The Maid: A Novel (Molly the Maid Book 1)

Life is a funny thing. One day can be quite shocking, and so can the next. But the two shocks might be as different from each other as night from day, as black from white, as good from evil. Yesterday, I found Mr. Black dead; today, Rodney asked me on a date. Technically, I suppose we won’t be “going” on a date but “staying” on a date because it will happen at our place of work. But that’s a matter of semantics. The date part is what’s most relevant.

It has been well over a year since Rodney and I went on our last date. Good things come to those who wait, Gran always said, and yes, Gran, you were right about that. Just when I thought Rodney wasn’t interested in me, then he reveals that he is. And his timing is impeccable. Yesterday was a jolt to my system. Today is also a jolt but in a much more pleasant and exciting way. It goes to show you that you just never know what surprises life has in store for you.

I push my trolley through the lobby and head toward the elevator. Another group of ladies, probably on a “girls’ getaway,” rushes past me. They close the elevator in my face, something I’m used to. The maid can wait. The maid goes last. Finally, I get an elevator all to myself and push number 4. The button glows red. I feel queasy as I go back to the fourth floor for the first time since finding Mr. Black dead in his bed. Pull yourself together, I think. You don’t have to enter that suite today.

The doors chime and open. I push my trolley out but immediately bash into something. I look up to discover I’ve just run into a police officer, his eyes so glued to his phone that he’s entirely unaware that he’s blocking the elevator. Regardless of who’s at fault, I know exactly what I’m supposed to do. I learned this in an early training session with Mr. Snow: the guest is always right, even when they are paying no mind whatsoever to whom they may be inconveniencing.

“My sincerest apologies, sir. Are you all right?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m fine. But watch where you’re going with that thing.”

“I appreciate the advice. Thank you, Officer,” I say as I maneuver my trolley around him. What I really want is to run right over his toes since he refuses to step out of the way, but this would be inappropriate. Once I’m past him, I pause. “May I be of assistance to you in any way? A hot towel, perhaps? Some shampoo?”

“I’m fine,” he says. “Excuse me.”

He steps around me and I watch as he heads toward the Black suite. There is bright-yellow caution tape across the door. He stands to the side of it, leaning against the wall, one foot crossed over the other. I can see already that if he lolls around like that all day, he’ll leave a stain that will be a challenge to erase. I’d love to take my broom handle and flick him off the wall, but never mind. It’s not my place.

I head to the far end of the floor to begin my work in Room 407. I’m pleased to find it empty, the guests checked out. There’s a five-dollar bill on the pillow, which I pick up and put in my pocket with quiet thanks. Every penny counts, as Gran always said. I busy myself with stripping the bed and laying fresh sheets. My hands are a bit shaky today, I must admit. Every once in a while, a flash of Mr. Black enters my mind—sallow face, cold to the touch—and all the things I witnessed after. A bolt of electricity flashes through me. There’s nothing to be antsy about, though. Today is not yesterday. Today is a brand-new day. To ease my nerves, I concentrate on happy thoughts. And nothing is happier to me right now than thoughts of Rodney.

As I clean, I replay our burgeoning relationship in my mind. I remember when I first began working at the hotel and didn’t know him well. Every day, as I collected my newspapers at the start of my shift, I tried to linger a bit longer. Slowly, over time, we became quite cordial—dare I say congenial? But it was one day over a year and a half ago when our affection was cemented.

I was on the third floor, cleaning my rooms. Sunshine was cleaning one half of the floor and I was tackling the other. I entered Room 305, which was not on my roster for that shift, but the front desk had told me it was vacant and needed to be cleaned. I didn’t even bother knocking since I’d been told it was empty, but when I pushed through the door with my trolley, I came face-to-face with two very imposing men.

Gran taught me to judge people by their actions rather than by their appearances, so when I looked upon these two behemoths with shaved heads and perplexing facial tattoos, I immediately assumed the best of them rather than the worst. Maybe these guests were a famous rock duo I’d never heard of? Or perhaps they were trendy tattoo artists? Or world-renowned wrestlers? Since I prefer antiques to pop culture, how would I know?

“My sincerest apologies, sirs,” I said. “I was told that all the guests in this room had vacated. I’m terribly sorry to disturb you.”

I smiled then, as per protocol, and waited for the gentlemen to respond. But neither said a word. There was a navy-blue duffel bag on the bed. One of the giants had been packing away a piece of equipment when I intruded, some kind of machine or scale that he was about to put in the bag. Now, he stood stock-still with the odd apparatus in one hand.

