by Lyn Gardner
A distant sound caught her attention, and for a second, Judy thought it was a wind chime dangling on the porch of a neighbor’s house until she heard it again. She stepped closer to the edge of the porch and looking down the street, she saw a bicyclist towing a Burley with a neon green cover. Judy couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh, my God. She’s going to be soaked.”
There hadn’t been a day that had gone by since arriving on the island when Robin hadn’t learned something and today was no different. Today’s lesson was proper planning...or the lack thereof.
When Robin left the house that morning, she rode her beater bike to the dock, all the while enjoying the balmier-than-normal October temperature on the island. She locked up her bike and boarded the ferry, and a short time later she was on her way to Petoskey to do some shopping. She spent the morning buying paint and assorted sundries and then toured every furniture store in the area. With only her bedroom set and some odds and ends in storage, Robin browsed what was available, taking photos with her phone, jotting down measurements, and grabbing various brochures as she went. Robin loved to decorate, so when she boarded the ferry to come home, her spirits were up. When she reached the island...not so much.
She had just finished zipping the cover on the Burley when the deluge started, and before Robin was a block from the dock, she was soaked to the skin. By the time she rounded the corner at the end of Main Street, her jeans had shrunk a size, her hoodie had grown at least three, and her favorite pair of lace panties had turned themselves into a thong.
Robin squinted through the blackness as water cascaded down her face, and with no more street lights illuminating her way, she concentrated on the meager ray of light coming from the headlight on her bike. When she spotted the small gate leading to the Inn, she slowed to a crawl and maneuvered the Raleigh onto the path that ran between her house and the next. Stopping under a tree, Robin climbed off and flipped down the kickstand.
“You need help?”
There are many levels of fear. There’s the anxiety that can occur when viewing a thriller in a theater and the music begins to build. There’s the uneasiness that happens when the written word ignites imaginations to the point that locks on windows and doors need to be double-checked. There are phobias that can cause shivers to snake down spines for everything from spiders to clowns, and then there is the fear created from the unexpected. That one’s called terror.
Standing in practically total darkness with rain pouring down on her, Robin let out a scream so shrill and so loud, there was a good chance that it made it across the island. Her fight response told her to turn toward the danger, but as she spun to face the intruder, Robin’s flight response kicked in. She needed to run, and she needed to run now, but caught halfway between a pirouette and a sprint, Robin’s feet went out from under her, and she landed with a splat in the mud. “Fuck!”
Robin’s fear gave way to the muck oozing into her jeans, and she shot a look at the canary-coated stranger meant to cause instant death. When she realized it was Judy Dunnigan, in the blink of an eye, Robin was transported back in time, and she cowered like a teenager about to be reprimanded for her language…and then Robin blinked again. She wasn’t a child. She was an adult, and she was an adult who was now sitting in a puddle of mud because of the woman standing over her.
“You scared the shit out of me!” Robin bellowed. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
Judy opened her mouth to speak, but as she gazed down at the woman sitting up to her hips in a puddle, all that came out was laughter, lots and lots of laughter. Bending at the waist, Judy covered her mouth as she tried to rein in mirth that seemed to have no end.
For some, it is the coo of babies. For others, it is the sounds of Christmas carols sung by choirs high up in the lofts of drafty old churches, but up until that moment, Robin had never had a favorite sound. She did now, and she was prepared to sit in the puddle until spring just so she could listen to Judy’s laughter.
Judy gasped for air as she fought to get herself under control, but every time she opened her eyes and saw Robin on the ground, the hilarity hit her again. The sound of Robin’s shriek kept repeating in her head, and the sight of the bedraggled woman only made it worse. With the hood of her sweatshirt halfway down her face, Robin looked like something out of a horror movie.
After almost a minute, Judy stood straight and cleared her throat. “Are you okay?” she shouted over the rain.
“You know,” Robin said, taking a moment to look down at her soggy self before looking up again. “I’ve been better.”
Judy snorted as she held out her hand. “Let me help you up.”
“Thanks,” Robin said, and slipping her hand in Judy’s, she was on her feet a second later.
“I’m really sorry,” Judy said, raising her voice to be heard over the storm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t startle me. You scared the ever-living shit out of me,” Robin shouted back. “And now, not only am I wet, but I also have mud where there should never be mud.”
Judy looked down at the brown stain covering Robin’s posterior. “Oh, that cannot be comfortable.”
“It’s not. Trust me,” Robin said, and turning, she began to fumble with the zipper on the cover of the Burley with fingers now stiff from the cold and spattered with muck.
“Here, let me do that,” Judy said, stepping in front of Robin.
“I can do it.”
“I’m sure you can,” Judy said staring up at the chin peeking out from under the hood. “But I’m beginning to prune here, and you have mud in your...um...jeans. You really want to dawdle?”
Robin was about to argue, but when she shifted her stance, and a significant amount of mud shifted too, she changed her mind almost as quickly as her face distorted at the sensation. “Good point.”
It took three trips to empty the cargo hauler and the baskets on the bike, but ten minutes later, eight gallons of paint and six bags of brushes, rollers, and assorted household items were stacked just inside the front door of the Inn.
