Garden of the Moongate (23 page)

"Oh, what am I going to do?" she muttered bleakly, fearing Ric would avoid her whenever possible now. In fact, she was sure he would. She had probably embarrassed him terribly by showing him exactly how much he meant to her, and she knew she had certainly humiliated herself.

Heaving a despondent sigh, she closed her eyes. If she had any sense at all, she would leave Bermuda today, go back to Chicago, and try not to think about Ric anymore. But she didn't have much sense, she decided self-derisively, because she knew she would stay here near him as long as she possibly could. Minutes passed as she lay there; though she knew she needed to get up and go to work, she couldn't muster the energy to move. At last she managed to prop herself up on her elbows. Then, without any warning, the bedroom door swung open. Allendre's eyes widened as Deb strolled into the room, her hands perched on her boyishly slim hips, a malicious gleam in her eyes.

"Well," she drawled nasally, "look who's sleeping in my bed. It's Goldilocks."

Gathering up the sheet and the remnants of her pride, Allendre unflinchingly returned the girl's rude stare, but as Deb glanced around the room curiously, she did, too, relieved to see that Ric had folded her clothes neatly and placed them on a chair.

"Well, don't you have anything to say for yourself, Goldilocks?" Deb persisted tauntingly.

"I wasn't aware that this was your bed," Allendre responded as coolly as possible under the circumstances. "I thought it was Ric's."

"It'll soon be his
and
mine, though, make no mistake about that," the older girl snapped. "Of course, I've slept in it many times. I did night before last, as a matter of fact. But you had the honor last night. Aren't you feeling a bit used this morning, honey? If Ric hadn't been a little irritated at me yesterday—"

"Would you please just get out of here?" Allendre interrupted, her jaw clenched, as she was pushed past her limit of endurance. "You always bore me, and this morning especially I'm in no mood to listen to anything you have to say."

Deb shrugged, gave Allendre an infuriatingly snide grin, but miraculously turned away. "See you later, then."

After she had gone, Allendre jumped out of the bed and dressed, anxious to escape before any more unwelcome visitors could drop in. Outside a few minutes later, she walked to her apartment, scarcely aware of the birds chirping merrily or of the sweet fragrances the flowers released into the air in the warmth of the morning sun. Once inside her apartment, she showered and dressed for work. As she started to leave, after combing her hair, someone knocked on her door. She answered it warily.

"Miss Corey?" a uniformed young man inquired. When she nodded, he held out a long, narrow white box. "For you. Would you sign for them, please?"

As she scribbled her signature on the pad he handed her she stared at the mysterious box, then belatedly remembered the deliveryman's tip. "Hold on a sec," she urged as he started to walk away. "I'll just get my purse." When the tip was taken care of, she closed the door and leaned back against it, somewhat reluctant to open the box, though she really didn't know why. Finally, she could stand the suspense no longer. She hurriedly slipped the red satin ribbon off the box and opened it, gingerly pushing the tissue paper aside, uncovering one perfectly beautiful long-stemmed white rose. Her fingers shook as she picked up the accompanying card.
I'm sorry
, was all it said, but it was signed
Ric
.

Sorry for what? she wondered miserably. Sorry she had caused him to spend a very frustrating night? Sorry she wasn't the party girl he had imagined her to be? Sorry he had wasted so much time on her? He was probably sorry about all those things, she thought desolately. Picking up the rose, she touched its velvety petals against her lips, wondering if it was supposed to be symbolic of her virginity. How ironic if it was, since she was almost wishing she had lost her virginity last night. If she had, at least she would now know what it was like to truly give all of herself to the man she loved. At the thought, to her amazement, she suddenly burst into tears.

Twenty minutes later, after concealing the evidence of her crying by applying a light dusting of powder around her eyes, she trudged out of her apartment and up to the hotel, arriving at the front desk at the worst possible moment, fifteen minutes before checkout time. Hurrying behind the desk, she helped Loretta and the other clerk, Betsy, settle with five or six departing guests until only one was left waiting, Mr. Laslow, not the friendliest person even at his best.

