"The owner is on the property regularly?" I ask.
"No," she shakes her head. "Not regularly. But he comes in occasionally. I've worked here for three months and have only seen him twice. He is very kind though. He made it a point to stop and talk to each of us. Treated us like people."
That comment strikes me. "Like people? I mean… aren't you?"
She picks up the towels and smooths them over her arm again.
"You might not think so, the way some of the people around here treat us."
"The guests?" I ask, hating the way her eyes darken just a little when she talks about it.
"Most of our guests are… very rich. They like to throw their money around and think it can buy them anything they want, including the ability to treat anyone however they want to. They see the people who work here as less than them and aren't afraid to show it." She suddenly looks embarrassed, like she just realized what she was saying. She covers her eyes with her hand and shakes her head. “I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be saying things like that to you.”
“No,” I tell her, reaching my hand out to stop her before she can walk away. “Don't worry about it. I didn't pay for my stay here, so you don't need to count me among them. And even if I did, I'd never be that way.”
She smiles, her shoulders relaxing.
“Thank you,” she says.
“I'm Emma,” I tell her.
"Graciela," she introduces herself. "It's nice to meet you."
"You, too," I smile.
Someone knocks on the door, and Graciela looks at me as if for confirmation. I nod at her, and she steps back to open the door. Bellamy comes in, already changed from the clothes she wore on the plane to a floral dress that flows down to the metallic gold sandals that show off her perfect pedicure. Large brown sunglasses I won't tell her make her look like a fly are flipped up onto the top of her head, and she looks me up and down.
"You're still dressed," she observes.
"Should I not be?" I ask, raising my eyebrows at her.
"I'll put these in the bathroom for you," Graciela says.
"Oh, Graciela, this is my best friend, Bellamy. She's here at the resort with me and our other best friend, Eric. B, this is Graciela."
The two women exchange pleasantries, and Graciela disappears into the bathroom.
"I thought we were going to go down to the pool," Bellamy says.
"Right now? We just got here," I raise an eyebrow.
“Is there some sort of time limit like there is with eating? You shouldn't swim thirty minutes after eating or traveling?” she asks. “Come on. We are wasting precious island time.”
“I just wasn't up on the itinerary,” I tell her. “Give me a minute, and I will change.”
Graciela gives me a knowing look as she slips out of the bathroom and heads to the door to the room.
“If you need anything,” she starts, and I nod.
“I'll let you know,” I tell her. “Thank you again.”
“Absolutely. Enjoy your swim.”
Bellamy follows me into the bedroom, and I dig my bathing suit out of my suitcase.
“You haven't even unpacked yet?” she asks.
“How can you possibly have unpacked and changed by now?” I ask.
“I'm efficient at vacationing,” Bellamy offers.
“I've only managed to get in the room and learn how to open the balcony door,” I tell her. “But I'll catch up.”
With my hair twisted up on top of my head, my feet feeling happily freed from socks in a pair of flip-flops, and wearing a dress similar to Bellamy's over my bathing suit, I walk with her down to the brick path we followed from the lobby. Eric is already waiting there; his head tucked down as his thumbs fly across his phone screen. Bellamy reaches out and plants her hand right on top of the screen, forcing him to look up.
"Absolutely not. Phones do not exist on the island," she says.
"There's a horror movie tagline for you," I mutter under my breath.
"They most certainly do exist," Eric counters, pulling his phone out from under her hand and holding it up to her. "As evidenced here."
"Let me rephrase. We aren't using our phones while we’re on vacation." She puts her arms around both our shoulders to start steering us down the path toward the opposite end of the building. "We are here for relaxation and to enjoy the splendors of nature."
"So, let's go take a dip in a cement hole full of highly chlorinated water," he comments.
We pause, and she turns scolding eyes toward him.
"I'm going to have to ask you to drop your attitude," she says calmly. "Windsor Island is a happy place, and we don't take shit like that around here."
I'm laughing so hard I almost don't notice how hard the sun is making my eyes squint. Realizing my sunglasses aren't on top of my head, I turn back.
"Meet me there. I forgot my sunglasses."
Bellamy waves, and they continue on their way as I jog back to the door. Just before going inside, I glance back to them and notice Eric subtly sway to the side, bumping her with his shoulder and hip. Bellamy giggles, and the little bit of suspicion in the back of my mind grows.
The quick clandestine text I'm sending Sam to let him know about Bellamy's communication embargo distracts me enough that I'm almost around the corner to the elevators before I notice the voices. I stop when the distinct feeling that I'm not supposed to overhear the conversation settles into my stomach. Stepping closer to the wall, I listen.
“Mr. Coltrane has requested cabin three tonight,” a voice I recognize says in a tone just slightly lower than a normal conversational volume. “Please make sure it's ready for him.”
“Yes, sir,” a young woman's voice replies.
"And Rosa, be sure you are punctual this time. Mr. Coltrane is an important client with very high expectations. See to it they are satisfied when he arrives."
"Yes, sir."
I hurry
