by Mysti Parker
The Roche Hotel
Season Two
By
Mysti Parker
Kindle Edition
*****
PUBLISHED BY:
Mysti Parker on Kindle Direct Publishing
The Roche Hotel – Season Two
Copyright © 2015 Mysti Parker
Cover Art by K.A. King Illustration
Kindle Edition, License Notes
Thank you for purchasing this ebook. This title is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy at Amazon.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
Acknowledgments
To my fellow Flash Dancers at Writers Village University:
Nancy, Joan, Judy, Lisa, Linda, Melanie, & Aviva.
Thank you for helping bring Jane, Henry, and the rest of the quirky cast to life!
Dedicated to my husband, Bryan, who makes me laugh every day.
And to that little hotel in Louisville, KY.
WAIT!!! Did you miss Season One? Don’t fret. You can find it here:
http://www.amazon.com/Roche-Hotel-Short-Romantic-Comedy-ebook/dp/B00NYCMIZQ
On with the show…
The Roche Hotel #11
Who’s the Snake?
They say time flies when you’re having fun. In just a couple months I’d gone from being a jobless divorcee to having a steady job and relationship. I owe all this to The Roche Hotel, with its two-star accommodations and never-ending supply of craziness. Sure I work mostly graveyard shifts, but now I can pay my bills and take care of my mom. It’s also where I met Henry the Donut Guy, deliverer of glazed goodness and adorable to boot. He’s sweet and thoughtful, makes me laugh, and doesn’t care if I’ve got a spare pound or two on my hips.
I still hesitate to call him my boyfriend, and I can’t bring myself to say the L word yet. What he is to me exactly, I’m not quite sure, but every day I discover a little more about the man behind the work shirt and Levis.
Today’s no exception. Despite making the most delicious pastries on the planet, turns out Henry the Donut Guy is more of a meat and potatoes guy when it comes to breakfast. It’s more like lunch, really, since we didn’t emerge from his apartment until 2:00 p.m. We sit in a corner booth at the Waffle House, which neighbors the hotel. I’m due to work a double shift in an hour, so I stuff my face with a generous portion of waffles and a side of bacon. Henry munches happily on greasy hash browns, sausage, and biscuits.
“I’ll miss you tonight,” he says with the kind of grin a man can only give you when he’s ‘known’ you in the Biblical sense.
“I’ll mish oo too,” I say through a mouthful of waffle. Remembering some of the etiquette my mother taught me, I swallow it down with a gulp of coffee. “But you’re still coming over on my dinner break, right?”
“Aren’t you tired of Golden Wok yet?”
“Not at all—those egg rolls are divine, but it’s the company I enjoy most.”
He leans in and kisses me. “Ditto.”
Last night was one of the most amazing nights of my life, and I’m not looking forward to being all alone on a graveyard shift. My cell phone vibrates against my leg where I left it on the seat of the booth. I glance down at it and see a text. From Nick of all people: Jane, I really need to talk to you. Call me please.
Fat chance, bub. I click the lock button, and the screen goes dark.
“Was that Nick again?” Henry asks. “Maybe you should call him back.”
“Did you just tell me to call my ex?”
He gives a shrug and jabs his fork at the phone like he wants to stab Nick with it. “If you don’t, he’ll probably keep calling.”
“I’ll change my number.”
“What if he shows up at your door?”
“He’s in California. Our divorce is settled, and I don’t owe him anything, not even a phone call. But maybe you’re right; ignoring him won’t help. I’ll send him a text.”
Buzz off, Nick. I type the message, being careful to not let the auto-correct turn it into something stupid. Unless this is some kind of emergency, stop bothering me or call your lawyer.
“There.” I hit send and rub Henry’s thigh. “Maybe he’ll shut up now. He’s probably bored, stuck in traffic or something. Did you know it was said that Henry VIII’s sixth wife, Catherine Parr, used to rub his leg during the last few months of his life? Of course, he had a nasty, stinking ulcer…”
“Ugh, TMI.” Henry groans and pushes his plate away. “I didn’t want all those hash browns anyway.”
