“Well, whoever they are, they sure do drag a lot of mess into rooms. But don’t worry, I made sure to let the detective know what a good man you are, even if your friends are a little…dusty.”
He takes his head in his hands. “Oh, Molly. What have you done?”
“I told the truth,” I say. “But I realize I have caused a bit of an issue for Juan Manuel. What if he’s still in the Black suite when they check it again? I’d hate for him to get in any kind of trouble. You’d hate that, too, wouldn’t you, Rodney?”
He nods vigorously. “I would. Yeah. I mean, we’ve got to make sure he’s not in there when they check. And we’ve got to clean that room out, fast, before the police arrive. You know, so there are no traces of Juan Manuel.”
“Of course,” I say. “My thoughts exactly.” I smile at Rodney, but inside I’m pouring a full kettle of boiling water onto his dirty, lying face.
“So you’ll do it?” he asks.
“Do what?” I reply.
“Sneak in and clean the suite. Now. Before the cops get there. You’re the only one besides Chernobyl and Snow who has access. If Mr. Snow catches Juan Manuel there—or worse, if the police do—he’ll be deported.”
“But I’m not supposed to be going to work today. Mr. Snow says I’m ‘a person of interest’ to the police, so—”
“Please, Molly! This is important.” He reaches out and grabs my hand. I want to wrench mine away, but I know I must not move.
We have faith in you.
I hear it in my head, but it’s not Gran’s voice this time. It’s Mr. Preston’s. Then Charlotte’s. Then Juan Manuel’s.
I keep my hand steady under his, my gaze neutral. “You know,” I say, “I’m not allowed to enter the hotel, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enter. What if I quickly sneak into the hotel, grab the right room key, and give it to you? You can then use my trolley and clean up the room yourself! Wouldn’t that be something—you cleaning up your own mess?—I mean, Juan Manuel’s mess.”
His eyes are darting all over the place. The sheen on his forehead is condensing into droplets.
After a few moments, he says, “Okay. All right. You get me the suite key, I clean the room.”
“The suite key tout suite,” I say, but he fails to register my cleverness.
The waitress arrives at our table with the pepperoni pizza and the appetizer plate.
“Would you mind boxing that up, please?” I ask.
“Sure,” she says. “Was there something wrong with the bread and salad? You didn’t even touch them.”
“Oh no,” I say. “It’s all delightful. It’s just that we’re in a bit of a rush.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’ll box everything.” She gestures to a colleague, and the two of them take care of the food.
“He’ll have the bill, please,” I say, pointing to Rodney.
His mouth drops open, but he doesn’t say anything, not so much as a word.
Our waitress retrieves the bill from her apron and hands it to him. He pulls out a crisp, fresh $100 bill from his wallet, passes it to her, and says, “Keep the change.” He stands abruptly. “I better run, Molly. I should get back to the hotel and do this right away.”
“Of course,” I say. “I’ll take all this food home. Then I’ll text you as soon as I make it to the hotel. Oh, and Rodney?”
“What?” he asks.
“It really is a shame that you don’t like jigsaw puzzles.”
“Why?”
“Because,” I say, “I don’t think you quite know the pleasure one feels when suddenly, all the pieces come together.”
He looks at me, his lip curled. It’s so clear, the meaning of the look. I’m an idiot. A fool. And I’m too daft to even know it.
That’s the expression that’s smeared all over his vulgar, lying face.
I walk quickly all the way home, takeout bags in tow. I’m eager to report back to Mr. Preston, Charlotte, and especially Juan Manuel.
Once I’m in my building, I climb the stairs two by two. I’m rounding the corner to my hallway when I see Mr. Rosso’s door open a sliver. He peeks out, spots me, then slinks back inside, closing the door behind him.
I put down the takeout bags to turn the key in my lock, then I walk through the entrance. “I’m home!” I announce.
Mr. Preston springs to his feet. “Oh, dear girl, you’re back. Thank goodness.”