Just when I was feeling slightly uncomfortable with the amount of silence that lingered, two people stepped out of the bathroom behind the two men. One was Rodney, in his crisp, white shirt, with sleeves rolled, revealing his lovely forearms. The other was Juan Manuel, who was holding a brown paper package, his bagged lunch or dinner, perhaps? Rodney’s hands were balled into fists. He and Juan Manuel were clearly surprised to see me, and to be perfectly honest, I, too, was surprised to see them.

“Molly, no. Why are you here?” Juan Manuel asked. “Please, you need to leave right away.”

Rodney turned to Juan Manuel. “What, are you the boss now? You’re suddenly in charge?”

Juan Manuel took two steps backward and became entranced by the position of his feet on the floor.

I decided this was the moment to step in and smooth the rift between them. “Technically speaking,” I said, “Rodney is the bar manager. Which means that in the strictly hierarchical sense, he is the highest-ranking employee among us at the present moment. But let’s remember that we’re all VIPs, every last one of us,” I said.

The two behemoths looked from Rodney and Juan Manuel to me several times in quick succession.

“Molly,” Rodney said. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I answered. “I’m here to clean the room.”

“Yeah, I get that part. But this room wasn’t supposed to be on your roster today. I told them downstairs…”

“Told whom?” I asked.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. That’s not the point.”

Juan Manuel suddenly rushed past Rodney and grabbed my arm. “Molly, don’t worry about me. Run downstairs now and you go tell—”

“Whoa,” said Rodney. “Let go of her, right now.” It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

“Oh, it’s quite all right,” I said. “Juan Manuel and I are acquaintances and I’m not in the least uncomfortable.” It was only then that it dawned on me exactly what was going on. Rodney was jealous of Juan Manuel. This was a masculine display of romantic rivalry. I took this as a very good sign, since it revealed the true extent of Rodney’s feelings for me.

Rodney eyed Juan Manuel in a way that conveyed his clear displeasure, but then he said something entirely surprising. “How’s your mother, Juan Manuel?” he asked. “Your family’s in Mazatlán, right? I’ve got friends in Mexico, you know. Good ones. I’m sure they’d be happy to check in on your family.”

Juan Manuel let go of my arm then. “No need,” he said. “They are fine.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way,” he replied.

How lovely that Rodney was concerned about the well-being of Juan Manuel’s family, I thought. The more I got to know him, the more his true nature revealed itself to me.

At this moment, the two behemoths spoke up. I was looking forward to being properly introduced so that I could commit their names to memory for future reference, perhaps even make sure they received chocolate turn-down service in the evenings.

“What the hell is going on here?” one of them asked Rodney.

“Who the fuck is she?” the other added.

Rodney stepped forward. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’ll fix this.”

“You better. And fuckin’ fast.”

Now, I must say that this repeated use of foul language took me aback, but I have been trained to act as a consummate professional at all times, with all manner of people, be they polite or impolite, clean or slovenly, potty-mouthed or well-spoken.

Rodney got right in front of me. In a low voice, he said, “You weren’t supposed to see any of this.”

“See what?” I asked. “The colossal mess all of you have made in this room?”

One of the behemoths spoke up then. “Lady, we’ve just cleaned everything up good.”

“Well,” I said. “You’ve done a substandard job. As you can see, the carpet needs a vacuum. Your footprints are all over it. See that? How the pile is disturbed by the front door, and then over there, by the bathroom? It looks like a herd of elephants tromped through here. Not to mention this side table. Who ate powdered doughnuts without a plate? And these big, fat fingerprints. No offense, but how could you not notice those? They’re all over the glass top. I’ll have to polish every doorknob too.”

I took a spray bottle and paper towel from my trolley and began spritzing the table. I cleaned up the whole mess in a flash. “See? Isn’t that better?”

The behemoths’ faces mirrored each other—their long mouths agape. Clearly, they were quite impressed with my efficient cleaning techniques. Juan Manuel, meanwhile, was obviously embarrassed. He was still staring at his shoes.

No one spoke for a good, long while. Something was amiss, but I was hard-pressed to say what. It was Rodney who broke the silence. He turned his back on me and addressed his friends. “Molly is…she’s a very special girl. You can see that, right? How she’s…unique.”

What a lovely thing for him to say. I felt truly flattered and avoided eye contact for fear that I was blushing. “I’m happy to clean up after your friends anytime,” I said. “In fact, it would be my pleasure. You just have to tell me what room you’re staying in and I’ll ask for it to be added to my roster.”

Rodney addressed his friends again. “Can you see how helpful she could be? And she’s discreet. Right, Molly? You’re discreet?”

“Discretion is my motto. Invisible customer service is my goal.”

