The two women watched Kofi as he prepared to go to the market with his wares. Miriam understood that Nana had something to say when the women were alone, since the girl seemed to be eager for their husband to leave.
"Good-bye, dear,” Miriam told Kofi as he stood bundled at the door with his cart.
"Good-bye...” said Nana. For a second Miriam thought Nana was about to address Kofi as Mr. Obadah.
Miriam always wondered how Nana actually regarded her so-called husband. So-called because, of course, in a country in which plural marriages were not the norm, they had not been able to formalize their relationship in any way. Miriam, for her part, was pleased about this. Should Nana find a nice young man, she was, under the law here, free to marry. A nice young man ... Miriam contemplated what that might constitute. A kind man, a reasonable man, a man who brought good money home ... in other words, a man a girl without an education was unlikely to meet.
"Do you want another cup of tea?” Miriam asked Nana. Miriam had just yesterday bought teabags for ninety-nine cents. What a find.
"No, Mama.” Nana sighed.
"Well?” Miriam asked.
"Poor Anna. She was very nice,” said Nana. “Though white."
Miriam raised her eyebrows. She had never heard Nana say she disliked whites.
"I mean,” said Nana, “she was Romanian. But she'd been here for a while, and her English really wasn't bad. She was all for our rights. She said we should keep our own tips and things like that. I think she believed Mr. Reyos was taking part of the tips. Zeline said no. She doesn't think he's dishonest. He never tries to get fresh.” Apparently in Nana's mind getting fresh and being dishonest had similar roots. And probably, Miriam decided, they did. The girl spooned the rest of the grits onto her plate, added a little wedge of margarine, then sprinkled on some salt.
"But why would someone have killed Anna, do you think?” Miriam asked.
"Because she caused trouble? Or because she never put all her tips in the jar?” pondered Nana.
"But you and Zeline don't put your whole tip in the jar either,” Miriam reminded her.
"Yes, but she kept back a lot more than we do. And she backtalked anyone who criticized her for it. She didn't deny it. I'd never admit I was putting some of the money in my purse to take home."
"Is doing so wrong?” Miriam fretted.
"Zeline and Anna said no."
"But if it caused someone to kill her?"
Nana didn't answer. “Mama, Mr. Reyos will be short a worker,” Nana said instead. The girl looked up from her plate and scrunched her face expressively. Miriam waited. “Who killed her, Mama? You are very, very good at thinking through such puzzles."
If someone had killed Anna because she held back the bills from her tips, might that person also try to hurt her Nana? Miriam disliked the idea of Nana working in a dangerous situation. Could she ask the girl to quit?
"Anna's uniform—and she had already changed, so it's in her locker—will fit you well,” Nana went on.
"I'm fat,” said Miriam.
"You're pleasingly plump,” disagreed Nana.
"I'm old,” threw in Miriam. She had no intention of starting a new and arduous career at her age.
"I can train you in five minutes,” Nana said. “And anything hard, I'll do myself. I'll run in and change the toilet paper in the stalls. I'll wipe everything down during my break. We don't have to actually clean the bathrooms either. They have cleaners for that.” The girl had obviously thought the whole matter through, though Nana might not realize how worn out Miriam could be. “It's undercover work,” added Nana. “Like on TV."
Well, she did have a point. Miriam was clever about digging out information. And she wasn't sure she wanted Nana working in such a risky place unsupervised. Of course, Miriam liked the word “undercover” too. She thought of herself in that way sometimes—an undercover agent on the side of Good. And she loved television detective shows of all kinds. Though the police might find the killer with their forensics, they might not. Did they only try to solve the murders of the wealthy? She wasn't sure. Did they ever show detectives solving the murder of ordinary people on TV? Did they track down the killers of bathroom attendants, drugstore clerks, or black hairdressers? Or did they only care if a movie or sports star was involved? Before she even knew what she was doing, Miriam had nodded in agreement with Nana's absurd plan.