After placing the last bag atop the pile, Judy turned around, her eyes immediately drawn to the mud and water puddling at Robin’s feet. “You really need to get out of those clothes,” she said, pointing toward the back of the house. “Go get cleaned up and I’ll take care of this.”
Robin was about to argue, but when she pushed the hood off her head, a splash of water hit the floor. “Shit,” she said, looking at her feet. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I expect to be hearing that more often than not, just to let you know,” Judy said as she unzipped her jacket.
Robin scrunched up her face. “Huh?”
“That is...if your offer to run this place is still good.”
“Really?” Robin squeaked as a smile spread across her face.
“Yes, Robin,” Judy said, grinning as she hung up her coat. “Really.”
Chapter Eleven
Having worked at the Inn before, Judy knew that while Adele used a service for her linens, she had her own supply of towels. Once Robin went to change her clothes, Judy kicked off her shoes, rid herself of her vinyl rain suit and then ran upstairs to the laundry room on the second floor.
A few minutes later, Judy carried a stack of terrycloth back to the entrance hall and proceeded to wipe up the trail of water and mud that led all the way from the front door to Robin’s apartment. After making short work of the mess Robin had created, Judy tossed another towel near the coat tree to catch the water dripping from her rain jacket before going back upstairs.
Robin had the body to wear skinny jeans, but as she yanked, tugged, and stumbled around the bathroom trying to pull the denim down over her damp legs, she swore she’d never buy another pair again. If her shower had been in working order, she would have been in and out of the bathroom in record time, but baths take longer, especially when the first lasted only a few minutes before Robin needed to drain the brown water and replace it with clear.
Fort
y-five minutes after dashing into the bathroom, Robin dashed back out with her hair clean, her clothes, dry, and her socked feet still not touching the floor. She rushed into her kitchen and snagging two glasses, a bottle of wine, and a folder off the counter, Robin exited the apartment only to stop as soon as she reached the other kitchen. The oak flooring was shiny and dry with not a drop of water or speck of mud anywhere in sight. With a heavy sigh, Robin headed toward the entry, reaching it just as Judy came down the stairs.
“You didn’t have to clean it all up,” Robin said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I could have done it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Judy said with a wave of her hand. “I put everything in one of the washers upstairs, but you’ll need to remember to get it into the dryer later.”
“I can do that,” Robin said, nodding. “Speaking of washers and dryers, do you have any idea why there’s another set in the basement? It seems to me to be a little overkill. Don’t you think?”
“Not really,” Judy said, shaking her head. “True, this is your home, but it’s also a B&B, and you lugging your dirty laundry through the house doesn’t exactly fit the mood we’re trying to set for our guests.”
Stuck on the word our, it took Robin a moment to respond. “Oh, yeah. Good point.”
“And just to let you know, we will have the occasional guest thinking they can use the washers and dryers, so, during the season, the door is kept locked for that reason.”
“Why would they think that? You can’t do it in hotels.”
Judy smiled at her employer’s naiveté. “Are you planning to offer me a glass of that?” Judy said, pointing to the bottle in Robin’s hand.
“Yes. Would you like some?”
“After the day I’ve had? Most definitely,” Judy said, gesturing toward the pocket doors. “Parlor work for you?”
Robin grinned. “I’m right behind you.”
A minute later, curled up in opposite corners of the sofa, both women sipped their Cabernet, taking time to savor the earthiness and tannins of the dark ruby wine. As Judy breathed in the aroma, she noticed Robin seemed to be staring at her socks. “Um, I hope you don’t mind,” Judy said, unconsciously wiggling her toes. “My boots were soaked, and I didn’t want to track mud through the house.”
Robin didn’t mind. Robin didn’t mind one little bit. While she had no fetishes, kinks, or quirks, the sight of Judy’s toes moving inside gray and orange socks affected Robin in a way she hadn’t expected. Her body tingled, her stomach fluttered, and adulthood went right out the window.
“No,” Robin said, snapping up her head. “No, not at all. Totally understandable. I mean, I’m wearing socks, why can’t you? Right? Personally, I really like moccasins, but I need to get a new pair. I have to add that to my list. Come to think of it, I’ll probably just get a couple of pairs, so I always have them.”
Robin watched as Judy’s eyebrow arched, confirming what Robin already knew. She had prattled on like an idiot...again.
“So,” Robin said, pausing to take a quick gulp of her drink. “You mentioned having a bad day?”
Judy’s mind had drifted while Robin had been babbling, but rubbing the back of her neck, Judy got herself back on track. “Oh...um...no, not really a bad day, it was just a slow one. Right now, I’m working at Brushstrokes. It’s an art gallery up on Market Street. The owners, Walt and Sally Ford, leave the island during the winter, so it’s time to sort, clean, and inventory everything before it gets packed up and stored. I love Walt and Sally to death. They’re super people, but they’re both approaching eighty, so they move a little slow, and they’re kind of set in their ways. They came in this morning to help me with the process, but every time I cleaned something, Sally needed to clean it again, and every time I inventoried something, Walt had to check it, and then Sally had to check him because she didn’t think he was doing it right,” Judy said, snickering. “It made for a very long day.”
