It’s as though Mr. Preston can read my mind, for he immediately says, “Don’t worry, Molly. The detective knows all about Rodney and the blackmailing against Juan Manuel. And the…violent acts against him too.”
Juan Manuel is standing motionless just outside of the kitchen. I know what this feels like—to be discussed as if you’re not even there.
“Molly, can you tell the detective why you cleaned rooms for Rodney whenever he asked? Just tell the detective the truth,” Charlotte says.
I look to Juan Manuel. I won’t say another word without his consent. “It’s okay,” he says. “You can tell them.”
I then proceed to explain everything, how Rodney lied, that he told me Juan Manuel was his friend and that he was homeless, how he had me clean rooms without me realizing what it was I was wiping away, how he deceived me—and how he used Juan Manuel.
“I didn’t know what was actually going on in those rooms every night. I didn’t realize Juan Manuel was being violently assaulted. I thought I was helping a friend.”
“Why did you believe him, though?” Detective Stark asks. “Why did you believe Rodney when it was pretty obvious that drugs were involved?”
“What’s obvious for you, Detective, isn’t always obvious for everyone else. As my gran used to say, ‘We’re all the same in different ways.’ The truth is, I trusted Rodney. I trusted a bad egg.”
Juan Manuel remains statue-still outside of the kitchen.
“Rodney used me and Juan Manuel to make himself invisible,” I say. “I see that now.”
“You’re right,” Detective Stark replies. “We’ve caught him, though. We found large quantities of benzodiazepine and cocaine in that suite. It was literally right in his hands.”
I think of Giselle’s “benz friends” in an unmarked bottle, most likely supplied by Rodney.
“We’ve charged him with several drug-related offenses, possession of an illegal firearm, and threatening an officer.”
“Threatening an officer?” I say.
“He pulled a handgun when the door of the suite opened. Same make and model as the one we found in your vacuum, Molly.”
It’s hard to imagine—Rodney in his white shirt with the sleeves rolled, pulling a gun rather than a pint of beer at the bar.
It’s Juan Manuel who notices what I do not. All eyes turn to him as he speaks. “You mentioned many charges. But you never mentioned murder.”
Detective Stark nods. “We have also charged Rodney with the first-degree murder of Mr. Black. But to be perfectly honest, we’re going to need your help to make that charge stick. There are still a few things we can’t figure out.”
“Such as?” Charlotte prompts.
“When we first went into the Black suite the day you found him dead, Molly, there were no traces of Rodney’s fingerprints anywhere in that whole suite. In fact, there were hardly any prints anywhere. And traces of your cleaning solution were found on Mr. Black’s neck.”
“Because I checked his pulse. Because—”
“Yes. We know, Molly. We know you didn’t kill him.”
It occurs to me then. “It’s my fault.”
Everyone looks my way.
“What could you possibly mean by that?” Mr. Preston asks.
“The fact that you couldn’t find Rodney’s prints anywhere. When I clean a room, I leave it in a state of perfection. If Rodney ever entered that room and left prints behind, I would have wiped them away without even knowing it. I’m a good maid. Maybe too good.”
“You may be right,” Detective Stark says. She smiles then, but not a full smile, not the kind that reaches the eyes. “We’re wondering if you know anything about Giselle Black’s whereabouts. After we arrested Rodney, we rushed to her hotel room, but she was already gone. Seems she saw us ambush the hotel and took off in a real hurry. She left a note on Regency Grand stationery.”
“What did it say?” I ask.
“It said, ‘Ask Molly the Maid. She’ll tell you. I didn’t do it. Rodney and Charles = BFFs.’ ”
“BFFs?” I say.
“Best friends forever,” Charlotte offers. “She’s saying Rodney and Charles were accomplices.”
“Yes,” says Juan Manuel. “They were accomplices.” All eyes turn his way. He continues to speak. “Rodney and Mr. Black talked a lot on the phone. Sometimes, they argued. About money. About shipments and territories and deals. Nobody thinks I hear anything, but I do.”
The detective turns her chair to face Juan Manuel. “We’d be very interested in taking your witness statement,” she says.
A look of alarm crosses Juan Manuel’s face.
“They’re not going to charge you,” Charlotte says. “Or deport you. They know you’re a victim of crime. And they need your help to try the perpetrator.”
“That’s right,” the detective says. “We understand that you were threatened and coerced to cooperate with Rodney, that you suffered…physical assault. And we know you had a work permit that ran out.”
“It didn’t just ‘run out,’ ” Juan Manuel says. “It ran into Rodney.”
Detective Stark cocks her head to one side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Juan Manuel explains how Rodney put him in touch with an immigration lawyer, only to have his money disappear and his papers never materialize.
“This ‘lawyer.’ You have his name?”
Juan Manuel nods.
The detective shakes her head. “Looks like we have another case to pursue.”
Charlotte jumps in. “Juan Manuel, if you support us as a key witness in the case against Rodney, maybe we can also catch this so-called lawyer. Catch him before he does this to more people.”
“No one else should go through this,” Juan Manuel says.
“That’s right. And Juan Manuel,” Charlotte says. “My partner García handles immigration law in our firm. If you want, I can introduce you to him, see if he can get your work permit reinstated.”
“I would like to talk to him, yes,” Juan Manuel says. “I have many concerns—Mr. Snow, for one thing. He knows what I did. He knows I stayed quiet when I should have talked. He will fire me for sure.”
“He won’t,” Mr. Preston says. “He needs you now more than ever.”
“We all do,” Detective Stark adds. “We need you to corroborate that Rodney and Mr. Black were running a cartel through the hotel, that they were using and abusing you. With your help, we might also be able to figure out what pushed Rodney to commit murder. He maintains he’s innocent on that charge. Admits to the drug charges, but not to murder. Not yet.”
Juan Manuel is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “I will help you if I can.”
“Thank you,” Detective Stark says. “And Molly, is there anything else you can tell us about Giselle? Do you have any idea where she could be?”
“She’ll appear, when she’s ready,” I say.
“Let’s hope,” Detective Stark says.
I imagine Giselle on a faraway white-sand beach, clicking through news feeds on her phone and learning of Rodney’s arrest. She’ll find out that I’m no longer a suspect. What will she do then? Will she reach out to the police? Or will she put it all behind her? Will she grift her way into another rich man’s wallet or will she actually grow and change?
I have never been a very good judge of character. I see the truth too late. It’s like Juan Manuel said: sometimes, you have to do one thing bad to do another thing good. Perhaps this time, Giselle will do one thing good. Or perhaps not.
“What happens now?” I ask. “For Juan Manuel? For me?”
“Well,” Detective Stark says. “You’re free. All charges are dropped.”
“But am I still fired?” I ask. The very thought of it makes me feel like I’m falling off a cliff to my doom.