* * * *
Nana had called Mr. Reyos, and the next day Miriam stood in the man's office at the Stilton Hotel. Nana, her sponsor, stood nearby. Mr. Reyos didn't invite either woman to sit.
"How is your English?” he asked the applicant first.
Miriam was very proud of her fine English, learned in a school with all British-educated instructors, but she tempered her answer to fit the situation. “Serviceable, sir."
"Since you're not an actual employee of the hotel, I don't need to see documentation,” he added, without looking Miriam in the eyes.
"Yes, sir,” she answered. Documentation. She hadn't thought of that. Of course she had none.
"Right, then,” he said. He cast a glance in her direction now. “You work for tips. You pay whatever taxes you owe the government. You're self employed."
Before she could answer, he waved the two of them out. And that was that; Miriam was hired.
* * * *
Nana set Miriam up at Anna's station near the third-floor restaurants and set down a tray of objects that women might require in the ladies’ room—everything from mints, to a little sewing kit with two buttons, to safety pins, to cigarettes, to different types of items for when someone had her monthly flow. In the middle of these very sensible supplies was placed a bowl with four quarters and a dollar bill.
"You can sit down, Mama.” Nana frowned, as if in deep concentration. “I'll come on my break in two hours and clean up and stuff. You don't have to do anything. Just rest.” She brightened. “Then in two hours after that, we can have dinner."
The girl rushed off to her own regular station.
Miriam didn't have long to wait for her first customer, and, being Miriam, she could hardly follow Nana's orders to just rest. She found a paper towel and wiped off a streak on the mirror while the woman went in and used the stall.
In a minute, after washing her hands, the woman went out with barely a glance at the bathroom attendant and without leaving a tip. Indeed, Miriam, in her place, would not have left a tip either. Then she recalled that Nana had said she herself doled the paper towels out to the guests for them to wipe their hands. Miriam debated the practice for a few seconds until two other visitors entered the suite. Miriam gave a tentative smile and listened to the two talking to one another about friends in common. How cheerful they sounded. Then Miriam went into the inner sanctum and wiped off the sinks.
When the first woman came out and washed her hands, Miriam handed her a towel. She smiled with conviction. Then she did the same when the second woman reappeared. Miriam immediately followed them into the other room, as if she were sure of herself, which was far from the truth. The two women primped. One then took a dollar from her purse and left it on Miriam's tip dish. A moment later, the other woman reached into her own purse and followed suit. They departed. A dollar from each! Two dollars, just like that. So what Nana said was true. These women left dollars.
But did this give Miriam any clue as to who had killed Anna? Well, perhaps. After all, the hotel was a font of dollar bills and perhaps of quarters. This job was all about the money, and the distribution of the money would be of very great importance to every bathroom attendant, male or female. On television, in fact, very often people were killed over financial schemes.
By the time Nana returned at six P.M., Miriam was sitting down in the outer area. Perhaps she wasn't as young as she used to be. She certainly wasn't accustomed to hopping up and down so much.
"Oh, Mama, you cleaned up,” said Nana in disappointment. “You weren't supposed to do that.” She handed Miriam a paper cup of hot tea.
/> "People are not so neat,” said Miriam, preferring not to express her full disgust at how unneat they were. “But look.” She let Nana peek into her pocket where she had stashed seven single dollar bills and uncounted change to shield the money from theft.
"Oh, Mama, you're the best one here. People love you."
Miriam smiled weakly and sipped at her tea. What sounded easy when others did it was a very hard job.
The door squeaked and a white visitor in a handsome beige wool suit walked in. She smiled at the two women from Ghana and went into the other room. Miriam debated getting up so she could hand the woman a towel, but she was tired. Moreover, she didn't want Nana to worry too much.
When the woman came out, Miriam had her head bent down from a sudden bout of dizziness, while Nana rubbed her back. Miriam felt rather embarrassed and tried to straighten.
"Are you all right?” asked the woman in an interested voice. “I'm a doctor.” She sat beside the two women and reached to take Miriam's pulse. “Actually, I'm the hotel doctor."
"I'm fine,” answered Miriam quickly. “Just a little tired out."
