The Mystery Guest

I take both her hands in mine. I’m about to launch into my best pep talk about how good always triumphs over evil and how the meek shall inherit the earth, but just then, Mr. Snow appears in the doorway.

“Oh, thank goodness,” I say. “I’m so glad to see—” My words choke in my throat because as Mr. Snow steps into the room, behind him is someone I had the horrible misfortune to meet some years ago and who I’d hoped never to meet again. She is large, imposing, with broad athletic shoulders. She’s wearing a black sweater and black pants, though the fact that she’s in plain clothes rather than in uniform does nothing to quell my agitation.

“Hello, Molly,” Detective Stark says as she stands confidently in the threshold of Mr. Snow’s office.

I know etiquette requires me to say something such as “How lovely to see you” or “What a pleasure to meet you again after you unjustly pegged me as Mr. Black’s murderer a few years ago and nearly ruined my life,” but I have learned that if I can’t control the words in my head, it’s best not to open my maw.

“Someone dialed 911 the second Mr. Grimthorpe collapsed,” Mr. Snow says. “The police arrived soon after you left the room, Molly.”

“And I arrived not long after that,” Detective Stark says as she threads her thumbs through her belt loops, tipping back and forth on her heels the way cowboys do in old movies. “Being here is like déjà vu,” she adds, looking around Mr. Snow’s office.

“I certainly hope not,” I say. “If you’re here to investigate, it would be preferable to avoid gross miscarriages of justice this time around. As my gran used to say, ‘To err once is human; to err twice is idiotic.’ ”

Mr. Snow clears his throat. “Molly, I understand you’re rattled by this morning’s events.”

Stark enters the room and takes in Lily, slumped and defeated in her chair. “Looks like someone else is rattled, too,” the detective says, nodding toward Lily. “I understand that young woman served Grimthorpe just before he died.”

“That young woman has a name,” I say. “She’s Lily Finch, my trusted Maid-in-Training. Please forgive her silence. I believe she’s in an abject state of shock.”

“May I?” the detective asks as she draws up a chair in front of Lily, then sits before anyone can say “Be my guest.”

“I need to ask you some questions,” the detective says too loudly. Does she think Lily is deaf?

“Her ears work just fine,” I say.

Lily studies her hands, which are white and clenched in her lap.

“She’s not the most talkative person, but I assure you she’s an exceptional Maid-in-Training,” I explain.

“Exceptional at what is the question,” the detective replies. “Lily, you understand that Mr. Grimthorpe is deceased. I had a good look at his body just now, and I noted some…very strange things. Suspicious things. I hear you prepared his tea this morning.”

“How do you know that?” I demand.

“Cheryl told the detective,” Mr. Snow replies. “She stuck around at the scene.”

“What does Lily preparing Mr. Grimthorpe’s tea have to do with him dropping dead on the floor?” I ask.

The detective turns in her chair to face me. “Molly, men don’t just die suddenly without a good reason,” she says. “They usually require a bit of help.” She turns away from me then and leans right into Lily’s face. “Lily,” she says, “did anyone besides you touch that writer’s tea cart this morning?”

Silence.

“Did you see anything out of the ordinary in the hotel today?” Detective Stark asks. “Upstairs or maybe downstairs in the kitchen?”

Lily doesn’t answer. Her eyes are glazed and unfocused. The word “catatonic” comes to mind, and I’m tempted to spell it out loud, an old habit, but I resist.

“Detective,” I chime in. “The kitchen staff prepared two tea carts for Mr. Grimthorpe this morning—one served before the event and one served during. Lily was charged with delivering both carts. And as for things being ‘out of the ordinary in the hotel,’ strange things transpire with alarming regularity at the Regency Grand. A few weeks ago, a guest smuggled a pet snake into his room. It escaped and curled up on a lobby chair. Fortunately, I spotted the anomalous coil on an emerald-green settee right before a rather generous-bottomed madam took a seat on the reptile. Did you know that I once caught a pop star filling his toilet with ice to chill champagne? And just yesterday, several fans of Mr. Grimthorpe’s were walking through the hotel with falsified VIP passes strung around their necks.”

“How did you know they were fakes?” the detective asks.

“Grimthrope,” I reply.

“Sorry?”

“The badges had reversed the letters in Grimthorpe’s name. Spelling error,” I explain. “Very careless.”

“Molly has an eagle eye for details,” Mr. Snow confirms.

“Hmm,” Detective Stark says as her lip curls on one side. I’m reminded of the dog across the street from my apartment. Its lip does exactly the same thing right before it lunges full force at the fence. Perhaps Lily notices this, too, because she suddenly bursts into tears again, burying her face in her hands.