Both men suddenly moved in on me, pushing Rodney and Juan Manuel out of the way.

“So you’re not a squawker, right? You won’t talk?”

“I’m a maid, not a gossip, thank you very much. I’m paid to keep my mouth shut and return rooms to a state of perfection. I pride myself on getting the job done and then disappearing without a trace.”

The two men glanced at each other and shrugged.

“You good?” Rodney asked them. They nodded, then turned to the duffel bag on the bed. “And you?” Rodney asked Juan Manuel. “All good?”

Juan Manuel nodded, but his lips were a sharp line.

“Okay, Molly,” Rodney said as he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes of his. “Everything will be fine. You just do your job like you usually do, okay? You leave this place spotless so no one will ever know Juan Manuel and his buddies were here. And you keep quiet about it.”

“Of course. And if you’ll excuse me, I really should get to work.”

Rodney came in close to me. “Thank you,” he whispered. “We’ll talk more about this later. Let’s meet up tonight, okay? I’ll explain everything.”

It was the first time he proposed such a rendezvous. I could barely believe my ears. “I would love that!” I said. “So it’s a date?”

“Sure. Yeah. Meet me in the lobby at six. We’ll go somewhere and talk privately.”

And with that, the behemoths grabbed the duffel bag, pushed past me, and opened the hotel room door. They looked down the hallway, left then right. Then they gestured for Rodney and Juan Manuel to follow. All four of them promptly vacated the room.

The rest of that morning went by in a blur of activity. As I cleaned furiously, yearning for six o’clock to come, I suddenly realized that I’d worn old but serviceable slacks and one of Gran’s high-collared blouses to work that morning. This would not do at all, not for a first date with Rodney.

I finished the room I was cleaning and pulled my trolley into the hall. I searched for Sunitha on the other side of the floor.

“Knock-knock,” I said, though the suite she was cleaning was wide open. She stopped what she was doing and looked at me. “I need to run an errand. If Cheryl comes up here, would you tell her…that I’ll be back shortly?”

“Yes, Molly. It’s well past lunchtime and you never stop. You’re allowed to take a break, you know.” She began to hum as she continued cleaning.

“Thank you,” I said, dashing out of the room and down the hall to the elevator. I rushed out the revolving front doors.

“Molly? Everything all right?” Mr. Preston asked as I sailed by him.

“Splendid!” I called back. I took to the sidewalk, jogging. I raced around the corner to a little boutique I passed every day on my way to work. I’d always admired the lovely lemon-yellow sign and the mannequin in the window, smartly dressed in a chic new outfit every day. This was not a place I’d normally shop. It was meant for the guests of the hotel, not for their maid.

I grabbed the door handle and stepped inside. A shopkeeper approached me instantly.

“You look like you need some help,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied, a bit breathlessly. “I need an outfit posthaste. I have a date tonight with a subject of potential romantic intrigue.”

“Whoa,” she said. “You’re in luck. Romantic intrigue is my specialty.”

About twenty-two minutes later, I was leaving the store with a large lemon-yellow bag containing a polka-dot top, something called “skinny jeans,” and a pair of “kitten heels” that did not have kittens on them so far as I could tell. I nearly fainted when the shopkeeper announced the total, but it seemed a breach of decorum to back out of payment when the items were already bagged. I paid using my debit card, then rushed back to the hotel. I tried not to think about the rent money I’d just spent and how I’d replace it.

I was back at work at 12:54, just in time to start work again. Mr. Preston did a double-take when he saw my shopping bag, but he refrained from comment. I hurried down the marble stairs to the housekeeping quarters, where I stowed my new purchases in my locker. Back to work I went, Cheryl never the wiser.

That night, at exactly six p.m., I showed up in the hotel lobby dressed in my new outfit. I’d even managed to style my hair a bit with a curling iron from the lost and found, making it sleek and smooth the way I’d seen Giselle do with her flat iron. I watched as Rodney entered the lobby and looked for me, his eyes brushing right past me and then back, because he failed to recognize me at first glance.

He approached. “Molly?” he said. “You look…different.”

“Different good or bad?” I asked. “I put my trust in a local shopkeeper, and I hope she didn’t lead me astray. Fashion is not my forte.”

“You look…great.” Rodney’s eyes darted about the room. “Let’s get out of here, okay? We can go to the Olive Garden down the street.”

I could not believe it! It was fate. A sign. The Olive Garden is my very favorite restaurant. It was Gran’s favorite too. Every year, on her birthday and on mine, we’d ready ourselves for a big night out together, complete with endless garlic bread and free salad. The last time we went to the Olive Garden together, Gran turned seventy-five. We ordered two glasses of Chardonnay to celebrate.

