Chapter Twenty–Nine
Everything feels different as Damien and I walk to work the next day.
The street’s clear of cars, and any faces I see are grim.
How long before the world goes back to normal?
Listen now, the truth is I’ve lost nothing, but the grief in the air is a wet wool blanket I can’t take off.
I think of the little box of coins under my bed and am glad, for once, that I am poor.
When you’re poor, you’ve got less to lose.
When Damien and I reach the hotel, we slow, bewildered. Police cars are parked all across the front entrance. My stomach rolls with nerves.
“What’s happening now?” I ask.
Damien’s taking in the sight, concerned. “They say folks are jumping off buildings and the like. They’ve lost it all, so they’ve nothing to live for. For God’s sake, I hope no one jumped here.”
Stan loiters in the doorway, and he brightens when he sees us. When we are almost to the staff entrance, he hops down the stairs to greet us.
“What in God’s name is happening here?” Damien asks.
“There’s been a murder in the hotel,” he whispers, trying to hide his glee at being the first to tell us.
“What?!” we exclaim together. “Who?”
“Mrs. Evans.”
’Tis like he punched me in the stomach. Acid shoots up my throat.
“What are you saying, Stan?” Damien squeezes my hand. “Tell us plain. Was Mrs. Evans killed, or did she do the killing?”
Stan holds his tongue too long, glancing at the door to be sure no one hears. Faith, I cannot bear the wait. Is Mrs. Evans in cuffs or is she in the morgue? I can’t stand either one.
“Stan!” I bark. “Which is it?”
“Someone killed her. She was shot.”
“No!” I cry, then I fall apart. My knees feel weak, and Damien catches me before I topple onto the pavement.
He holds me close, and I feel his lips by my ear. “You’ll be all right, Rosie.”
“But why? Why would anyone kill Mrs. Evans?” I sob. “Ah now, she was more of a mother than my own. Like Granny, save Granny was never kind like Mrs. Evans. Oh, how can she be gone? What will I do without her?”
Damien is pure business now. He keeps me upright, but he is scowling at all the police cars. “And what’s all this?”
“They took her body away,” Stan tells him. “The police are in her office, going through her things and conducting interviews.”
We wait for more information, but there isn’t any. “That’s all I know,” he says. “I swear it.”
Damien’s gnawing on his lip. “Rosie, I’ve got to do some things. Are you all right to work?”
I suppose I am, though I’ll feel dead inside, won’t I? I watch him race inside, then I catch my balance against the wall as I walk to the chambermaid room. The air in the room flutters with fretful chatter, but the girls look up in silence when I come in.
Deirdre is the first to reach me. “Did you hear? Mrs. Evans—”
“Of course I heard.” I open my locker. “We still have to work.”
“Who killed her?” Deirdre asks.
“How in God’s name should I know?” I hiss.
The question has barely entered my mind yet. I’m still reeling over learning she’s dead. That grand, caring woman, her body lying still and cold at the morgue. I cannot bear it.
She would want me to do my job, so I’ll do just that. I must clear my mind and get to work. I put on my uniform, check my trolley, then push it out of the room. I step into the elevator and press 16. I only make it to the second floor before I hit the STOP button and drop to the floor, weeping.