"Oh, Mama, please,” begged Nana in response.
"You'd be doing me a very big favor if you came to see me in my offices,” added the doctor. “I'd like to feel I'm doing a good job for the hotel."
The woman squeezed Miriam's hand and Miriam felt the woman's kindness. But still. “I don't have insurance,” Miriam said.
"No need,” countered the woman physician. “The hotel pays me.” She fished a card out of her purse. “Come and see me at two thirty tomorrow afternoon. I'll be sure to get you out in time for work."
Miriam, who had never been seen by a real doctor in her life, agreed—for reasons having nothing to do with her own health, which she was sure was very good.
* * * *
By the dinner break, Miriam had gained even more money, though she had done very little to earn any of it. True, she had sewn a couple of stitches to help fix a hem (five dollars!) and had comforted a girl in tears over her boyfriend (men cannot be expected to be so clever as we), but she'd ceased to stand handing out the towels.
Nana rushed Miriam to the employee cafeteria, where she opened her arms, gesturing broadly, and announced with a flourish, “The food is free.” She seemed very happy to share such a magical experience with her cowife and settled Miriam at a long table, then brought four hot dogs from under a lamp displaying such foods—along with two big cups of fizzing soda.
As the two ate, a white woman two seats over kept eyeing Miriam in an unfriendly fashion. When Nana got up to fetch something else, the woman addressed Miriam in loud tones.
"I don't know who you are, miss, but I'd suggest you be careful. People who skim from their tips in the washroom aren't welcome around here."
Miriam let her jaw fly open in astonishment, and she stared. Was the woman implying that was why Anna had been killed? Was she so much as admitting some type of culpability? Miriam was about to respond with such a question, but before she could do that, another voice cut in: “If you're so rude to all the workers here, Georgette, no one will be left to give you your cut."
Nana came back and stood beside the young black woman who had just spoken. Miriam guessed the girl must be Zeline from Nigeria.
Zeline and Georgette—the housekeeper who took part of the tips, Miriam recalled—sniped at one another in a manner most disagreeable to hear, until Zeline finally walked away to get her food. Miriam and Nana locked eyes for a fraction of a second. Neither had enjoyed the occasion and each was embarrassed, or so Miriam concluded.
Zeline returned with a sandwich and two pastries, but by then Georgette was gone. Nana kept looking up at the clock. “That old cow,” Zeline said, referring to Georgette. “Someone should put her out of her misery, that old white witch."
The hot dogs Miriam had eaten began to rise up from her stomach. Miriam did not like such comments wishing for someone else's death, nor any comment that could be considered racially insulting. She was very unhappy with such talk and less than pleased with Zeline, a woman she had so looked forward to meeting one day.
Despite everything, though, Miriam felt a bit perkier after dinner, and she made some efforts to offer towels and clean the sinks. She collected nice tips. At break time, Nana rushed in with another tea for her. “It's a good thing I am already in the right spot with all this tea and soda,” Miriam giggled.
She spent the time, otherwise, thinking about Anna's death, and the people who had surrounded Anna at work—not very nice people, it seemed. Could either Georgette or Zeline be the guilty one? Or did the nasty tendencies of each extend no further than the spoken word? Georgette might have felt she had a sufficient motive—Anna's skimming. But Zeline, with at least one element in her character a little off, could have held a hidden resentment against Anna too.
Nana came to get Miriam at midnight and brought her again to the locker room, where the women changed back into their street clothes. Miriam wondered if she should take home the uniform to wash and iron every night, but Nana said no, that the laundry in the basement cleaned the uniforms overnight twice a week. How amazing.
Nana transformed from a demure hotel maid into the bouncy Harlem girl from West Africa in three minutes, while Miriam struggled into her heavy wool sweater. Admittedly, she had a touch of arthritis in the winter. What an amazing day this had been, though. She'd spoken to more people today than she usually did in a whole month's time.
