Grand Hotel

by Mary Davis

  “That’s all right, muffin. These things take time.”

  But she was almost out of time. She would need to check out of this room tomorrow. And if she couldn’t slip past the watchful eye of Dillon Thurough, she wasn’t going to have any more success tomorrow.

  “What Granddad left may not even still be there. Someone else could have found it years ago. As I said, it is enough that you truly believe.”

  Nonie’s words were brave, but Aimee knew deep down her grandma really wanted the treasure to be found. Exactly why, she wasn’t sure. Nonie was always worried about medical expenses. Aimee was sure that was the driving force behind Nonie’s talk of dying. She didn’t want to be a burden to her loved ones any longer. Nonie probably wanted the treasure to help pay for her medical bills, as well, but would it even be anything of value to anyone outside the family? Outside her and Nonie?

  Aimee had to admit that the nursing home was expensive. Nonie’s Social Security and Medicare didn’t cover everything, and coming up with the additional money was a challenge at times.

  “You take as much time as you need, muffin.”

  See, there it was in her voice, as well as her words. It really did matter to Nonie if the treasure was found. Just believing wasn’t all she wanted. The problem was, she couldn’t take as much time as she needed. Time was her enemy. . .and Dillon Thurough. “You obey the doctors, or I’m coming home right this instant.”

  “I will.”

  “I love you, Nonie.”

  “I love you, too, muffin.”

  Aimee hung up the phone. How much did it cost to make long-distance calls from a hotel room? She called the front desk and requested the amount. She didn’t want to be surprised in the morning.

  What she needed was a plan. A plan for how she could avoid Dillon, find what she came for, and get it out of the hotel without anyone seeing her. And if Dillon did see her, she would have to go to the wedding because he would likely dog her until she arrived safely and was seated. But if she could keep out of Dillon’s sight, then the wedding would be the perfect opportunity to search. A lot of the staff, including Dillon, would be occupied with the event. Or maybe if the Lord were willing, Dillon would have the day off. It would be Sunday, after all. The hotel couldn’t work him all the time. And since it would be Sunday, she would start the day off with church. That little stone church near the hotel would be great; then she wouldn’t be far from her destination. And she could ask the Lord to keep Dillon occupied.

  Three

  Dillon rolled over in bed, punched his pillow down for the tenth time, and dropped his head back onto it. The clock read 2:43. He needed sleep. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Aimee’s smiling face drifted through his thoughts. He could picture her going in and out of every room. This was no use. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, raking his hands through his hair. She was not roaming around the hotel. He had to make himself believe that. He still couldn’t convince his brain to accept the fact.

  He dressed and headed over to the hotel. If he could just see with his own eyes that she wasn’t snooping around, then maybe he could sleep. He just had this feeling she was up to something, but she hadn’t done anything that he would really call wrong. Still, his gut told him there was something more to Aimee than met the eye.

  He walked the hotel from top to bottom. He strolled down the hall he’d found her in several times and filled his lungs with a cleansing breath. She wasn’t here. Once back in the lobby, his insides jumped. A blond stood, waiting for the elevator and leaning on a man’s arm. Aimee?

  He strode toward the elevator and reached it as the couple stepped onto it and turned. He sucked in a quick breath. It wasn’t her.

  The man held his hand on the door. “You going up?”

  Dillon shook his head and let the door close. He had finally lost it. He was chasing shadows at three in the morning. She’s not here. Go home.

  Lord, help me forget about her and sleep.

  He finally fell asleep around four.

  He rolled over and pried one eye open, then sprang out of bed an hour late. How could he have slept through his alarm? Church was just about to begin. He took a two-minute shower, popped in his contacts, and chugged a small bottle of cranberry juice on his walk to the church. He’d be late, but not so late as to miss the entire service. And he needed to be in the Lord’s house this morning more than ever, to prepare himself for the day ahead—a day of keeping one eye on Aimee and the other on taking care of all the arrangements for the wedding and reception to follow. He needed this small respite that church provided before. . .Aimee.

