I Cut Open Mr. Moradi's Headboard While His Guard Counted Down My Thirty Seconds...

The bedroom door clicked shut and stayed shut. Guard One stood with his back to it, the gun lower now but still in his hand. The air tasted like dust from the headboard padding and the lemon oil I used on the gold frame that morning.

Mr. Moradi hadn't moved off the edge of the bed. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his robe pulled tight at the neck. The circles under his eyes looked darker with the lamp on him like that. He stared at the slit in the headboard, then at me.

"Who comes in here?" he said. His voice was hoarse. "Who touches this bed."

It wasn't loud. That made it worse.

I kept my hands where he could see them, folded over my apron. The tool I'd used was on the bedside table where I'd set it down, next to the lamp. No one had picked it up.

"Me," I said. "Only me, for daily cleaning. The laundry girl leaves folded sheets by the door on Tuesdays. She doesn't come in."

Guard One shifted. "Names."

I swallowed. "I make the bed every morning at nine. I change sheets Tuesdays and Fridays. I vacuum under it Mondays. I polish the mirror and the sconces Wednesdays. Mr. Moradi — sir — you told the office no one was to enter after six."

Moradi nodded once, barely. He remembered that.

I looked toward the bed. The top sheet was still smooth where I'd pulled it tight that morning. That was the thing I couldn't stop thinking about.

"Your sheets were untouched," I said quietly. "This morning. Yesterday morning too. The corners were exactly how I left them. The pillows didn't have a dent."

He frowned. "So?"

"So you haven't been sleeping here," I said. "I thought — I thought you were using one of the guest rooms. I didn't write it in the log because it wasn't my place."

Guard One stepped forward. "When was the last deep clean? Mattress turned, headboard wiped down. When."

I tried to keep my breathing even. "Full deep clean is first Monday of the month. I did it four days ago. I moved the nightstands. I vacuumed the tufts with the brush head. I wiped the gold with a dry cloth."

"You touched the headboard then," he said.

"Yes. With a cloth. That's all."

He glanced at Moradi. "Four days ago she had full access. Plenty of time to plant something and then play hero."

My face went hot. "I didn't —"

Moradi lifted a hand and Guard One stopped. Moradi leaned a little closer to me, studying my face. I could see the tattoo move on his neck when he swallowed.

"The fabric," he said. "You cut it easy. Was it easy before?"

I didn't understand at first. Then I remembered the brush head catching that Monday. How I'd had to pull.

"No," I said. "Monday it was stiff. The middle panel. I thought it was spray starch. The housekeeper before me used to starch the dining chairs and I hated that, so I noticed."

Guard One's eyes narrowed. "Stiff how?"

"The buttons pulled different. The tufting around the center was tight. Tighter than the sides." I pointed without touching, my finger shaking a little. "I pressed it and it didn't give like padding. It felt like — like there was cardboard behind it."

Silence. The lamp buzzed faintly.

Moradi looked at Guard One. Something passed between them.

"There was no work order for this room," Guard One said slowly. "I check the vendor log every Friday."

"There was a van," I said before I could stop myself. Both men looked at me. "Last week. Tuesday, I think. White van by the side door. I saw two men carrying a steamer. I thought they were for the drapes in the front parlor. No one told me different."

Moradi's jaw tightened. "I didn't approve upholstery work."

Guard One pulled out his phone, then put it back without using it. His hand tightened on the gun again.

"So now it's staff plus an outside repair no one ordered," he said. "That's your story?"

It wasn't a story. It was what I saw. The laundry cart squeaking down the hall on Tuesdays. My initials on the cleaning card tucked under the lamp base. The stiff center panel I should have reported Monday and didn't because I didn't want to make trouble.

I stood beside the bed with both men watching me, the cut in the headboard open behind me like a mouth, the red lights still blinking inside, and I knew I still looked guilty.