by CeeCee James
“Yes, sir. You’ve got it, sir. I’ll tell the staff to be on their toes,” I answered.
His response was gruff. “I’m counting on you, Maisie. If anything were to happen to our rating, there is a possibility there will be cutbacks in the staff.”
“No worries, sir. We’ve got this.” My voice was confident, but my insides quaked.
He hung up. I wasn’t sure he even heard my reply. Sighing, I flipped on the computer and sent the heads of my staff a message to gather for an emergency meeting in an hour.
A red alert for an email message blinked at me. I opened it to see it was from Julie Jenkins, the head of our housekeeping, with a complaint about some coffee pot issue. There was another from Sierra asking if she should put suite 359 back into rotation. Apparently, the guest who’d reserved it for three days hadn’t shown up. I rubbed my cheek and then set up an appointment to talk with Julie straight after the meeting, and then advised Sierra to give the guest until three o’clock today.
It had already been a busy morning with just those few fires to put out. But nothing had happened that was too out of the ordinary.
Or so I thought.
An hour later, the heads of staff had gathered in the meeting hall, along with any other employees who could attend.
I walked to the front and put on my best cheerleader/confident leader smile. “Okay, everyone. I’m setting you all on alert. Mr. Phillips heard through the grapevine that we’re about to have an extra special guest.”
The room started buzzing with talk. I spotted a couple of the new girls in the back whispering with huge grins on their faces. I’m sure they were picturing ‘extra special’ as a celebrity.
But a senior worker standing next to them shook her head. Most of the employees had been here long enough to know exactly what ‘extra special’ meant.
“That’s right.” I clasped my hands before me. “A hotel critic.” Groans sounded off around the room. I pushed through them. “So, as we know all too well, extra special means extra attention, extra service, and extra work. You guys can handle this with your eyes closed, but this is just a reminder to please pay attention to every detail over the next few days. After all, we pride ourselves on our rating, right? We know we’re worth it, and we will continue to prove it. Any questions?”
There were a few raised hands. I quickly fielded through them and then dismissed the group with a little more cheerleading.
As everyone filtered out of the room, I waved at Julie to come over to talk with me. The little woman walked up, her lips pressed together into two grim lines. She tried to smile, but the smile never reached her eyes.
Normally, this housekeeper was an abundant source of joyous energy that I’d previously only witnessed in a Disney cartoon, and I was concerned.
“You okay?” I asked.
Julie shrugged.
Right. Super convincing. “What’s going on? Anything I can do to help?”
“Ms. Swenson, we’re having a problem with the bed sheets. They’re getting ruined, and we’re losing them left and right. Also, there must be a popular new video going around online about hotel hacks.”
“Disappearing bed sheets? Hotel hacks? What do you mean?”
“I’m telling you, in the last two days, I’ve had to scrub out over twenty-three coffee pots. Guests are using them to make ramen noodles. Eggs even!” She sighed and groaned out, “They’ve even been using the irons to cook bacon. You have no idea the amount of grease I’ve seen.” Her mouth slanted pitifully.
My eyebrows rose. I shouldn’t be surprised after everything I’d seen, but I was. “You’re kidding me.”
“No! I wish I was. If these people want a kitchen, they should rent a room with a kitchen.” She crossed her arms.
I rubbed my temples as imagined complaints of freshly ironed, bacon-scented clothes ping-ponged in my head. And that was nothing compared to what I’d hear if the guest’s coffee tasted like ramen noodles. Heaven forbid if you messed with a person’s morning coffee.
Better not mess with mine.
Well, it was a good excuse for me to push for Mr. Phillips to switch the hotel over to those single serve coffee pod machines. Not only would it end misuse of the decanters, but those machines made a pretty good cup of coffee.
But trying to modernize the hotel was always a slow business. I could practically see dollar signs ringing in Mr. Phillips’ pupils whenever I brought up improvements, as he added up the cost.
