I walk quickly all the way home, takeout bags in tow. I’m eager to report back to Mr. Preston, Charlotte, and especially Juan Manuel.
Once I’m in my building, I climb the stairs two by two. I’m rounding the corner to my hallway when I see Mr. Rosso’s door open a sliver. He peeks out, spots me, then slinks back inside, closing the door behind him.
I put down the takeout bags to turn the key in my lock, then I walk through the entrance. “I’m home!” I announce.
Mr. Preston springs to his feet. “Oh, dear girl, you’re back. Thank goodness.”
Charlotte and Juan Manuel are seated in the living room. They, too, jump to their feet the moment they see me.
“How did it go?” Charlotte asks.
Before I can answer Charlotte’s question, Juan Manuel is beside me. He’s grabbed the takeout bags and is now getting out the polishing cloth from the closet. The moment I remove my shoes, he takes them, cleans the bottoms, and puts them away.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“It’s okay. Do you need anything? Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I reply. “I brought takeout. I hope everyone likes the Olive Garden.”
“Like it? I love it,” Juan Manuel replies. He picks up the bags and whisks them away to the kitchen.
“You better tell us how it went,” Charlotte says. “Dad and Juan Manuel have been a nervous wreck since you stepped out that door.”
“Everything went according to plan,” I say. “Rodney’s heading back to the hotel now. He’s none the wiser that I’m the one who’s been arrested, and he believes the police are coming back to search the suite. I told him I’d be there shortly to get him the suite key.” I can’t help but smile as I say this, because I’ve accomplished something I wasn’t sure that I could.
“Perfect. Well done,” Charlotte replies.
“I knew you could do it!” Juan Manuel calls out from the kitchen.
“Dad,” Charlotte says, “your shift starts at six o’clock, right? Are you sure you can get your hands on the key to the Black suite?”
“I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he replies.
“They better be foolproof ones, Dad, because the last thing we need right now is you in trouble too.”
“Don’t you worry. It’s all going to go tickety-boo. Trust your ol’ pa.”
Juan Manuel emerges from the kitchen carrying Gran’s tea tray filled with appetizers and pizza from the Olive Garden.
“I was supposed to be back at work a while ago,” he says. “They keep calling me.” He sets the tray on the coffee table and sits down.
Charlotte shuffles her chair closer to him. “It’s up to you, Juan Manuel, but I’m concerned that if you go back to work today—in fact, if you go to that hotel ever again—Rodney will find a way to use you as he always does, and then you’re going to be the one caught in a trap, not him.”
Juan Manuel looks down at his feet. “Yes, I know,” he says. “I’ll call the kitchen back and tell them I’m sick and can’t finish my shift.”
“Good,” Charlotte says.
“I’ll figure the rest out later,” Juan Manuel adds.
“The rest?” Mr. Preston asks.
“Where to sleep tonight,” he says. “First, we must concentrate on catching the fox.” He nods and smiles, but it’s not the real kind of smile, not the kind that reaches his eyes.
Charlotte looks at Mr. Preston.
“Oh Juan Manuel,” Mr. Preston says. “We weren’t thinking. If you don’t go back to the hotel, that means you have nowhere to sleep tonight.”
“This is my problem, not yours,” he says without looking up. “Don’t worry.”
It occurs to me that there’s an obvious solution, but it’s one that’s also a little bit awkward for me. I’ve never had a guest stay overnight before, but I do think that in this particular instance Gran would urge me to do the right thing. “You can stay here, for tonight,” I say. “There’s plenty of space. You can have my room and I’ll stay in Gran’s room. It will give you some time to consider alternative arrangements.”
He’s looking at me like he doesn’t believe what I’m saying. “Really? Are you serious? You’d let me stay here?”
“Isn’t that what friends are for? To help each other out of binds?”
He’s shaking his head slowly back and forth. “I can’t believe you’d do this for me after everything that’s happened. Thank you. And don’t worry—I’m very quiet. I’m like a good oven—self-cleaning.”
Mr. Preston chuckles and grabs a small plate from the tea tray, filling it with bruschetta, pizza, and fried mozzarella.
I follow his lead and prepare first a small plate for Juan Manuel, then one for myself.
“Courtesy of Rodney,” I say. “He owes us both much more.”
“He does,” Juan Manuel says.
Charlotte gets up and grabs the remote control on the television, turns it to the twenty-four-hour local news channel.
I’m just about to take my first bite of fried mozzarella when what I hear stops me mid-bite.
“…and police will be holding a special press conference in one hour to release important updates on the search for real-estate magnate Charles Black’s killer. We don’t know for sure, but we expect to hear details on the charges and very possibly the identity of the accused, as well as…”
I feel all eyes on me. All of my confidence ebbs away in just a few seconds. “What now?” I ask.
Charlotte sighs. “I was worried about this. The police are eager to reassure the public and take credit for catching the killer.”
“This is not good,” Juan Manuel adds as he puts his plate down on the table.
“What if they say my name? What if Rodney finds out before he even gets to the hotel?”
“It’s five o’clock now. We’ve still got an hour,” Mr. Preston says.
“That’s right,” Charlotte says. “Let’s not panic. I say we stick to the plan. But we don’t have a lot of time.”
The newscaster is reviewing the details of the death and the findings of the autopsy—death by asphyxiation. We all watch in silence. “…and inside sources say that Mr. Black’s wife, socialite Giselle Black, may not be the accused and that she remains a guest at the hotel. But we’ll know more for sure in an hour when—”
Charlotte turns the TV off. “Let’s hope Rodney doesn’t see this and disappear. And that Giselle doesn’t check out anytime soon,” she says.
“She won’t,” I say. “She has nowhere else to go.”
Mr. Preston puts down his plate and gets to his feet. “Looks like I’m heading to work early today,” he says. “Molly, are you ready? You understand the next steps?”
I can’t seem to form words. I feel the world tilt a little, but I know I must forge onward. “I’m ready,” I say.
“Charlotte, when you receive the text from me, you’ll contact Detective Stark?”
“Yes, Dad. I’m actually going to wait right outside the station.”
“Juan Manuel, will you act as mission control from here? We’ll call you when we need your help.”
“Yes, of course,” he says. “You call, I’m on it. I won’t rest until we catch him.”
There is nothing else for me to say or do. I’ve lost my appetite, so I put down my plate.
The deep-fried mozzarella sticks will have to wait.
