“Detective Stark said the persons of interest were most likely motivated by Mr. Black’s will. She thinks they maybe even discussed his will with him before they killed him. Poor Giselle. Do you know that Mr. Black didn’t leave her a thing? Not a single thing, the poor, poor woman.”
“What? The detective told you that? But that can’t be. I know for a fact it can’t be.”
“Do you? I thought you weren’t well acquainted with Giselle,” I say.
“I’m not,” he says. He appears to be sweating though it’s not unduly warm in here. “But I know people who know her well. Anyhow, this isn’t what they told me. So it’s…well, it’s a bit of a surprise.” He takes a gulp of beer and puts his elbows on the table.
“Rude,” I say.
“What?”
“Your elbows on the table. This is a restaurant. That is a dinner table. Proper etiquette requires you to keep your elbows off it.”
He shakes his head but takes his offensive appendages off the table. Victory.
“Salad? Bread?” I offer.
“No,” he replies. “Let’s just get to the point. Didn’t Mr. Black leave Giselle the villa in the Caymans? Did the detective mention that?”
“Hmm,” I say. I pick up my napkin and grip it under the table between my perspiring hands. “I don’t recall anything about a villa. I think the detective said almost everything goes to the first Mrs. Black and the children.” Another tidbit doled out as planned.
“You’re telling me the police volunteered all of this information to you for no good reason?”
“What? Of course not,” I say. “Who would tell me anything? I’m just the maid. Detective Stark left me in a room by myself, and you know how it is. People forget I’m there. Or perhaps they think I’m too daft to understand? I overheard all of this at the station.”
“And weren’t the detectives concerned about the gun in your vacuum? I mean, I’m assuming that’s why they nabbed you, right?”
“Yes,” I say. “It seems Cheryl found the gun and alerted them. Interesting that she knew where to look. For someone so lazy, it’s hard to imagine her searching a dusty vacuum bag.”
Rodney’s face changes. “You’re not suggesting I told her, are you? Molly, you know I would never—”
“I’d never suggest that about you, Rodney. You’re blameless. An innocent,” I say. “Much like me.”
He nods. “Good. I’m glad there’s no misunderstanding here.” He shakes his head the way a wet dog would when it comes out of the water. “So what did you tell the police when they asked about the gun?”
“I simply explained whose gun it was, and where I found it,” I reply. “That raised two eyebrows. Meaning I believe Detective Stark was surprised.”
“So you narced on Giselle, your friend?” he asks. His elbows make an aggravating reappearance on the table.
“I would never betray a true friend,” I say. “But there’s something dreadful I have to tell you. It’s why I called you here.” Here it comes, the moment I’ve prepared for.
“What is it already?” he asks, barely able to keep the rage out of his voice.
“Oh, Rodney. You know how nervous I get in social situations, and I must say that being interrogated by detectives caused me much consternation, as I have very little experience in such matters. Perhaps you’re more accustomed to such ordeals?”
“Molly, get to the point.”
“Right,” I say, wringing my napkin in my hands. “Once the issue of Giselle’s gun was out of the bag—I suppose that’s both literal and figurative in this case—the detective said they would sweep the former Black suite yet again.” I bring my napkin to my eyes as I try to gauge his response to this.
“Go on,” he says.
“I said, ‘Oh, you can’t do that! Juan Manuel is staying in that suite.’ And the detective asked, ‘Who’s Juan Manuel?’ And so I told them. Oh, Rodney, I probably shouldn’t have. I told them how Juan Manuel is your friend and how you’ve been helping him because he has no work permit and—”
“You mentioned me to the detective?”
“Yes,” I say. “And I told them about the overnight bags and the cleaning up after Juan Manuel and your friends, and how good and kind you’ve all been—”
“They’re his friends, not mine.”