The two women left through the side door to the hotel. Miriam, not a thought in her head other than if Kofi had been able to heat up his dinner, shrieked when a white, male hand reached aggressively for Nana's arm. Miriam drew back her purse so she might hit the mugger and fight him off.
The hand dropped away quickly. “Sorry, sorry,” the tall, bleary-eyed man apologized, slurring his words. Miriam stood her ground, ready to fire.
"Oh, you're Anna's boyfriend, Romero,” said Nana, as if in sudden realization.
"Sorry to startle you ladies.” The face was mournful and Miriam supposed his being Anna's boyfriend could account for both the emotion and the smell of drink that exuded from him.
"I wondered ... Would it be possible ... Do you think ... Did Anna leave anything of value in her locker?” He focused for a second and searched their faces. “Any money? Anything at all I could sell for money?"
"I don't believe ... I wouldn't be able to...” answered Nana.
"Sir, I have taken Anna's uniform to wear at work,” said Miriam. She quickly extracted five singles from her purse, rather sad to see them go, but recognizing the fairness of parting with the money earned with the wearing of the garment discussed. She passed the bills over to the man.
Romero licked his lips and counted carefully. “Wasn't it worth a little more?” The eyes were now neither bleary nor merely focused, but outright calculating. So this was grief at the loss of a loved one.
Miriam didn't blink even once at that. She was here to track down Anna's killer and would be at the hotel no longer than a few days whether she succeeded at her task or not.
Romero's gaze dropped. He put the five dollars in his pocket and stumbled off. No “thank you,” nor farewell, nor had either Nana or Miriam given him condolences, which had seemed almost beside the point.
"Can you get into the hotel through this exit?” Miriam asked Nana.
"Not really, Mama. Unless, of course, someone was coming out and let you in."
The two looked back as they went toward the subway. Another two women workers plodded out through the door. So Romero could have gone in, found Anna alone, and drunkenly demanded money. She'd refused ... He had knocked the woman's head against the locker. Miriam couldn't believe she had three suspects already—Georgette, Zeline, and Romero—but did any one of them make sense for the murder?
Miriam showed up on time at Dr. Brodsky's office, which was near the hotel. The waiting room needed a paint job and was empty of patients. No one sat behind the counter. Perhaps doct
oring was not as good a business as Miriam had thought.
The doctor came out wearing a different suit than yesterday—a handsome one. She smiled at Miriam. “My receptionist is out today.” She shrugged. Miriam wondered if the doctor really had a receptionist, if she could afford one, or if she made the same excuse to patients every day. Miriam understood a lack of money and the covering over of each social embarrassment.
The doctor took Miriam into the examination room. Everything here was vaguely familiar to Miriam from television shows. This room at least was clean, if nothing fancy.
Dr. Brodsky put a brace around Miriam's arm and pumped it up. The air escaped. “It's good,” said the doctor at last, looking surprised.
"I'm sixty-three,” confided Miriam. “Not too bad for an old woman. Yes?"
"I thought you might have high blood pressure,” said the doctor. “Like Anna did. I've felt so terrible about that. I had her on medication. I gave her samples. But maybe she'd stopped taking the pills.” The doctor's eyes met Miriam's. “I feel guilty."
"Guilty?” Miriam didn't understand.
"Well, I suppose her pressure might have gone sky high suddenly and she collapsed. Maybe hit her head against the locker on the way down. What else could have happened?"
The doctor listened to Miriam's heart and told her to breathe.
What else could have happened? Miriam felt confused. Hadn't Anna been murdered? What a relief if she hadn't been killed, if she'd just suddenly collapsed and died on her own. Such a thing would be terribly tragic, but happily not criminal.
"So much anger over tips,” suggested Miriam tentatively as she rebuttoned her blouse.
"There are problems at the hotel, of course,” the doctor said. “All of us like the tourists’ money. As you can see, my office isn't thronged. With two kids in school, I appreciate the hotel referrals."
How did the doctor's arrangement work in with Anna's death? Miriam couldn't imagine. “You have to give a feedback too? I mean, kickback."
AHMM, January-February 2008 Page 6