I reassured Julie that I’d take care of it, and she left the conference room. Rubbing my neck, I headed back to my office, where I started my daily tasks of checking on the guest requests, revamping work schedules for my hotel staff, and itemizing hotel merchandise that needed to be ordered. I ordered more bed sheets and then started drafting a letter to Mr. Phillips concerning the coffee pots.
It was after two, and I’d just thought about maybe stopping to get a late lunch when my phone buzzed. It was from Sierra and it simply said—Code Blue.
Chapter 3
Code Blue already? That meant the hotel critic was at the front desk checking in earlier than normal. But guests could request that with their reservation. I hurried from my office and smoothed down my skirt, trying to appear casual as I glanced down the guests in line waiting.
Ah. It must be that woman standing in front of Clarissa. Thin, in her upper forties, the woman had a nose so sharp it looked like the edge of a sheer mountain crag. The woman’s hair was cut in an old pageboy style with thick bangs, and an oversize baby-pink colored leather purse sat on the counter next to her. She wore sunglasses as she addressed Clarissa.
I never understood why people wore sunglasses indoors.
“Exactly where is my room?” the woman asked, her voice loud and demanding. “It’s not above the pool, is it? Your website didn’t make that clear.”
“The north tower does not overlook the pool,” Clarissa reassured with a sweet smile.
“Well, I hope the view isn’t of the parking lot. Tell me, is it of the parking lot?”
Clarissa glanced down at the screen. “I do believe it’s at the far end of our parking lot. It also happens to give a glimpse of the Starke Springs park.”
“No, I absolutely can’t abide that. Can’t you change the room? I abhor parking lots.”
Clarissa’s fingers flew over the keyboard with mad tapping. After a second, she said with a sympathetic tone, “I’m sorry. I don’t think we have a room comparable to what you’ve reserved. I’m afraid the hotel is booked at the moment, but if there are any cancellations—”
“Honestly, you call yourselves a five-star hotel?” The woman’s voice rose.
I sailed in behind the desk to stand near Clarissa for support. The receptionist looked at me with a worried frown. “Ms. Swenson, do you think you might be able to do something here?”
With a firm smile both at Clarissa and the woman, I asked, “How can I help?”
The woman looked at me with pursed lips. She took in my business attire and realized who I was. Her spine stiffened with validation.
Clarissa introduced us. “This is Mrs. Devin Richardson, and…”
Mrs. Richardson interrupted her. “I’m trying to get a room that doesn’t overlook the parking lot, but it appears they’ve all been taken. However, your website doesn’t state the views of the room when I reserved it.”
Our website did show rooms with a view, which were clearly laid out in the preference section of choices. Of course, those rooms came at a premium price as well.
“Let’s see what we have.” I sent her another smile and moved the keyboard slightly in my direction. I knew Clarissa had already done this, but sometimes the guests didn’t believe the receptionist and made me give them the same news. Clarissa took a step back to allow me a bit of room.
Sure enough, after typing for a few moments, I could only confirm what Clarissa had already said. The only remaining rooms were on the side of the hotel that the critic was trying to get away from.
> Mrs. Richardson tapped a manicured nail against the counter and leaned back, clearly growing impatient. I caught a glimpse of a hotel review card poking from the inside pocket of her jacket and quickly made up my mind. I scrolled through the suites. Room 359 that Sierra had asked about earlier still showed up as vacant. I bit my lip trying to decide.
The taps on the counter increased.
I smiled at her. “Good news. We can upgrade you to suite 359, on the thirty-first floor. It overlooks the state park and even gives you a peek-a-boo glimpse of the ocean.”
“Peek-a-boo.” The woman sniffed and opened her purse. Out came a small notebook where she jotted something with a silver pen. She put it away and smiled back. “That sounds fine.”
I moved to allow Clarissa control of the keyboard. The receptionist typed in the reservation and then slid over the room key.
“I hope you enjoy your stay,” I said. “If you need anything else, please let me know. I’m here twenty-four hours a day.”