  Today would be challenging enough with the wedding arrangements without throwing in the suspicious Aimee and very little sleep. He would make it through on one prayer at a time. Lord, help me to focus on You and not on how I’m going to locate Aimee once I get to the hotel. You know where she is. Please keep her out of trouble.

  He sat in the last pew just in time to bow his head for the opening prayer after the singing. He always enjoyed the singing, but he hadn’t missed the meat of the service. He stared at the woman’s wavy blond hair in front of him. It was oddly familiar.

  Aimee.

  He smiled to himself. Well, at least now he could focus on the sermon and not wonder what she was up to. Thank You, Lord. She was in church on her vacation, which had to say something positive about her character.

  ❧

  After the closing prayer, Aimee stood up from the pew. The service had been very nice. She sent up a thankful prayer to the Lord. It had been just what she needed to clear her head of worry.

  “Aimee?”

  She rolled her eyes and tried not to sigh audibly at the sound of Dillon’s voice. She would shake him loose from her, even if she had to be rude to do it. She spun with a smile to face him. Her pink floral lace dress swished around her ankles. “Dillon.”

  “Fancy seeing you here.”

  Had he followed her here to keep an eye on her?

  He smiled, and his dimples pulled into his cheeks.

  How could she be rude to him with those cute dimples? “I don’t like to miss a Sunday.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Good morning, Dillon.”

  Dillon turned to an elderly woman in her sixties with her silver white hair combed away from her face and curled under, just below her ears. “Good morning to you, too, Mrs. Mayhew. As always, you look beautiful.” Next to the woman stood Henry, the doorman from the hotel.

  “Thank you.” She tipped her head, then turned to Aimee. “You must introduce me to your young lady.” The woman held her hand out to her.

  Aimee shook her hand. “Aimee Mikkelson. I’m not his young lady. We just ran into each other here.”

  “I’m Constance Mayhew.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She turned to Henry. “And good morning to you, Henry.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Miss Mikkelson.”

  “Oh, please call me Aimee.”

  Constance gave her an indulging smile, then turned back to Dillon. “I was concerned when you weren’t in the service on time. I was afraid you might have come down with something, the way you work so hard.”

  Well, that ruled out him following her. He obviously attended this church regularly. Just her misfortune to choose his church. But it was nice to know he was dedicated.

  Dillon held a worn study Bible in one hand. “No need to worry. I merely overslept.”

  “Because you work too hard.”

  This seemed like a good time to leave. “I’m going to head out. It was nice meeting you, Constance. Henry, I’ll probably see you at the hotel.”

  “I have Sundays and Wednesdays off, so I won’t be at the hotel today.”

  “Well, bye then.” She picked up her purse, but before she could pick up her camera bag, Dillon slung the bag’s strap over his shoulder. “I’ll walk with you.” He escorted her out and toward the hotel.

  Why did he have to be so nice? The guilt twisted t
ighter. Yes, Lord, I could tell him the truth, but it’s just so much harder now. Maybe she could do something nice for him in return. But what? Any suggestions, Lord?

  They reached the hotel entrance, and a young carrottopped doorman opened the door. She had seen him working as a bell-hop yesterday.

  “Thank you, Kevin.” Dillon stepped aside for her to enter first.

  She nodded to Kevin. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, Mr. Thurough,” Kevin said. “One of the mothers from the wedding party was looking for you. She seemed really frazzled.”

  Aimee grimaced. That sounded like trouble.

  “Excuse me.” Dillon handed her the camera bag and strode across the lobby to a large middle-aged woman in a mint green beaded dress standing at the front desk.

  Here was her chance to lose Dillon for the day. But something drew her toward the turmoil in which Dillon was trapped.

  As she approached, Dillon was holding his hands out as if to pat down the woman’s anxiety. “What exactly is the problem, Mrs. Whitehall?”

