Loving Reese (Tremont Lodge Series Book 2) (10 page)

“You can’t keep me a prisoner in your room all day,” I say to Finn who is explaining to me for the fourth time this morning why I cannot work or be left alone for a minute. The concern is sweet, but I can’t stop living my life. Ted needs me, and as much as I don’t want to admit that it matters, the lodge needs me, too. There are a lot of people checking out this morning. I need to be in the lobby in twenty minutes.

“Do I have to tie you up?” he asks, exasperated.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I ask, laughing.

“If only I wasn’t so worried about you disappearing from the lodge, you have no idea how much I’d like to explore this topic further.”

I push Finn into the corner of the room where I surround him with one arm on each side, pinning him in place. I lean my body close. He softens his posture, and I lean in closer so that my body is lying against his, our clothes the only thing that separates us: me in a boring navy blue suit and him in a pair of old running pants and t-shirt for his mowing assignment. “I will be fine,” I whisper into his ear. “I have my phone.” I kiss his neck. “I am surrounded by a lot of people.” I kiss the tip of his nose. “You will be nearby if I need anything.” I kiss his lips. He doesn’t let me pull away as he tugs on my top lip with his mouth, a new urgency to his kissing as if my personal safety were on the line and he might not see me again. I shake away the disturbing thoughts and focus on the feel of Finn’s body pressed up against mine. “I really will be okay,” I whisper.

“I’ll text you every hour,” he says as he releases my mouth from his. “And call Mr. Oakley and tell him about what’s happening.”

“Come on, Finn. I can’t do that. The secret of my existence has been buried for sixteen years. Don’t you think that telling him that one of the original players in that whole saga is back to cause problems at Tremont Lodge is going to upset him? He clearly doesn’t like to talk of the past let alone relive it if he thinks that John Prentice is back on the property.”

Finn tips up my chin. “Do
you
want to relive the past?”

“I mean, part of me wants answers to a lot of questions I still have, but if he’s really back trolling for money, it pretty much makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t know what he wants. I don’t like being watched. But this girl isn’t a coward.” I squeeze my arms around Finn and inhale his body soap—plumeria—which makes me smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Reese. Be careful out there, okay?”

“I will.” I put my newly charged phone into my purse and close the door behind me.

It’s a walk I’ve made hundreds of times this summer, but one that has never been walked with such trepidation. Every movement out of the corner of my eye—the passing of another staff member, the flight of a ball through the air, a towel casually thrown over a shoulder—makes me do a double-take because I know I’m being watched. The texts came showing that he knew where I was. The balloons were delivered when he knew I’d be nearby. The photo came as I slept. That one creeps me out the most. Did John Prentice, my father for all I’d known for over twenty years of my life, actually get close enough to touch me when the photo was delivered? Did he stroke my hair as he’d done when I was a little girl and scared of the monsters under my bed? Or had he paid someone to drop the nondescript box onto the table?

Luis hands me a clipboard with a list of problem calls he’s fielded at the front desk so far this morning. The lobby is cluttered with guests checking out. I recognize some of the wedding party from the night before. There’s no sense in assessing their stay at Tremont Lodge. Whether they enjoyed their weekend or not is of no concern to me right now. I just want them gone—all of them. I am stepping behind the large totem pole in the lobby to avoid being spotted when I run straight into Samantha. She is carrying a frothy coffee drink in one hand and a briefcase of some sort in the other. Coffee spills down the front of her white sundress and onto my navy suit. “Dammit!” she yells. “Watch where you’re going, you imbecile!” Then she looks up to further chastise the offender when she sees me.

“Good morning, Mrs. Warren. I hope that you and Mr. Warren enjoyed a wonderful wedding night together at the lodge.”

“Don’t be such a…”

“Reese!” interrupts Anthony. “I’m so glad we got to see you one more time.” He surprises me with a hug which only succeeds in transferring the coffee on my lapel to his white polo shirt. I really love how Samantha made sure they coordinated in virginal white. “You were a real lifesaver last night when that storm rolled in. We should have listened to you from the beginning, of course, but it all turned out in the end now, didn’t it?”

“I am so glad you were pleased. It was a lovely evening.” Samantha stands behind Anthony glaring at me the entire time.

“Honey, I’m going to get the car now. We have a flight to catch to the Bahamas. That cruise ship won’t wait for us.” He kisses Samantha on the cheek when she turns her lips away from him.

When he is gone, I can’t resist getting one more shot at Samantha. And I couldn’t care less that I’m an employee with some authority at Tremont Lodge who should know better. “Oh my gosh, Samantha. You thought Finn was going to be on that cruise ship, didn’t you? That’s why you booked that cruise line. How pathetic are you? Leave the guy alone, you freaking stalker. He doesn’t give a damn about you.”

Samantha tosses her coffee into the nearest trash can so both hands are free to fly in my face. “You have no idea how much Finn cares about me. And if you hadn’t shown up this summer to wreck it all, I might be wearing a poor ass engagement ring from Finn instead of this ten thousand dollar ring that ties me to Anthony Warren, the son of one of the wealthiest seafood chain owners on the west coast.”

“Well, lucky you—free fish sticks for life,” I say.

She moves closer to me so that only I can hear her spitting words. “You just don’t get it, do you? I didn’t give a damn about money until two summers ago when…when I realized that maybe something else had to buy my happiness because it sure as hell wasn’t…”

“It wasn’t what, Samantha?” I ask impatiently, eyeing Luis who’s been watching me not attend to my clipboard duties.

“It wasn’t family, Reese. My own family disowned me that summer. The family I was starting with Finn…”

“What family? You’re delusional,” I say.

“I can send you the death certificate for our premature baby if you need to see it for yourself.”

I can feel the blood draining from my face, and all I want to do is get out of the lobby. “I have to go.”