“Well, from what I’ve read, that probably won’t happen around here.”
Judy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “It sounds like someone’s been Googling again.”
Robin smiled and reached for the folder she had set on the coffee table. “I figured whether you accepted my offer or not, I should at least be a little better prepared than I was the last time you were here,” she said, and pulling out some papers, she shifted closer to Judy.
“What’s all this?” Judy said, staring at the colorful spreadsheets in Robin’s hands.
“I’ve been doing research on the other B&Bs on the island.”
“Didn’t Adele keep records?”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t figure out her filing system, and everything I saw was a few years old, so instead I checked out the room rates of our competition and what they offer guests versus what we could offer,” Robin said, handing Judy the papers.
“Wow,” Judy said, looking at all the data. “You’ve obviously done your homework.”
“I guesstimated using their rates as a baseline, and these are the numbers I came up with for us, adjusting them up and down depending on the size, location, and amenities in each room. Using higher rates for the months that are busier and lower ones for the slower part of the season, the number I highlighted at the bottom is what I think we could pull in, in a year.”
Judy took her time as she glanced from one chart to the next, and as she studied the numbers, she found herself becoming excited. It wasn’t due to the amount of money the Inn could make, but rather the depth of Robin’s analysis. Her notes were clear. Her assumptions were sound, and Judy was duly impressed. “You’ve got a good business sense.”
“I’m basically winging it,” Robin said, grinning.
“Well, keep it up,” Judy said, placing the papers on the table. “I mean, we still have a lot to look into, but this gives us a great starting point.”
“And speaking of starting points, I wasn’t exactly sure what you wanted as a salary, but what I’m thinking is that the profits from the first year would be split three ways. One part will be for you. One part will be for the house to cover all the expenses, and one part will be for me. I know you’re going to be basically running this place once the season starts and you deserve more, but the Inn needs some work, and this will help me recoup what I’m going to be spending this winter to get things in order. After that, I’d increase your share and reduce mine. Hopefully, that’ll be okay with you. If not, we can—”
“Robin, stop rambling,” Judy said with a laugh. “I honestly hadn’t even thought about a salary until now, but trust me, this is a hell of a lot more than I was making at the gallery.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” Judy said, and after taking a sip of wine, she thought about what they had just talked about. “Of course, this is all conjecture until we can take a look at Adele’s records. Even when she was out sick, she handled all the finances, so I can’t tell you if you’re close or not until we can take a look at that stuff.”
“Well, wanna go take a look?”
Judy glanced at her watch. It was almost ten, and she needed to work the next day, but suddenly that didn’t seem significant. “Sure, let’s go.”
***
Having aired out her apartment and most of the ground floor, when they walked into Adele’s office, Robin noticed the difference immediately. Without a window to allow in fresh air, the mustiness of the room had been trapped behind the closed door, and while a ceiling fan dangled above their heads, the amount of dust on the blades stopped Robin from turning it on.
“Where do you want to start?” Robin said.
“I think for now we should just see what’s in these and go from there,” Judy said, and walking over, she opened the top drawer of the first of three filing cabinets.
For the next hour, Judy browsed through the cabinets, and it didn’t take long for her to agree with what Robin had said. When it came to a filing system, it didn’t appear Adele ever had one, but what she lacked in order, she more than made up f
or in paperwork. The first cabinet overflowed with receipts for everything Adele had purchased, leased, or had repaired since purchasing the Inn, along with the stub of all the utility bills paid over the years. The next was filled with accounting journals, guest books, and employee records, and the last held a hodgepodge of out-of-date business licenses, insurance information, and bank statements.
While Judy perused the files, Robin was having a hard time doing the same. The Inn belonged to her now and this room, like every other, was hers to do with what she wanted, but the innkeeper’s suite had been empty. Void of whatever life had lived there, it had been easy for Robin to open and close cabinets, and clean away the dust and dirt, but standing in the middle of her aunt’s office, she felt like an intruder. Was Adele the last person who had ever opened one of those filing cabinets? Was she the last person who had ever sat at the desk or a hung a key on the board affixed to the wall? Going over, Robin looked at the keys dangling from the L-shaped hooks jutting out from the plywood. In her haste to find the ones fitting the locks on the window seats, she didn't really pay much attention to the room names neatly printed above each hook or the anchor-shaped fob attached to each key, and now it pained her to do so. It was all so neat and orderly, exactly like Robin would have done it if the Inn had been hers. Everything had a place, and everything was in its place...yet everything wasn’t here.
With a sigh, Robin slipped into the chair behind the desk, the leather groaning as she sunk into its softness. The blotter centered in front of her had seen better days, its mocha felt center showing a half-dozen stains left behind by wet glasses, and the leather corners were cracked and worn. Tucked into one of them were a few business cards and pulling them out, Robin read the names of dock porters, grocery stores, and maintenance people, most likely all having serviced the Safe Harbor Inn at one time or another. An empty coffee mug sat off to the side, and picking it up, Robin looked inside, hoping it wouldn’t contain remnants of a long-forgotten drink. Thankfully, the white ceramic was stained with only ink and pencil, and Robin smiled to herself. She used mugs the same way, too.