“Oh, sorry. I think I have a problem.”
He takes my hand and kisses it. “Yeah, but I’ll forgive you. After last night, I can put up with a little history, gross as it may be.”
We’re in the middle of an incredibly warm, coffee-tinted kiss when my phone rings. I grab it up, ready to answer Nick and tell him to leave me alone already. But, it’s Susan Smythe on the caller ID.
“Sorry.” I hold my finger to Henry’s lips. “This one I’d better take. Hello?”
“Jane, it’s Susan Smythe.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“Oh. I just wanted to warn you about something.”
Ah, the Roche Hotel—never a dull moment. “Warn me about what?”
“One of our guests lost a boa.”
“I hope you mean the feathered kind…” God, I hope she means the feathered kind.
“No.” Her voice quivers. “It’s the scaly kind. We’ve looked everywhere.”
“So what do you want me to do if we find it? Call the owner or Animal Control?”
“Animal Control already searched. They suspect it’s slithered into the sewer system. We’ve left the cage out in the office just in case. I’m sure Jerry can handle it if it does show up.”
Jerry will have to handle it. Snakes and me don’t mix. “OK. Um…thanks.”
“Oh, and Jane? One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
Susan lowers her voice to a raspy whisper. “Mrs. Roche doesn’t know about it. She’s staying here tonight, so best to keep quiet. She’ll have a conniption.”
I click ‘end’ and Henry asks, “What now?”
“Someone lost a snake. In the hotel. Where I’ll be working all night. Alone.”
He laughs. “At least you have Jerry. If anyone can intimidate a snake, it’s him.”
****
When there’s a chance of a reptile fugitive lurking somewhere in your vicinity, it makes the night a little tense, to say the least. The snake’s cage is in the office, with a nameplate that reads: Precious. Right. I’ve never thought of any reptile as precious, no matter how charming their personality.
All is quiet until about 11: 30 p.m. I’m checking in a late arrival when Jerry skulks through the lobby like a coveralled sasquatch on the prowl. He’s holding the cage in one hand and a broom in the other.
The guest is a young man with blond dreadlocks and a t-shirt with Hemptosis embroidered on the front pocket. “Dude,” he whispers to me while watching Jerry disappear down the hall, “what’s going on?”
“A poodle,” I say. “Someone lost a poodle.”
Hemp Boy chuckles. “Awesome. Must be some tripped out poodle. A little hashish might calm him down.” He pats his jeans pocket and w
inks.
“I…don’t think that’ll be necessary. Here’s your key.”
“Thanks, man.”
I don’t know if he’s really mistaken me for a guy or if he’s just stoned, so I smile sweetly and add, “This is a non-smoking facility, by the way. Have a great night.”
“Yeah, you too. If you need any hemp accessories, we got good stuff, man. Shirts, shoes, purses, you name it.” He tosses a business card on the front desk and swaggers off, but stops before reaching the hall and looks at the ceiling. “There’s something banging around up there.” He turns to me and whispers, “Maybe it’s the poodle. Want me to get him?”
“No, no, enjoy your night.” I wait for him to shrug and disappear down the hall. Then, I frantically page Jerry: Snake, here, ceiling.
Two minutes later, Jerry appears, broom in one hand and ladder in the other. He stands frozen for a second, one ear turned upward, and then sets up the ladder in the breakfast area. He climbs up and removes a ceiling tile.
“Did you find it?” God, I hope he’s found it.
He holds up a hand to shush me. “I’m lookin’.” His furry head disappears into the ceiling.
Mrs. Roche shuffles through the lobby in her robe and slippers. She removes a hand towel from her head and wraps it around the naked David statue like he’s just stepped from the shower.
I glance at Jerry. “Um, Mrs. Roche, could I get you something?”
