In order for my dreams to come true, I have to make certain the inn succeeds.
Getting to my feet, I walk through the house one more time before dragging myself back across the street. The inn has become a hostile environment with Naomi lurking around every corner. The look of dismay on Everett’s face during our conversation on Sunday afternoon still haunts me. I’m losing his respect by allowing Naomi to walk all over me. Yet, I can’t get rid of her unless I have absolute proof of wrongdoing. Even then, I risk losing Jazz. And that’s a risk I’m not willing to take. If only I could figure out why Naomi has been keeping late hours at the inn. I would classify her work ethic as average. She’s certainly not trying to impress me. I made a point of stopping by the reservations desk after dinner last night and the night before. Inez, our night agent, reported that Naomi had long since gone home. It’s possible Everett’s mistaken. But something tells me he’s not.
I work in my office later than my usual six o’clock until I can no longer ignore my rumbling stomach. When I pass through reception, Inez’s face is glued to the computer and her ear to the phone. The office behind her is empty. Naomi is nowhere in sight. I continue through the lounge to Jameson’s. A foursome of elderly women are the only occupants of the restaurant.
As I enter the kitchen, I paste on a cheerful face for Cecily who is putting the finishing touches on four plates of food at the prep counter.
I wait until a server swoops the tray of entrees away before asking Cecily, “What’s for dinner?”
“A salad with leftover grilled shrimp. Want one?” Cecily busies herself with cleaning up. Why can’t she look me in the eye? Has she, too, lost respect for me?
I pull a stool up to the counter. “Sure. If you don’t mind.”
Cecily has been down in the dumps these past few weeks. Like me, she’s concerned about the success of the inn. Jameson’s is her big chance to make a name for herself. I try to make conversation with her while she throws together the salad—fresh mixed greens, grilled shrimp, and her homemade ginger dressing—but she has little to say. The bubbly Cecily I first met in May when she was a barista at Caffeine on the Corner is in hiding.
“Try not to worry so much, Cecily. We’re in a transition period. Things will get better. Our homecoming party is the key to bringing in the townspeople,” I say, wishing I felt as confident as I sound.
“I hope you’re right,” Cecily mumbles, setting my salad on the counter in front of me.
“Is something else wrong? You know you can talk to me about anything.”
Cecily’s lips curl up in a smile. “I’m fine. You have enough on your plate without worrying about me.”
I tell her about the manor house while we eat, but I’m unsuccessful in drawing her out of her funk. It dawns on me that I’m being insensitive in talking about my fiancé and our new home when Cecily wants nothing more than to put down roots in Hope Springs with Lyle.
After cleaning my plate, I say goodnight to Cecily and leave the kitchen. At the reception desk, Inez is smiling at her cell phone, probably texting with her boyfriend. Behind her, the office door is closed.
Inez looks up at me, and her smile disappears. “Stella, what’re you doing here so late?”
“Finishing up some work.” I nod toward the closed door. “Who’s in the office?”
Her gaze shifts from me to the door and back to me. “Oh . . . um . . .”
“What’s going on, Inez?” I move behind the counter toward the office door.
“Don’t go in there,” Inez says, stepping in my path. “Jazz is asleep.”
“Jazz? What’s she doing here?”
Inez stares down at her feet. “I’m babysitting her.”
“Where’s Naomi?”
“Um . . .” She chews on her lip.
“Your loyalty to Naomi is admirable, Inez. But I’m the one paying your salary.”
“She’s with one of our guests.”
Through gritted teeth, I say, “What guest, Inez? Tell me everything you know.”
“Some businessman, in from out of town. This is his third or fourth time staying here. I don’t know where they go or what they do together.”
I know exactly where they are and what they’re doing together. “When do you expect Naomi back?”
“She said by midnight.”
My heart pounds in my ears, and I want to give Inez a proper lashing, but I hold my tongue. None of this is her fault. She’s covering for her boss and earning extra money babysitting. I step around her and enter the office, closing the door behind me. Jazz is sound asleep on the floor in the corner, curled in a ball with her head resting on one arm. I take her coat from the back of Naomi’s chair and drape it over her, tucking it in around her small body.
Sitting down at Naomi’s computer, I plant my face in my hands. This is so wrong. This woman does not deserve to be anyone’s mother. I have to get my sister away from her, but I have to be smart about it.
I click on the mouse, engaging Naomi’s computer. I sort through files for more than an hour before I comprehend the method to Naomi’s madness. She’s saved files in folders with names that have nothing to do with information held within. I find the document I’ve been hounding Naomi about labeled Cleaning Supplies and attached to a folder marked Housekeeping. I click on the Excel spreadsheet and the contact information for every conference booked at the inn for the past ten years appears. The file was created in December 1999 and last updated six months ago. Naomi has had this information at her fingertips all along.
I