  “Madison’s cousin Sherry was going to do Madison’s hair. She does it up in this twist that is so flattering on Madison. But, three days before the wedding, Sherry goes rollerblading with her children and breaks one wrist and sprains the other. I didn’t even make the connection until yesterday that she couldn’t do Maddy’s hair. What was she doing skating so close to the wedding?”

  Aimee watched Dillon’s face pinch together. He seemed to be having a hard time following her. “We sent up a hairdresser to take care of the problem.”

  Mrs. Whitehall continued, “Who didn’t speak a lick of English.”

  “She’s supposed to be very good.”

  Mrs. Whitehall was quite distressed. “But she can’t understand what we want and was doing something entirely different. I sent her away.”

  Dillon took a deep breath. “There is no need for alarm. I’ll call the salon and have another hairstylist sent up.”

  Mrs. Whitehall took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  “Wait here, and I’ll make the call.” Dillon walked over to the front desk and picked up the phone.

  Dillon was good at his job. He didn’t panic or get upset or tell Mrs. Whitehall she was freaking out over nothing. He patiently listened to her dilemma and set out to solve it calmly.

  Dillon hung up the phone and came back. “Mrs. Whitehall, Carole will be up to your suite in ten minutes.”

  “She speaks English?”

  “As well as you or I.”

  Mrs. Whitehall let out a heavy sigh. “Thank you.” Then she glanced at Aimee and back to Dillon. “Is this your other photographer? Maddy is so happy she’s taking additional pictures. Is she available to come up to our suite to take before and after shots?”

  Aimee sucked in a soft, quick breath. Oops. Mrs. Whitehall was asking the wrong person, so she chimed in before Dillon could respond. “I’d be happy to.”

  Mrs. Whitehall smiled. “We’re in the Jacqueline Kennedy Suite.”

  “I’ll come with you now, if that’s all right?” It was probably best if she didn’t hang around for Dillon to ask questions. Besides, she had said she would take pictures and that she would make good on her fib, so now she must atone for her sin. She had no one to blame but herself for her troubles.

  She followed Mrs. Whitehall into the suite and onto the navy blue carpet with gold Presidential eagles woven into it. This room was decorated differently from the other two she’d been in, but it did remind her of the first lady it was named after—classy and regal.

  “Maddy, we have a new stylist coming up. . .and look who I found.”

  Maddy disengaged herself from the fray of women, skipped across the room, and hugged Aimee, then introduced the bridesmaids, Kathy, Debbie, Jessi, Laura, Anna, and the matron-of-honor Genie, short for Eugenia. Each of them was armed with a disposable camera. “Take pictures of everything,” Maddy said with a wave of her arm.

  “But it looks like everyone here has a camera. What do you need me for?”

  “No one person can be everywhere. You will see things no one else does. I want oodles of pictures to choose from. Besides, you’re a professional.”

  How did she figure that? “I wouldn’t call myself a professional.” She did like to take pictures though. “What about the groom? Won’t you be short on pictures of him?”

  “I gave my brother ten cameras. Those guys better be taking pictures.”

  Who was she to argue with the bride? She snapped pictures of the friends interacting and teasing each other. And later, when they all would leave for the ceremony, Aimee would hang back at the hotel. Carole managed to arrange Maddy’s hair in a way she liked, even with four people giving her different instructions.

  When the bridesmaids prepared to leave to ride in the first coach, Aimee said, “I’ll take off now, too.”

  Maddy grabbed her arm. “You can’t. I need you to take a picture of Mom putting on my veil and me getting into the carriage. And getting out of the carriage.”

  This girl wanted every minute of the day recorded on film. “Won’t the other photographer be taking those pictures?” And it might be best if Aimee left before he arrived.

  “He’s already at the church getting shots of my Huey and the other guys.”

  “Then I can snap a few pictures of your mom pinning on your veil and you getting into the carriage. But I’m sure the other photographer will get several of you stepping out of the carriage.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he will. And you can ride with us and take pictures in the carriage.”

