The Maid(23)

I’m all alone. How long have I been standing here? The floors are dry. My phone is ringing. I lean over and grab it from Gran’s chair.

“Hello, this is Molly Gray speaking.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Molly. This is Alexander Snow from the hotel. I’m glad you’re home.”

“Thank you. Yes. I’ve been home for some time. The detective drove me here herself after she questioned me. Rather good of her, I thought.”

“Yes. And thank you for agreeing to talk to her. I’m sure your insights will help the investigation.”

He pauses again. I can hear his shallow breathing on the other end of the line. It is not the first time he has called me at home, but a call from Mr. Snow is a rare occurrence.

“Molly,” he says again. “I realize this has been a very trying day for you. It’s been hard on many of us, especially Mrs. Black. News has been spreading about Mr. Black’s…demise. As you can imagine the entire staff is very upset and disturbed.”

“Yes. I can imagine,” I say.

“I realize that tomorrow is your one day off in weeks and that you went through a lot today, but it seems that Cheryl has taken the news of Mr. Black’s death quite badly. She says the experience has caused her ‘extreme trauma,’ so she won’t be coming in tomorrow.”

“But she wasn’t the one to find him dead,” I say.

“Everyone reacts to stress in different ways, I suppose,” he replies.

“Yes, of course,” I reply.

“Molly, do you think you could come in her place and work the day shift tomorrow? Again, I’m sorry that—”

“Of course,” I say. “An extra day of work isn’t going to kill me.”

Another long pause.

“Is that all, Mr. Snow?”

“Yes, that’s all. And thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“You will indeed,” I say. “Good night, Mr. Snow. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Good night, Molly.”





I will admit to having bad dreams last night. I dreamed that Mr. Black walked through the front door of my apartment, gray and ashen, like the living dead. I was sitting on the sofa, watching Columbo. I turned to him and said, “No one comes here, not since Gran died.” He started laughing—laughing at me. But I focused my laser gaze on him, and his limbs turned to dust, a fine charcoal particulate that spread around the room and into my lungs. I started gagging and coughing.

“No!” I yelled. “I didn’t do this to you! It wasn’t me! Get out!”

But it was too late. His grime was everywhere. I woke up gasping for air.

It’s now six a.m. It’s time to rise and shine. Or just rise.

I get out of bed and make it properly, careful to position Gran’s quilt so that the star in the middle points due north. I go to the kitchen, where I put on Gran’s paisley apron and prepare tea and crumpets for one. It’s too quiet in the mornings. The scratchy grate of my knife against the toasted crumpet is an offense to my ears. I eat quickly, then shower and leave for work.

I’m locking the apartment door behind me when I hear someone clearing their throat in the hallway. Mr. Rosso.

I turn to face him. “Hello, Mr. Rosso. Up early this morning?”

I’m expecting the basic civility of a good morning, but all I get is, “Your rent is overdue. When will you pay up?”

I put my keys in my pocket. “The rent will be paid in a few days’ time, and at that point, I will make good on every penny I owe you. You knew my gran, and you know me. We are law-abiding citizens who believe in paying our fair share. And I will do so. Soon.”

“You’d better,” he says, then shuffles back to his apartment, closing the door behind him.

I do wish people would pick up their feet when they walk. It’s most slovenly to shuffle like that. It leaves a very poor impression.

Now, now, let’s not judge others too harshly. I hear it in my head in Gran’s voice, a reminder to be gracious and forgiving. It’s a fault of mine, to be quick to judge or to want the world to function according to my laws.

We must be like bamboo. We must learn to bend and flex with the wind.

Bend and flex. Not my strong suits.

I head down the stairs and out of my building. I decide to walk all the way to work—a twenty-minute jaunt that’s pleasant enough in good weather, though today the clouds are broody and threaten rain. I breathe a sigh of relief the second I set eyes on the bustling hotel. I’m a professional half hour early for my shift, as is my way.

I greet Mr. Preston at the front doors.

“Oh Molly. Tell me you’re not working today.”

“I am. Cheryl called in sick last night.”

He shakes his head. “Naturally. Molly, are you all right? You had quite a scare yesterday, so I hear. I’m terribly sorry…about what you saw.”

My dream flashes in my head for a moment, mixed with the real vision of Mr. Black, dead in his bed. “No need to be sorry, Mr. Preston. It’s not your fault. But I’ll admit, this whole situation has been a bit…trying. I’ll keep calm and carry on.” A thought occurs to me. “Mr. Preston, did Mr. Black receive any visitors yesterday, friendly or…otherwise?”