"I'll take care of him," Allendre told Loretta, trying to make up for being so late to work. Turning, she gave Mr. Laslow a warm smile, but it faded when he only glared at her. Pulling his bill from the file, she handed it to him, and while he examined it carefully she occupied herself with other papers.

"This bill is incorrect," Mr. Laslow growled at her a moment later, thrusting it at her. "You see that room-service charge for the eighteenth? It shouldn't be there. I distinctly remember that my wife and I had dinner at the home of some friends in Hamilton that night. We had spent the day with them and couldn't possibly have used room service. And there's another one." He pointed at an item on the bill Allendre now held. "There, on the twentieth. The amount is small, as if it might be for a couple of drinks, but my wife and I weren't here much that day, either, and I
know
we didn't call room service. I certainly don't intend to pay room-service charges I didn't run up."

"I see," Allendre murmured, glancing over the bill, then nodding. She smiled politely at him. "I'm sorry for the mistake. Just let me subtract these two charges and we'll have it all taken care of."

Laslow snorted, seemingly a bit disappointed that she was making it so easy for him. "There's no excuse for such errors, you know," he muttered irritably. "People don't appreciate being overcharged."

"But everyone makes mistakes sometimes," she said patiently, handing back the credit card with which he had paid the amended bill. "Even our computer isn't always perfect. It makes mistakes, too, as it did on your bill."

"Computers don't make mistakes, young woman," he grumbled at her. "The people who use them do."

As the man loped away Allendre smiled wryly at the other two girls behind the desk, but though Betsy smiled back, Loretta only shifted her feet uncomfortably and looked away. Remembering that she had acted in a similar way on other occasions when guests had complained about overcharges, Allendre began to get suspicious. Leaving Betsy in charge of the desk, she asked Loretta to step with her into the office.

"You've worked here longer than I have, so maybe you can tell me something," Allendre began casually.

"We've had several complaints about overcharging lately. Is that usual?"

"There are always some," Loretta answered evasively, staring down at the toe of her shoe as she dug it into the carpet. "Wh-why do you ask?"

"I thought maybe the computer wasn't working properly. If we're finding more mistakes than usual, perhaps we should have the serviceman check it."

"I wouldn't know about that," Loretta mumbled. "I don't know anything about computers."

"But you do know something about these overcharges, don't you?" Allendre asked bluntly but gently. "What is it you aren't telling me, Loretta?"

A blush crept up beneath the girl's smooth dark skin. "Oh, I don't know if I should say anything," she whispered unhappily. "I don't much like Miss Hopkins, but… but I don't want to accuse her of stealing, either."

Allendre began to understand. "Are you saying Miss Hopkins is responsible for these overcharges? You can tell me the truth, Loretta." When the clerk nodded, she continued. "Well, how did she do it? Did she just feed extra items into the computer."

Loretta nodded again. "I saw her do it twice, on bills where the guests had lots of other extra charges anyway. I guess she hoped they wouldn't notice a couple more. Well, I just didn't know what to do about what I saw! I knew it was wrong for her to steal that way, but—"

"I don't think she kept the extra money for herself," Allendre interrupted musingly. "So I'm not sure you can really call it stealing."

"I don't think you can call it anything else," Ric spoke up as he stepped through the open doorway, his expression grim. As Allendre's eyes widened in surprise at seeing him he inclined his head in Loretta's direction. "You can go back to the desk now. I may want to talk to you later, though."

"Ric, Loretta had nothing at all to do with any of this," Allendre said hastily as the girl scurried out of the office. "She only saw Deb—"

"I know what she saw and I'm not blaming her for anything," he assured her, his words clipped. "Deb's impossible, isn't she? She did steal from the guests, Allendre, even if she didn't keep the money for herself."

"I suppose you're right," Allendre conceded, wishing he had never had to learn about this. If only she could have talked to Deb first and told her she knew what she had been doing, the older girl would have had to stop. But it was too late now. Ric knew, and he was embarrassed as well as angry. And Allendre didn't blame him. Shannon House was his responsibility, and what Deb had done hadn't enhanced the hotel's reputation. Going to him, Allendre touched her hand to his lean, tan cheek. "Well?" she asked softly. "What are you going to do?"

