“Thank you,” I say instead.
“Go get the fox, Molly,” he replies. “I will BRT when you get back home.”
I know he’s not here with me, but it feels like he is. It’s like he’s holding my hand through the line.
“Yes. Thank you, Juan Manuel.”
I hang up and tuck my phone away.
It’s time.
I take a deep breath, then walk out of the shadows onto the sidewalk.
Always look both ways….
I cross the street, trying to do so normally, without rushing, reminding myself to act as though it’s just another ordinary day. I steady myself at the landing, holding tightly to the brass rail. Then I put one foot in front of the other, and I climb the plush red stairs.
Mr. Preston sees me. He picks up the hotel phone on his podium and makes a call. I can hear him sounding perfectly believable when he says, “Yes. Urgently. She’s here at the front door and she won’t leave.”
As planned, Mr. Preston is wearing white gloves, not part of his regular uniform. He usually wears these only on special occasions, but they’ll come in handy today.
“Molly,” he says loudly and brusquely. “What are you doing here? You can’t be at the hotel today. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He looks around to make sure people are watching. Several guests are streaming in and out of the hotel. A couple of valets on the sidewalk stop what they’re doing and watch as well. It’s as though I’m an engaging spectator sport.
Though it feels so strange to do so, it’s time to play my part, to draw even more attention my way. “I have every right to be here,” I call out in a confident, booming voice. “I’m an esteemed employee of this hotel, and—”
I stop short when Mr. Snow emerges from the revolving doors.
Mr. Preston swiftly moves toward him. “I’ll get Security,” he tells Mr. Snow, then heads through the revolving doors.
Mr. Snow rushes over to me. “Molly,” he says. “I’m sorry to inform you that you are no longer employed at the Regency Grand Hotel. You must leave the grounds immediately.”
The words are a shock to me, and I must say I feel utterly bereft when I hear them. Still, I breathe deeply and stick to my performance, delivering my next lines even louder than my previous ones. “But I’m a model employee! You can’t just fire me without cause!”
“As you well know, there is cause, Molly,” Mr. Snow says. “We need you off these steps. Now.”
“This is inconceivable,” I say. “I won’t leave.”
Mr. Snow straightens his glasses. “You’re disturbing the guests,” he hisses.
I look around and see that more guests have gathered. It seems the valets have tipped off Reception. Several employees from the concierge desk are standing by them, whispering to one another. They’re all looking my way.
For the next few minutes, I keep Mr. Snow engaged on the stairs, demanding explanations, begging him to reconsider, talking at length about the added value of my devotion to hygiene and the high level of quality I bring to the hotel with each guest room that I clean. I channel Gran, how she used to be in the morning, how she would chirp and chirp and chirp without so much as a pause for breath. The whole time, I’m aware that we have only a few minutes left before the whole plan falls apart. I’m also aware that I’m not in uniform, which adds to my distress and general discomfort. Come back, Mr. Preston. Quickly! I think to myself.
At long last, he walks briskly through the revolving doors and stands beside Mr. Snow.
“I can’t find Security, sir,” he announces.
“I can’t get her to leave,” Mr. Snow replies.
“Let me handle this,” Mr. Preston says. Mr. Snow nods and steps aside. “Molly, a word…”
Mr. Preston gently pulls me aside, out of earshot. We both turn our backs to the curious crowd.
“Did it work?” I whisper.
“It did. I found Cheryl.”
“And then what?” I ask.
“I got what I wanted.”
“How?” I ask.
“I told her I knew she was stealing tips from other maids. She got so flustered she didn’t even notice me pocketing her master keycard from her trolley. Not so much as a fingerprint left behind either,” he adds, wiggling his white-gloved fingers. “Here,” he says, holding out one hand. “Shake.”
I take the cue and shake. When I do, I feel the master keycard transfer seamlessly into my palm.
“You take good care, Molly,” he says in a voice loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. “You run home now. You have no place being here today.” He nods to Mr. Snow and Mr. Snow nods back.
Of course, Mr. Preston knows as well as I do that I cannot leave. Not yet. I’m about to start a whole new monologue about worker bees when at long last Rodney emerges through the revolving doors and bounds down the steps toward me.
“I don’t understand any of this!” I shout. “I’m a good maid! Rodney, you’re just the person I wanted to see. Can you believe this?”
Mr. Snow approaches. “Rodney,” he says, “we’re trying to explain to Miss Molly that she is no longer welcome in this hotel. But we’re having a hard time delivering the message.”
“I understand,” Rodney says. “Let me talk to her.”
I’m pulled away again. Once we’re out of earshot, Rodney says, “Molly, don’t worry. I’ll talk to Snow later and find out what’s up with your job. Okay? Probably just a misunderstanding. Did you get the key? To the Black suite? There’s no time to lose.”
“You’re right, there isn’t,” I say. “Here’s the key.” I discreetly pass him the card.
“Thanks, Molly. You’re the best. Hey, I heard the police announced a news conference that’s just about to happen. Do you know what that’s all about?”
“I’m afraid not,” I say.
I watch him carefully, hoping this answer appeases. “Right. Okay. I’d better get this done before Owl Eyes lets the cops in.”
“Yes. As quickly as you can. Good luck.”
He turns and starts up the stairs. “Oh, Rodney,” I say. He turns back, looks down at me. “It really is remarkable the lengths to which you’ll go for a friend.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he says. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”
Before I can say anything else, he’s at the top of the stairs. “Don’t worry,” he tells Mr. Snow. “She’s leaving.” He says it just like that, as though I wasn’t even there.
After that, I hurry down the scarlet steps, turning back only once to see Rodney rushing through the revolving doors and Mr. Preston behind him, one hand out, the other guiding Mr. Snow into the hotel.
I check my phone: 5:45.
It’s time.
Chapter 24
I’m sitting at the coffee shop directly across from the hotel. I’m right by the window, so I have a perfect view of the entrance to the Regency Grand. The light is fading. Sharp shadows fall upon the entrance, turning the scarlet staircase a different shade, closer to the color of dried blood. It won’t be too long before the wrought iron gaslights will flicker on and their flames will glow richly as dusk gives way to dark.
I have a metal teapot in front of me, the kind that dribbles and never pours cleanly, and a thick mug. I prefer Gran’s porcelain to this, but beggars can’t be choosers. I also splurged on a freshly baked raisin-bran muffin, which I’ve divided into four pieces, but I’m too nervous to eat it right now.
A few minutes ago, Mr. Preston emerged from the revolving doors and resumed his position at the doorman’s podium. He made a call. It was very quick, very quick indeed. I can see him look up and across the street at this very window. He probably can’t see me in the fading light, but he knows I’m here. And I know he’s there. Which is a comfort.