“To you, Gran, on three-quarters of a century, one quarter left to go, at a minimum!”

“Hear, hear!” said Gran.

The fact that Rodney had chosen my favorite dining establishment? We were star-crossed, meant to be.

Mr. Preston eyed us as we exited the hotel. “Molly, are you all right?” he asked as he offered his arm, steadying me as I wobbled uncertainly down the staircase in my new feline heels. Rodney had raced down the stairs ahead of me and was waiting on the sidewalk, checking his phone.

“Not to worry, Mr. Preston,” I said. “I’m very well indeed.”

Once we were at the bottom step, Mr. Preston assumed a low tone. “You’re not going out with him, are you?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact,” I whispered, “I am. So if you’ll excuse me…” I gave his arm a little squeeze and then teetered up to Rodney on the sidewalk.

“I’m ready. Let’s go,” I said. Rodney began walking without glancing up from the important, last-minute business he was taking care of on his phone. Once we were away from the hotel, he put his phone away and slowed his pace.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “A bartender’s work is never done.”

“That’s quite all right,” I replied. “Yours is a very important job. You’re an integral bee in the hive.”

I hoped he was impressed by my reference to Mr. Snow’s employee-training seminar, but if he was, he did not show it.

All the way to the restaurant, I babbled on about any and all topics of interest I could think of—the advantages of real feather dusters versus synthetic ones, the waitresses he worked with who rarely remembered my name and, of course, my love for the Olive Garden.

After what seemed like a long time but was probably only sixteen and a half minutes, we arrived at the entrance of the Olive Garden. “After you,” Rodney said, politely opening the door for me.

A helpful young waitress seated us in a perfectly romantic booth tucked to one side of the restaurant.

“Want a drink?” Rodney asked.

“That sounds lovely. I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay. Will you join me?”

“I’m more of a beer kind of guy.”

The waitress returned and we ordered our drinks. “Can we order food right away?” Rodney asked. He looked at me. “Ready?”

Indeed I was, ready for anything. I ordered what I always ordered. “The Tour of Italy, please,” I said. “Because how can you go wrong with a trio of lasagna, fettucine, and chicken parmigiana?” I smiled at Rodney in a way I hoped was somewhat coquettish.

He looked down at his menu. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Yes, sir. Would you like free salad and garlic bread?”

“No, that’s fine,” Rodney answered, which, I’ll admit, was a minor disappointment.

The waitress then left and we were alone under the warm ambient glow of the pendant light. Taking Rodney in from such a close vantage point made me forget all about salad and garlic bread.

He rested his elbows on the table, an etiquette faux pas that was forgivable this one time since it offered me a fine view of his forearms.

“Molly, you’re probably wondering what was going on today. With those men. In that hotel room. I didn’t want you to go away thinking anything bad or to start talking about what you saw. I wanted a chance to explain.”

The waitress returned with our drinks.

“Here’s to us,” I said, holding my wine stem delicately between two fingers as Gran had taught me (A lady never touches the bowl—it leaves unsightly fingerprints). Rodney picked up his beer stein and clinked it against my glass. Being quite thirsty, he gulped half of his beverage before setting it back down on the tabletop with a clang.

“Like I was saying,” he said. “I wanted to explain what you saw today.”

He paused and stared at me.

“You really do have the most arresting blue eyes,” I said. “I hope you don’t find it inappropriate of me to point that out.”

“Funny. Someone else told me the same thing recently. Anyhow, here’s what I need you to know. Those two men in that room? They’re Juan Manuel’s friends, not mine. Do you understand?”

“I think that’s lovely,” I said. “I’m glad he’s made some friends here. His entire family is in Mexico, as you know. And I think he may feel lonely from time to time. That’s something I can understand, having felt lonely myself from time to time. Not now, of course. I don’t feel lonely at all in this particular moment.”

I took a deep, delicious sip from my glass.

“So here’s the thing you probably don’t know about my buddy Juan Manuel,” Rodney said. “He’s actually not a documented immigrant at the moment. His work permit ran out a while back and he’s now working under the table at the hotel. Mr. Snow doesn’t know that. If Juan Manuel were caught, he’d be kicked out of the country and would never be able to send money home ever again. You know how important his family is to him, right?”

“I do,” I said. “Family is very important. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Not so much,” he said. “Mine disowned me years ago.” He took another gulp of his beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would turn down a chance to be familial with a fine man like Rodney.

“Right,” he said. “So those two men you saw in that room? That bag they had? That was Juan Manuel’s bag. It wasn’t theirs. It definitely wasn’t mine. It was Juan Manuel’s. Got it?”