“It’s just my rheumatism. No need to fuss over me. A cup of tea usually helps.” She opens a drawer. “Now where are those tea bags?”
Jerry’s in up to his waist now. A few bangs and bumps echo from the ceiling.
“I can get it for you,” I say, emerging from behind the front desk in the hopes of ushering her out. “I’ll even bring it to your room.”
“Nonsense. I’m not helpless.”
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see yet another text from Nick: I’m back in town. Call me.
No, no, no, this cannot be happening. I’ll have to call and tell him to go rot in an unnaturally warm place. If worse comes to worst, I’ll threaten to get a restraining order. Not that I’m frightened of him—he’s too cowardly and conniving to be violent. It’s just the principle of the thing. I turn back toward the front desk and click on his number; he answers in two rings.
“Hey babe.”
“Don’t babe me. Why are you calling, and what do you mean you’re back in town?”
“I’m at the airport. Can you pick me up?”
“What?!” I turn back around to see if Jerry’s made any progress with the snake hunting.
“Okay, yeah, never mind. I’ll get a cab. Just wanted to tell you-”
“Oh dear lord. Hold please.” A scaly head attached to a long, spotted body hangs down by Mrs. Roche’s ear. She’s still rummaging through the drawer, oblivious to her reptilian neighbor. Jerry hurries down the ladder.
“Jane? Babe?”
“Can’t talk now. Stop calling, and leave me alone.” I click END and slide the phone in my pocket. “Mrs. Roche, don’t move.”
“What?” She looks up, comes face to face with a forked tongue, and goes potato sack limp. I manage to catch her before she hits the floor.
Jerry yanks the snake down from its roost. “Got it!”
“Thank God.”
I spoke too soon. Jerry has the snake right behind the head, so her teeth aren’t a threat. But Precious—all eight or nine feet of her—constricts around his arm. Her tail end coils around his waist and thigh.
Thus begins a dance between sasquatch and reptile.
On one foot, Jerry spins in a clumsy pirouette, kicking his leg to persuade Precious to release him. It only makes her coil tighter. He knocks over a chair and falls against the Cheerios dispenser on the counter. Dry cereal rolls across the carpet. Jerry’s work boot grinds it into the dark red shag.
Mrs. Roche is still out. She can’t be more than ninety-five pounds, but she might as well be a bag of bricks. I’m tempted to drag her dead weight back to her room and away from the epic battle, but I can’t let Precious suffocate Jerry. He’s too big for her to eat, so then I’d be left with a dead maintenance man and a snake still on the loose. Mrs. Roche, small as she is, would be a nice snack.
“Hang on, Jerry!” I lay Mrs. Roche on the floor and grab Jerry’s broom. He’s got both hands around the snake’s neck, banging it against the counter top. Precious hisses in protest, but squeezes Jerry’s middle like a girdle. I won’t shed any tears if Jerry chokes her to death, but I’m sure Precious’s owner wouldn’t be happy.
“Get the mm num snake cage!” Jerry shouts.
I think he may have just cursed in Sasquatch, but I don’t have time to translate. The cage is in the office, so I go grab it, run back, and set it on the counter next to Jerry.
“Hold still,” I say. “I know how to get her uncoiled.”
Well, I sort of did. I’d watched a lot of Discovery channel after Nick left, and I remembered a show about how to escape from a constrictor. They said you have to start backwards, since boas are weaker from the tail up. Or something like that. I just hope it works, because the only other person in the lobby is Mrs. Roche, and she’s still down for the count.
I find the snake’s tail end, which is by Jerry’s knee. Gently I take hold of it, relieved that snakes aren’t slimy, and start uncoiling her. Precious has some strong muscles under her scales, but I’m able to get her loose from his leg without touching any part of Jerry that I will regret later. Before she can coil around my arm, I wind her tail end onto the broom handle.