She grabs my arm. “It’s true. Ask Finn yourself. We were starting a family—and he was happy—happier than he’ll
ever
be with you!”

I run out of the lobby in the direction of the stairs that will take me away from the chaos of the lobby but not far enough away from the wave of confusion that whirls through my mind. She has to be lying. Samantha and Finn?
A baby?
It can’t be true. Is that why her bridesmaid accused her of the summer with no drinking? Was she pregnant? I walk through the door that takes me to the pool deck. There are very few people who clutter the chairs on the Monday morning after Labor Day. I grab a towel from the clean towel bin and set it down next to the hot tub. I throw the clipboard onto the nearest table, kick off my shoes, and sit on the towel, sinking my legs into the bubbly water. Today was the first day I’ve ditched my pantyhose, and the rebellion is empowering. Light streams of warm water spray my face, melting away the thoughts in my head.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

The familiar voice of Bree is like music to my ears though her habit of whistling pop tunes has lessened now that she thinks she’s in love. “I could say the same of you,” I say, smiling.

“I
am
working. Now that all of the college staff is gone, Helen says we are in charge of washing the pool towels.”

“Well, I think the only one down here this morning is the one I’m sitting on. I’ll follow you upstairs. There’s somebody in one of the rooms complaining about a loud noise. I have to check it out. It’s on the clipboard, you know,” I say, pointing back toward the table.

Bree turns her head toward the table. “What clipboard?”

“The one I threw on the table,” I say, pointing behind me.

“I don’t see it, but let’s get going. There are a ton of rooms to clean this morning.”

“That’s impossible,” I say, drying off my feet before slipping them back into my wedges. But nothing is there.

“Maybe that guy took it,” says Bree as I follow her toward the staff elevator at the end of the hall.

“What guy?” I ask, the hair on my arm standing up.

“Some guy walked out the back gate when I came in.”

“Did he look familiar?” I ask.

“No, why would he? If you mean, did he make s’mores this weekend or did he ask for extra shampoo, then
no.
Luis is going to be pissed, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement. But that’s not the worst of it.”

I spend the elevator ride to the eighth floor telling Bree about my unsolicited messages and the possible link to my
dad
. “That’s creepy,” says Bree. “You don’t need any more drama.”

“Tell me about it,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek as I push away the information bomb Samantha dropped on me this morning.

The elevator door opens, and I follow Bree to the laundry room where we find Helen folding towels. “Hi, Helen,” I say.

“Reese! It’s great to see you, honey.”

“Awww, you’re so sweet. Thanks again for all your help at the reception.”

“No problem at all.”

“I really miss you guys,” I say.

“You can always scrub toilets with me—any time.”

“Helen, don’t you want something more?”

“Something more means more responsibilities, and for me and my family, life is grand at Tremont Lodge. No need to allow more stress into my life.”

“You are so wise,” I say, sighing. “I was hoping you could help me.”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Someone on this floor called about a loud noise coming from a room, but I don’t have any idea what room it was.”

“Just call the front desk, honey.”

“Helen, I’m in charge of the front desk. Luis will kill me if I need a reminder.”

“Hmm…I’m afraid the only help I can give you is this.” She hands me a binder with the list of rooms. On the pages are checkmarks next to the rooms that have been cleaned. “Those rooms are clear. Take the binder with you, and maybe you’ll get a clue. I’d start in the middle. Bree and I have been cleaning from outside in this morning.”

“You’ve got to love having Bree on your floor now. She’s a great person.”

“Yes, very sweet, though odd taste in music.”

I just laugh. “I’ll get this binder back to you in a little bit. Thanks, Helen.” I give her a quick hug and set off for the noise hunt. Why didn’t I pay more attention to that stupid clipboard?

My phone dings, and I look at the screen.

Finn:
You missed your check-in.

Me:
Sorry. I’m fine. Hanging with Helen and Bree.

And, oh, by the way,
did you get Samantha pregnant two years ago?
I want to ask.

Finn:
Good. Luv u.

Me:
Luv u, too.

Sigh.

I glance from room to room using Helen’s list to mentally check off the rooms with the possible complaint, but I don’t have much luck narrowing down the problem room. I am about to return to Helen and give in and call Luis when I hear an argument on the other side of the door of room 910.

“I do not need a doctor! I tell you. It’s that God-awful noise that’s causing this migraine.” This is the easiest mystery I’ve ever solved, after all. I knock on the door. An older gentleman with gray hair and a salt and pepper colored mustache opens the door.

“Management is here!” he yells toward the woman in the room.

“Hello. My name is Reese Prentice. I understand you have a complaint about a noise coming from your room.”

“Thank goodness you are here,” says the portly old woman who joins her husband’s side. “It’s not a noise from our room. Heaven’s no. It’s coming through the vent.” She points toward a vent in the upper corner of the wall. I walk toward the wall as if it’s going to start supplying answers, and the closer I get, the louder the sound becomes, a high pitch dinging that goes on in equal intervals.
Ding…Ding…Ding.
Since I can’t even stand it when someone is chewing his food, I can see why this old lady is going mad from the repetitive high pitch wail next door.

“How long have you heard the noise?” I ask, walking back toward the front door and further from the sound.

“Since early this morning,” says the man. “Neither of us could get a good wink after it started—maybe around 5:00 or 6:00 a.m.”

“We called the front desk at 8:00, and we’ve been waiting all this time,” says the woman who identifies herself as Nina Brown. “I can’t take it one second more!”

I’m thinking,
Well, how come you didn’t just leave for a bit?
but instead I say, “Sorry for the trouble, folks. I am going to do some investigating. Please find yourself a nice cup of coffee in the café downstairs. I’ll call down so they will be expecting you. It’s on the lodge—our treat for your trouble.”