The Mystery Guest

I rush downstairs to the housekeeping quarters, where I change into my uniform, placing my Head Maid pin in its proper position, right above my heart. Lily has already arrived. Her shoes are lined up neatly in front of her locker.

Once uniformed, I check myself one last time in the mirror, then head to the second floor. The elevator doors open, and I spot Lily’s trolley at the end of the hall, but when I look the other way, Cheryl is exiting a room, her fleshy hand full of small bills.

No. Not again. It’s the second time in less than twenty-four hours that I’ve caught a thief red-handed, in flagrante delicto. Cheryl is up to her old tricks. She’s filching tips from rooms she doesn’t even clean, tips meant for Lily and me.

“Cheryl!” I say, or rather shout, because I’m hot as a steaming kettle. I march down the hallway and stop in front of her. “How dare you?” I say. “Stealing tips from other maids. You’ll recall that it’s expressly forbidden to interfere with remuneration intended for other staff members. Do you realize that’s cause for dismissal?”

“Whoa, Molly!” Cheryl says, her hands raised. “No need to get so worked up. As I told Lily earlier, I thought it would be a good idea for all of us maids to pool our tips and then divide them evenly. You know, like you always say—‘fair and square, the maids all share’?”

“That statement refers to the workload,” I say. “You have misconstrued my meaning.”

Lily’s head pops out of a room. The dark circles under her eyes are so pronounced she resembles a raccoon.

“You tell her, Lily,” Cheryl says. “We agreed to pool tips, right?”

Lily is about to say something, but the words catch in her mouth. “I…guess?” she manages, then she shakes her head and goes quiet.

This does a grand total of nothing to placate me. Rather, it makes me want to submerge Cheryl’s greedy paws in a bucketful of concentrated lye, but instead I force a smile and say, “I am Head Maid. It is up to me to decide how tips are doled out amongst maids. And for the record, I’ve had enough of dirty thieves for one day.”

“Dirty thieves?” Cheryl repeats, punctuating this with a snort. “That’s a very nasty name you just called me. Who’s breaking her own rule book now? I wonder what Mr. Snow would have to say if I decided to report you, Molly? I’ve gotta go,” Cheryl says. “Be sure to shout out if either of you see an axe-wielding murderer behind a hotel room door. Or better yet, don’t shout. Just. Stay. Quiet,” she says as she eyes Lily. Then she clomps off down the hallway.

Once she’s gone, Lily emerges from the room she was cleaning and stands in front me, her eyes downturned and watery.

“Did you really agree to pool tips with her?” I ask.

Lily’s not talking. She’s not even moving.

“Will there ever be an end to this silent treatment?” I ask. “I know this place is upside down right now and it’s quite frightening, but everything will right itself. Things will be okay in the end.”

Lily’s face remains impassive—a mask of worry and concern. “This hotel?” she whispers. “It’s dirtier than I ever realized. I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s only one thing to do in the presence of dirt, Lily. And that’s clean it.”

Lily stares at me for a moment, then she slips behind her trolley and disappears down the hall.

Chapter 15

Before

I’m standing in the kitchen with Gran. She’s asking a question, but the floor under my feet is warping, and while she’s right in front of me, hands on my shoulders, it’s as though she’s speaking from inside a corked bottle bobbing at sea.

“Please tell me Mr. Rosso picked up the envelope,” she repeats. “Molly?”

“He didn’t come,” I say. “Mr. Rosso didn’t stop by.” My eyes are on the kitchen table. I’m willing the envelope with the rent to reappear, but it doesn’t. And I know it won’t.

“That lady knew you. She said her name was Maggie.”

Gran’s hands slide off my shoulders and she covers her face with them. A sound escapes her, a strange one that I’ve heard only once before, in a nature documentary—the sound a mother sheep made after a lion snatched her lamb and ran away with it.

“Gran, who is she? Maybe it’s not too late.”

Tears stream down Gran’s face. “Oh, my dear girl,” she says. “It’s years too late.”

“But who is she?” I ask.

Gran is silent. A deep furrow settles into her brow. “You don’t know? You really don’t know?”

I shake my head.

“Why would you,” she says. “After all, she’s a stranger to you.”

“She’s a thief,” I say. “We should call the police. They can catch her and get our rent money back.”

“It’s no use, Molly. She’s long gone, and the money’s gone with her.”

Gran crumples onto the kitchen floor. I sit cross-legged in front of her. I feel my ribs tighten around my heart, the gravity of our predicament sinking in.

“Gran, please don’t cry. I’m so sorry.”

Just then, there’s a pounding at the door. We both jump. It’s her, I think to myself. It’s Maggie. She’s had a change of heart and is returning our money. She’s a good egg after all!