“I’ll be ringing you if I have any problems, have no doubt about that.” Mrs. Richardson exited the line and walked to the elevator. Her bag, a small one, was already in the hands of one of our bellhops.
I pulled the front of my shirt away. That woman had me sweating already.
The rest of the day passed by easily enough, ending with a quiet night back in my suite. In fact, I’d just settled into my bed with my newest book—a mystery I’d treated myself to for my birthday—when I got another phone call. I rolled over and grabbed it from the nightstand. It was Lisa, our night clerk.
“Ms. Swenson? Sorry to disturb you. Can you please call Mr. Dayton? He’s insisting on speaking to you personally. He sounded quite perturbed.”
“Of course, Lisa. Thanks for letting me know.” I hung up and dialed his room number. What was going on with this man? Was he having delusions again? I glanced at the clock—nine p.m.—and realized I hadn’t heard from any of the guards, which meant Mr. Dayton most likely hadn’t left his room all day.
The phone rang and rang.
No answer.
What in the world? I glanced at my closet. I’m going to have to get dressed and run up there, aren’t I?
The phone was answered with a gasp. “Hello?”
“Mr. Dayton?”
“Yes.” His voice quavered.
“Hi, there. My receptionist informed me that you wanted a call. Is everything okay?”
There was a long pause on the other end. What on earth was going on?
“I wouldn’t say okay,” he finally said.
Something was very wrong. I jumped out of bed and grabbed a pair of pants. “I’ll be right up. Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
“No!” He yelled, his fear-stricken voice cutting through the receiver like a blade. “No. Don’t call anyone. I’m … okay. But please come up.”
I swallowed and slipped on my shoes. The phone felt tacky in my sweating palm. “I’m on my way. Is there anything you need?”
“No. Just you.” The phone cut off.
Well, there was no way it was going to be “just me” going up there. My spider sense was tingling. Something was going on. I called security.
Mike answered again. He’d already been home all day and was starting a new night shift.
“Hey, can you meet me at the elevator? I need to go up to room 360.”
“Still problems with that Dayton guy? Security said he was quiet all day. What’s going on?”
“I just spoke with him on the phone and he sounded really off. It’s probably nothing but I want to be prepared.”
“Yeah, you got it. I’ll meet you at the elevator.”
We hung up, and I finished dressing. I slipped the phone into my pocket and a lanyard that held the all room pass-key over my head. Then, quietly I shut the bedroom door and tip-toed down the hall, hoping not to disturb Momma. She had ears like a bat.
The floor squeaked, and I froze.
“Maisie?” Momma called from her room. Her voice was a tinge higher with concern. “What’s going on, darlin’?”
“Nothing, Momma. Just going to help one of the guests who needs some assistance.”
“At this time of night?”
I smiled. Momma always went to bed at eight-thirty on account of her needing beauty sleep. I peeked into Momma’s bedroom.
Bingo was on the bed, the dog’s snout inches from Momma’s face. The blankets were tucked around the Basset Hound, and one of Bingo’s crocodile paws rested on the pillow. He was snoring, lip flaps quivering.
There was a time when I used to nag at Momma for letting the dog on the bed because of the dangers to Bingo’s spine. But Momma had shot that argument down with a Pinterest craft; a set of stairs made out of an old crate so the dog could climb up and down safely.
She stared at me now with dark beady eyes. “Is it a man or a woman?”
“What?”
“The guest that wants you to go tromping up there at this time of night. Man or woman?”
“It’s a man.”
“Well, you be careful, now. He might have been tipping back a few and decide he wants a certain kind of company.” She raised a nonexistent eyebrow. With her makeup scrubbed off, her eyebrows went with it.
“Momma, I’m thirty-five. Trust me, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”
She harrumphed and flopped over. “You may think you’re so high and mighty, but you’re my baby and I’ll always worry.”
I smiled. “Love you too, Momma.”
