn’t wantyoutaking the blame for somethingwedid. What kind of people do you take us for?”

Cheryl rips into a muffin and starts chewing a hunk of it. Her beady eyes search our faces, but she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. “All right, this is too weird,” she says. “What do you all want? What’s really going on here?”

Mr. Preston clears his throat. “Since you mentioned it,” he says, “we have something we wanted to raise with you.”

Angela doesn’t waste a moment. She whips out her laptop, open to KultureVulture.com. “Such a nice day,” Angela says. “And yet a Grim one, too, isn’t it, Cheryl?”

Cheryl takes in the screen. “This has nothing to do with me. Nothing.”

“They know the truth, Cheryl,” Lily whispers. “I just told them.”

Cheryl swivels to face Lily. “You little snitchy bitch. The pawnshop just gave me thirty thousand dollars for that rare first edition. I would have given you a cut, Lily. How could you be so stupid?”

“I told you before,” Lily says, her voice a quiet knife. “I don’t want your dirty money. I just want my job.”

Cheryl’s beady eyes shift from Lily to Angela to Mr. Preston, then finally land on me. “Wait,” she says. “We can make a deal here, can’t we? Split the proceeds of my sales four ways as long as you all keep quiet? We’ll be a hell of a lot richer if you can just hold your tongues.”

If I were to hold any tongue right now, it would be Cheryl’s—for the express purpose of ripping it from her mouth.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Mr. Preston says. “Do we agree?”

Angela nods and so do I.

“I’ve definitely heard enough,” says Lily, her voice no longer a whisper. The clarion sound fills me with overweening pride.

“Molly, would you mind fetching Mr. Snow?” Mr. Preston says.

“Would I mind?” I reply. “On the contrary, it would be my pleasure.”

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