"Yes, Ric, what
are
you going to do?" Deb echoed, stepping into the office with a jerky wave of her hand. Though her face was pale, there was a vindictive glimmer in her eyes when she stared at Allendre. Then she turned all her attention to Ric again. "Well, tell me. Are you going to turn me in to the police for 'stealing,' as you so nicely put it?"

"I don't think we'll need to bother the police with this, Deb," he answered tersely, running a weary hand around to massage the back of his neck. "But I told you yesterday evening what would happen if I heard you'd done anything else idiotic while you were in charge of this hotel. Remember?"

"Oh, I remember. You said I'd be looking for another job," Deb responded too calmly. "So, does this mean I'm fired?"

"That's exactly what it means," he said bluntly and without apology, but as he started to turn away Deb grabbed his arm. He shook his head. "Don't try to change my mind, Deb. What you've done this time is far too serious for me to give you another chance."

"Oh, I didn't expect another chance," she said through clenched teeth. "I just wanted to remind you that I did it for you." Turning, she sneered at Allendre. "Which is more than I can say for your wonderful little Goldilocks here. You're not doing what you're doing for Ric's benefit, are you, Goldilocks?"

"What are you talking about, Deb?" Ric interposed impatiently. "You're not making any sense."

"Oh, yes, I am. I'm making perfect sense. But, of course, I know something about little Miss Wonderful that you don't know. I know she made a phone call to Chicago the other day," Deb announced gleefully, smiling snidely when Allendre's face suddenly paled. Then she turned back to Ric and continued relentlessly. "Well, we have a record of all calls here, so it was easy for me to get the number she called, and since I've always had my suspicions about her, I called the same number just a few minutes ago. Guess who answered, Ric—Meredith's Travel Guides. And when I asked to speak to Allendre Corey, the girl told me Miss Corey wasn't in, that she was presently on assignment. In
Bermuda
. Did you know that, Ric? Did you know your precious Miss Corey works for Meredith Travel Guides? And you thought what
I
did was terrible." Deb laughed unpleasantly. "Well, what about
her
? You think she's going to do Shannon House any good by going back and reporting what she's seen and heard here? She's a spy, and you thought she was such a nice, sweet little girl that you hired her! You—"

"Just shut up, Deb," Ric commanded, turning to Allendre.

Unable to breathe, Allendre met his incredulous stare. She couldn't speak. Deb's revelation had come so abruptly that Allendre reeled from the shock. Heat suffused her body, followed by a cold chill that made her tremble violently, and she was too terrified of what Ric's reaction was going to be to even move.

"Is this true, Allendre?" he asked, his voice strained. "Do you work for Preston Meredith? Are you here to evaluate Shannon House?"

She nodded reluctantly, reaching out to touch his arm, but she pulled her hand away swiftly when she felt the hardening of his muscles through his sleeve. "Yes, it's true, in a way," she squeaked. "But it's not the way she made it sound. Believe me, Ric, I can explain."

"Oh, you're going to," he whispered furiously, his eyes icy gray as he stared down at her. "Go down to my cottage and wait for me. You can try to explain when I get there. First I'll deal with Deb. Then it'll be your turn, Allendre. Now go."

Gulping, she obeyed automatically, walking blindly past Loretta and Betsy and out into the bright sunshine. She was halfway through the garden before she realized she was willingly trotting off to wait for Ric to come… to what? What would he do to her? God only knew, and, uttering a horrified little cry, she halted abruptly on the path. She couldn't just walk to his cottage and wait for him to come and tear her emotions into little pieces. To do so would be stupid, like a condemned man sticking around for his own execution. Anyone with any sense at all would try to escape, and despite what had just happened, she had some sense left.

She ran all the way to her apartment and, without pausing to catch her breath, called the airport. A flight to New York was scheduled in about an hour, and she could still get a seat if she could make it to the airport on time. She could make it. She had to make it, she told herself as she called for a taxi. Then she rushed into her bedroom and crammed everything she could into her tote bag and the larger of her two suitcases.