“You just check in with me when you get back. I won’t get a wink of beauty sleep while you’re gone. And I sure need it because tomorrow is game night and Mr. Carmichael will be there. And so will Tawny Myers. That woman’s been setting her eyes on him, I swear. I noticed she’s changed her hair color to an awful shade of red. And positively bathing in White Musk.” She fretted at the sheet.
“Momma, you don’t have a thing to worry about. Tawny has nothing on you. Get some sleep. I’ll be back in a little while. And as for the hotel guest, I’m bringing Mike up to the room for added security.” The inward jokester sparked then and I couldn’t resist adding, “But maybe you should think about buying some White Musk.”
Momma rolled back over with an indignant, “Louisa Mae Marigold Swenson!” Bingo opened one eye at being disturbed.
I laughed. “I’m just kidding. You’re beautiful, and you know it.”
She relaxed back on the pillow. “And you’re a petal off the ol’ flower.”
I smiled as I shut her door. That woman cracked me up. I was lucky to have her as my mom.
It was still noisy in the foyer as families returned for the night and couples left to take in the nightlife. Mike stood outside the elevator, his big shoulders back. He caught the eye and nodded at a young lady. She returned his smile and sauntered over to him.
Inwardly, I groaned. I really didn’t want to catch him flirting with one of our guests. That was something Mr. Phillips was a stickler about, and with the owner’s threats about letting the staff go, I wasn’t taking any chances. I hurried over, my heels clacking loudly.
Mike glanced in my direction and the easy smile fell off his face as it morphed into a professional expression.
The young lady was confused until she turned and saw me. “So, I’ll talk to you later, Mike.” She giggled.
“Yes, Miss Clark,” he said in a clipped tone.
She strolled away, hips swaying.
“Well, then, Mike,” I said, one eyebrow raised.
He flushed guiltily and cleared his throat. “Ms. Swenson,” he said.
“What’s Mr. Phillips’ rule about fraternizing with the guests?” I pushed the elevator button.
“Absolutely not, under any circumstances.”
I didn’t respond, letting my silence do the talking for me.
“She, uh, she needed help getting a taxi and, uh…”
“Under no circumstances,” I echoed back to him.
“Yes, ma’am,”
he said, his head drooping.
The doors opened with a ding, and we entered. I punched in the numbers for the thirty-first floor and glanced at Mike again. He gave me a cheesy grin and a shrug, to which I rolled my eyes.
Chapter 4
The elevator door clunked just before it opened, making my eyebrows shoot up. Mike and I headed out. The plush carpet stifled our footfalls. The air was thick with the scent of carpet freshener that the staff used every other day.
“Now, I want you to remain calm. Mr. Dayton might be having another episode,” I warned.
Mike’s jaw clenched as he seemed to prepare himself for what may lay ahead. We stopped outside room 360, and I firmly knocked.
No answer. I glanced at Mike and rapped hard on the door again. Mike shifted next to me as my hand automatically went to the lanyard around my neck. Was I going to have to unlock the door?
The door opened a crack. The heavy brass ball clanged as it slid to the end of the metal hasp.
“Mr. Dayton? It’s me, Ms. Swenson.”
A blue eye appeared at the door, surrounded by a mop of gray hair. Mr. Dayton sucked in his breath when he caught sight of Mike.
“No, he’s fine,” I hurriedly reassured the guest. “This is Mike, and he’s hotel security. I wanted to bring him based on your earlier concerns.”
Mr. Dayton licked his bottom lip and then the door shut. I stood there, unsure of what was going to happen next. Then a clicking sounded, and the door swung open. Mr. Dayton stepped back to let us in. He had on dark blue sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt. His rumpled appearance seemed to point to him just waking up.
“Someone was in here,” he whispered hoarsely.
His tone spooked me slightly. I glanced around. The suite was dark with the only a soft glow coming from a nightlight in the closet alcove and the light spilling in from the hallway.
“In here?” I repeated.
“Yes. While I was sleeping.”