“I understand, yes. We all have baggage.” I paused, allowing ample time for Rodney to pick up on my clever double entendre. “That’s a joke,” I explained. “Those men were literally carrying baggage, but the expression usually refers to psychological baggage. You see?”

“Yeah. Okay. So the thing is that Juan Manuel’s landlord figured out his papers expired. He kicked him out of his apartment a while back. Now he has nowhere to live. I’ve been helping Juan Manuel sort things out. You know, like with the law, because I know people. I do what I can to help him make ends meet. All of this is a secret, Molly. Are you good at keeping secrets?”

He locked eyes with me, and I felt the great privilege of being his confidante.

“Of course I can keep a secret,” I said. “Especially yours. I have a locked box near my heart for all of your confidences,” I said as I mimed locking a box on my chest.

“Cool,” he replied. “So there’s more. It’s like this. Every night, I’ve secretly been putting Juan Manuel up in a different room at the hotel so that he doesn’t have to sleep on the streets. But no one can know, you understand? If anyone found out what I was doing…”

“You’d be in a lot of trouble. And Juan Manuel would be homeless,” I said.

“Yeah. Exactly,” he replied.

Yet again, Rodney was proving what a good man he was. Out of the goodness of his heart, he was helping a friend. I was so moved I was at a loss for words.

Fortunately, the waitress returned and filled the silence with my Tour of Italy platter and Rodney’s spaghetti and meatballs.

“Bon appétit,” I said.

I had a few extremely satisfying mouthfuls, then put my fork down. “Rodney, I’m very impressed by you. You’re a fine man.”

Rodney’s mouth bulged with a meatball. “I try,” he said, chewing and swallowing. “But I could use your help, Molly.”

“Help how?” I asked.

“It’s getting harder for me to know which hotel rooms are vacant. Let’s just say there are key staffers who used to slip me info, but they might not be so into me anymore. But you…you’re beyond suspicion, and you know which rooms are free every night. Plus, you’re so good at cleaning things up, just like you proved today. It would be amazing if you could tell me which room is empty on any given night and if you could make sure you’re the one to clean it before and after we—I mean, Juan Manuel and his friends—stay there. You know, just make sure there’s no sign of anyone having ever been there at all.”

I carefully placed my cutlery on the edge of my plate. I took another sip of wine. I could feel the effects of the beverage reaching my extremities and my cheeks, making me feel liberated and uninhibited, two things I hadn’t felt in…well, as long as I could recall.

“I would be delighted to help you in any way I can,” I said.

He put his fork down with a clatter and reached for my hand. The sensation was pleasingly electric. “I knew I could count on you, Molly,” he said.

It was a lovely compliment. I was struck speechless again, lost in those deep blue pools.

“And one more thing. You won’t tell anyone about any of this, right? About what you saw today? You won’t say a word, especially not to Snow. Or Preston. Or even Chernobyl.”

“That goes without saying, Rodney. What you’re doing is vigilante justice. It’s making something right in a world that’s so often wrong. I understand that. Robin Hood had to make exceptions in order to help the poor.”

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m Robin Hood.” He picked up his fork again and popped a fresh meatball into his mouth. “Molly, I could kiss you. I really could.”

“That would be wonderful. Shall we wait until after you swallow?”

He laughed then and quickly gobbled the rest of his pasta. I didn’t even have to ask: I knew he was laughing with me, not at me.

I was hoping we could linger longer and order dessert, but as soon as his plate was finished, he promptly asked the waitress for the bill.

When we were leaving the restaurant, he held the door open for me, a perfect gentleman. Once we were outside, he said, “So we have a deal, right? One friend helping another?”

“Yes. At the beginning of my shift, I’ll tell Juan Manuel what room he can stay in that night. I’ll give him a keycard and the room number. And I’ll pop in early every morning to clean the room he and his friends were in the night before. Cheryl’s tardiness is legendary, so she won’t even notice.”

“That’s perfect, Molly. You really are a special girl.”

I knew from Casablanca and Gone with the Wind that this was the moment. I leaned forward so he could kiss me. I think he was aiming for my cheek, but I moved in such a way as to suggest I was not opposed to a kiss on the mouth. Unfortunately, the connection was a little misaligned, though my nose was not entirely disappointed by the unexpected affection.

In that moment, when Rodney kissed me, it didn’t matter where his lips landed. In fact, nothing except the kiss mattered to me at all, not the splotch of red sauce on his collar, not the way he reached for his phone right after, not even the piece of limp basil stuck between his teeth.