Next, I spin Jerry around like we’re playing pin the tail on the donkey, until he’s no longer wearing Precious as a corset. We work together to unwind her tail from the broom, stuff that end into the cage, followed by the bulk of her long body. As soon as her head end is uncoiled from his arm, Jerry crams the rest of her in. He slams the door and latches it.
Once he’s caught his breath, he mutters, “Thanks. Hate snakes.”
“You’re not the only one.” I feel the urgent need to take a shower to remove any deadly snake-borne germs, but I’ll have to make do with a squirt of hand-sanitizer.
Jerry picks up the cage and glares at Precious. “I’ll put it in the closet. She ain’t gettin’ outta there.”
“Can you help Mrs. Roche to her room when you’re done?”
“Yep.”
The poor lady has started to wake up. She smacks her lips and wipes drool from her cheek. With Precious safely behind bars, Mrs. Roche will hopefully stay conscious, safely inside her room.
“Good. I’ll bring her some tea and call the snake’s owner.”
As Jerry escorts the old lady down the hall, I feel my phone buzz again. Another text from Nick: Can’t wait to see you again. I slap the phone on the front desk and get another good squirt of sanitizer. I’m pretty sure the reptile in the cage isn’t the only snake I need to worry about.
The Roche Hotel #12
Gladiators Are Overrated
At 3:05 p.m., I’m running late for my double shift, no thanks to Henry. I can’t complain—he’s a great distraction on a cool November day. Carol’s waiting at the door and accosts me as soon as I enter. From the smell of her close-talker breath, I can tell she’s eaten chili for lunch, followed by Juicy Fruit, which she chomps impatiently six inches from my face.
“My goodness, you’re late!” Chomp, chomp. “Richard’s interviewing for a new assistant manager, so you might want to stay out of the office for a while.”
“Assistant manager? When did he decide to do that?”
“Oh, you know Richard. He’s always trying to emulate the Best Western.”
“But they have three times as many rooms as we have.”
She shrugs. “Well, maybe it’ll be a good thing.” She comes in closer, steaming my ear with her chili breath, and whispers conspiratorially, “Goodness knows Richard needs all the help he can get in running this place.”
Sadly, she’s r
ight about that. Poor Richard means well, but I think he only managed a few fast food joints before buying this place. Managing burger creation and running a hotel are two very different languages.
Carol leaves, and I set my purse under the counter. Backing toward the office door, I lean close. Two male voices. One is Richard, and the other... for the love of all things sacred, no! I’d rather chase down a herd of boa constrictors than to hear that snickering hyena-like voice again.
I burst into the office, only to come upon the scene of two suited men shaking upon a deal just made. Richard, behind the desk, looks startled by my sudden appearance. The other man turns slowly my way. His dark hair has enough Brylcreem to make him aerodynamic, while his grin is as snake-oiled as I remember.
“Heya, Jane, long time no see.” Nick does that wink and head toss that once made me swoon, but now makes me nauseous.
“What are you doing here?”
Nick shrugs innocently, so I glare at Richard. “What is he doing here?”
Richard wipes his forehead. “Mr. Seymour is our new assistant manager. His resume is impressive, and now that the hotel is on an upswing, it’s time to delegate authority so I can focus on attracting more guests.”
I must be having a psychotic episode. Time to move in with Mom at the retirement home. “But …you know who he is?”
“He says you were once married but assures me you now share a quite amicable relationship.” With one skeptical eyebrow lifted, he looks at Nick.
“That’s right,” Nick slides his hands into his pockets and rocks on the balls of his feet. “We’ve put the past behind us, haven’t we, Jane?”
“Have we?” I will laser beams to shoot from my pupils and vaporize him, but I only deposit an irritating eyelash on my contact lens. I rub my eye, but it’s still there, as stubborn and annoying as Nick.
“Good.” Sir Richard the Clueless has clearly bought into Nick’s game. He searches the top desk drawer for something. “It’s always a good thing when divorced couples can get along without the need of a lawyer. I had my doubts when Mr. Seymour first applied. Then again, he was the only applicant we had.”
