“The rent money,” I say. “You gave it to us.”
“Yes. And later when your mother got mixed up with that…that…”
“Fly-by-night?” I offer.
“I was going to say ‘thieving drug dealer,’ but you’ve always been more polite than I am.” He looks at me, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this before. I tried, but I couldn’t find the words. I worried the shock would undo you.”
“It hasn’t,” I say. “It won’t.”
“No. You’ve always been stronger than anyone gives you credit for.”
I turn my eyes to Gran’s teacup in my lap. “I never had a mother. And I never had a father either. I lost my gran,” I say. I look up at the man before me. “Mr. Preston, I can’t believe it. I’ve never been happier than I am in this moment. It’s like magic. I’ve gotten a piece of my family back.”
I feel a warm hand on my arm, and it’s hard to see Mr. Preston through my own tears. “I don’t know what to call you anymore. Mr. Preston doesn’t seem quite right,” I say.
“What about Gran-dad?” he offers.
I reach for my cup and take a sip of warm tea. “Yes,” I say, resting the cup on the saucer. “Gran-dad. I like that very much.”
Just then, there’s a sound at the door, a key turning in the lock. The door opens and Juan Manuel appears, rolling in a large suitcase behind him. I jump up from my seat and rush to the door.
“Mi amor!” he says as he takes me into his arms. “How I’ve missed you…”
It feels so good to have him back. I hold on tight and don’t want to let go. I do so only when I realize I’ve left Mr. Preston on the sofa all alone.
“Mr. Preston,” Juan says as he walks over and gives him a pat on the back. “Are you well?”
“I am,” my gran-dad replies. “I’m better than ever.”
“Good,” says Juan, flashing his beautiful, bright smile. “First, let me tell you that my family says hello. If I forget to mention that, I’ll be in big trouble. My mother sends her love. My nephew sends his report card. He wants to brag about how well he’s doing in school. He also wants a dog, but my sister is against it. He’ll convince her, though, I’m sure of it. Here, look, this is a photo of everyone sending me off at the airport.”
Juan calls up a photo on his phone—his giant family, all gathered at Departures, grinning and holding up a banner that says Hasta Pronto—see you soon. There are so many of them, they barely fit in the frame.
As Juan chatters on, taking a seat beside Mr. Preston, I go to the kitchen and bring out an extra cup and a plate of treats, setting them down on the coffee table.
“Molly, look at this one,” Juan says as he shows us another photo. “See? My mother, she wrote you a card in English.” She’s holding it, pointing proudly. He zooms in on the open card: To my daughter-in-law, it says. I miss you and love you. Visit us soon.
“But I’m not her daughter-in-law,” I say.
“Not yet,” Juan replies, but before I can ask what he means, he starts to chirp again like a little bird, going on about how much he missed me and how nice it was to see his family but how great it is to be home.
Suddenly, he goes quiet. “I am rude,” he says. “I haven’t even asked you both how you are. I’m so sorry. You know how I talk and talk and talk when I’m excited.”
“Oh yes, we know,” my gran-dad replies with a chuckle.
“So? How are you?” Juan asks. “Everything good?”
I pour him a cup of tea, hoping that I won’t have to answer that.
“All’s well that ends well,” says my grandfather. “But it’s been…” He pauses, searching for the right word.
“A tumultuous time,” I say.
“Tumultuous?” Juan asks.
“Meaning: stormy, volatile, intense,” I explain. “Let’s just say that we had to contend with some very unusual vermin.”
“What?” he asks. “In our apartment?”
“No,” says my gran-dad, “in the hotel.”
“Did you get rid of them? Did you lay traps?” Juan asks.
“We most certainly did,” I say with a smile.
“In fact,” says my grandfather, “Molly is the one who caught the rat.”
Juan turns to me, beaming from ear to ear. “That’s my Molly. Fear never stops her. In fact, nothing stops her.”
“You’re so right,” my gran-dad replies. “Do you know, she’s been like that ever since she was a child.”
“Really?” Juan replies. “Tell me more.”
As the two of them converse, my gran-dad sets the stage for the seismic revelations, about both the murder that happened in the hotel while Juan was away and the fact that he is not just Mr. Preston, the doorman, but in fact is my relation. My flesh and blood.
I sit across from them, listening, waiting, and sipping tea from Gran’s favorite cup.
She’s not here with us, my gran. She’s not sitting on the sofa between my beloved and her own, nor is she humming her little tune in the kitchen. But I know she’s here nonetheless because she always has been. She is the key to everything. The outline of my entire life gives her presence every single day.
I know she’s watching. I can hear her in my head even now:
Wonders never cease, Molly.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Good things come to those who wait.
To Paul, my father
Acknowledgments
It takes a village to publish a book. It really does.
When I wrote The Maid, I wrote it in secrecy because I was scared of failure. What if it didn’t meet the bar? What if people hated what I put out there?
Let’s just say I couldn’t keep The Mystery Guest quite as secret as The Maid. The good news? As I wrote it, I had the best support team a writer could ever ask for. They championed and guided me in the background as I toiled away on that most difficult of ventures—the dreaded Book Two.
Madeleine Milburn, you don’t realize how extraordinary you are. It’s an act of superhuman generosity to give so much to so many writers. Huge thanks, too, to the amazing team at Madeleine Milburn Literary, TV & Film Agency—Rachel Yeoh, Liane-Louise Smith, Valentina Paulmichl, Giles Milburn, Saskia Arthur, Amanda Carungi, Georgina Simmonds, Georgia McVeigh, and Hannah Ladds.
What’s the perfect editorial shape? A triangle. My three ingenious editors form a triad so powerful that it points me in the right direction every time. Thank you, Nicole Winstanley at Penguin Random House Canada, Hilary Teeman at Ballantine US, and Charlotte Brabbin at HarperFiction UK. And thanks, too, to the amazing teams in all of your houses, with special thanks to Dan French, Bonnie Maitland, Beth Cockeram, Meredith Pal, and Kristin Cochrane in Canada; Michelle Jasmine, Caroline Weishuhn, Taylor Noel, Megan Whalen, Jennifer Garza, Quinne Rogers, Kara Welsh, Kim “Blue Type” Hovey, Jennifer Hershey, Hope Hathcock, Diane McKiernan, Elena Giavaldi, Pamela Alders, Cindy Berman, and Sandra Sjursen in the US; Kimberley Young, Lynne Drew, Sarah Shea, Maddy Marshall, Emilie Chambeyron, Alice Gomer, and Bethan Moore in the UK.
My silver-screen cheerleaders include Chris Goldberg, brilliant writer and producer at Winterlight Pictures; the indefatigably positive Josh McLaughlin at Wink Pictures; and the savvy and charming Josie Freedman at ICM.
Friends, writers, and publishing people—you know who you are. If I wrote down all of your names, I might cause another paper shortage. Adria Iwasutiak, Sarah St. Pierre, Janie Yoon, Felicia Quon, Sarah Gibson, Jessica Scott, Adriana Pitesa, and Carolina Testa—you remind me what passion in publishing looks like. Aileen Umali, Eric Rist, Ryan Wilson, Sandy Gabriele, Roberto Verdecchia, Sarah Fulton, Jorge Gidi, Martin Ortuzar, Jimena Ortuzar, Ingrid Nasager, Ellen Keith, Matthew Lawson, Zoe Maslow, Liz Nugent, Dan Mallory, Amy Stuart, Nina de Gramont, and Ashley Audrain—you keep me sane (well, you try your best anyhow). Thanks also to Arlyn Miller-Lachmann for her wise comments and thoughts.