  She tried to back out, but Maddy refused to take no for an answer. Aimee refrained from sighing audibly and resigned herself to no other choice but to attend the wedding of strangers.

  Aimee sat in the back of the church and watched Madison Whitehall and Huey Dodson exchange marriage vows. It was a nice wedding, even if she didn’t know anybody. This was where lying had gotten her. She was now occupied during the only time she had to search for Nonie’s inheritance—because of her lie. The very thing that had enabled her to get inside the hotel was keeping her from searching.

  Thou shalt not lie.

  She glanced heavenward. I’ve learned my lesson.

  Four

  Late that evening, Dillon breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Aimee walk to the end of the porch and onto Cadotte Avenue. Another day survived. It had been a challenge to keep an eye on her and see that everything went smoothly for the Dodson-Whitehall reception.

  Aimee was almost out of sight when he remembered he had wanted to ask her if she was returning tomorrow. It wasn’t anything personal; he just wanted to be prepared. Not that there was really any way to prepare for Aimee. She just sort of happened—like a hurricane.

  He hurriedly followed her. She cut back onto the hotel grounds. What was she doing? And why was she going this way? He followed her along the path in the thick trees between the hotel and the south shore of the island, past the bike shack; then she headed away from the hotel. She stepped several paces off the path and crouched down.

  At first, he couldn’t see what she was doing, but he was sure he heard a thick zipper; then he saw what looked like a suitcase lid flipped open. What was she doing? He stepped closer until he was at the edge of the path. Any closer and he’d be crunching dead undergrowth and give away his presence. Another zipper and lid. He could see now that she was crouched in front of two suitcases.

  She shouldn’t be here at this time of night. “What are you doing?”

  She stood, spinning around to face him, and the skirt of her pink lacy dress swished around her. Her eyes rounded. Then she smiled. “Isn’t this a nice surprise?”

  Surprise? Yes. Nice? He doubted it.

  She stepped sideways, putting herself between him and a view of her suitcases. “What brings you out here?”

  “You. Are you staying out here?” He made a sweeping motion with his hand to encompass the wooded area.

  She stepped toward him. “Can we
talk about this?”

  “I thought you had a room at one of the other lodging establishments on the island. You implied you did. Have you been sleeping out here?”

  Her expression turned sheepish. “I had a room up until this morning, and then I had to check out. I’m just not ready to leave this wonderful place. I want to stay a couple more days.”

  “Out here?” He glanced at the surrounding trees. “Why don’t you book another room?”

  “Why, when this is so gorgeous? I don’t want to be cooped up in a little room.” She drank in a deep breath. “Just smell that fresh air. I know I’ll sleep good here tonight.”

  Sleep out here? The logic of a female mind. “You can’t sleep here.”

  “Why not? I’m not hurting anything.”

  “You just can’t. It’s illegal. You can’t camp on the hotel grounds or anywhere else on the island.” He pointed to her suitcases. “Close up your luggage, and I’ll find you a room at the hotel.”

  She bit her bottom lip and looked to the ground. “I can’t exactly afford a room at the Grand Hotel.”

  He could barely hear her. “Then I’ll find you something in town you can afford.”

  She locked her baby blue gaze on him and spread her hands out. “This is all I can afford. I promise I won’t be any trouble to anyone. Please let me stay.” She flashed that smile of hers. “Please.”

  He scrubbed his face with his hands. This couldn’t be happening. She had nowhere to go, but she couldn’t stay here. He could suggest she leave the island then. She would probably agree and make it look as though she were leaving, only to find some other place to camp out. “Get your luggage. I’ll think of something.”

  She closed her suitcases. He took them from her and carried them by the side handles.

  She picked up her white purse and camera bag and stepped out onto the path. “You aren’t going to turn me into the police or something, are you?”

  Maybe that was the wisest thing to do. “On what charge?”