Crazy in Love

by Lani Diane Rich

  “I’m fine,” he choked. His face was turning beet red. Flynn stood up and waved to Nancy.

  “Nancy! Call 911!”

  “No.” Chase held up his hand and stood. “I think I’m okay. I have a little berry allergy.” A dribble of sweat ran down his face. “Must have been in the wine.”

  “Are there berries in cabernet?”

  “All I need are some antihistamines,” he said, his voice strained.

  “Well, let me see if Annabelle—”

  Chase held up his hand. “No. No, thank you. I think I’d prefer to take care of it myself.” Even with the wheezing and the sweat and the beet red face, he managed to give her one last tink. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. Please excuse me.”

  Flynn nodded mutely as Chase took off. A moment later, she heard some scuffling behind her and turned to see a short, round, redheaded woman in a white chef’s hat running toward her.

  “Oh, no,” the woman said, her face full of false alarm. “I’m too late.” She snapped her fingers and slumped dramatically. “Darn it.”

  Flynn raised her eyebrows. “What happened?”

  “I have a wineglass that I keep raspberries in,” she said, her eyes overwide with blatantly faked innocence. “You know, to snack on during the day. Well, I’d finished them off but I got busy, you know, as chefs do, and I just left it sitting out.” She bit her bottom lip. “I think Gregory must have somehow accidentally gotten a hold of that glass and used it for Mr. Chase’s wine.” She leaned in a bit. “He has that terrible berry allergy, you know.” She leaned back, and Flynn swore she saw the edge of a smile in her eyes. “I’m so mortified. Was he okay?”

  Flynn stared at her. “Gosh, you know, that was really good, but I think you overplayed the accidental angle a little bit.” She put one hand on Mercy’s shoulder and leaned in. “Here’s a tip: don’t overexplain. Innocent people don’t need to explain themselves.”

  Mercy eyed her for a moment, then smiled. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Flynn released her shoulder and stood up straight.

  Mercy nodded toward the door Gordon Chase had fled out of. “If it’s any comfort, I knew it wouldn’t kill him.”

  “Actually, that’s quite a comfort, thank you.” Flynn held out her hand. “I’m Flynn Daly.”

  The chef wiped her hands on the towel hanging from her apron and shook. “Hi, Ms. Daly.”

  “Flynn. Please.”

  Mercy smiled. “Flynn. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mercy Glavin.”

  “Mercy.” Well, now things are beginning to make sense. “Yes. Jake Tucker told me to talk to you.”

  “He did? What about?”

  “Oh, nothing. He just wanted me to confirm something with you, but I think that’s been taken care of.”

  “Okay.” Mercy grinned. “So, you’ve met Jake, huh? I know I’m biased because he’s my brother, but don’t you think he’s just the cutest thing?”

  “You two are related?” Flynn crossed her arms over her stomach and stared at the chef. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  Mercy glanced at her watch. “It’s only five after twelve. Why don’t you come back with me? I’ll show you the kitchen, get you a little something to eat before the big meeting. I make a pumpkin risotto’ll pop your head right off.”

  Flynn smiled. Did she want to go have some pumpkin risotto made by the woman who’d poisoned her date?

  Eh. Life was short, anyway. She grabbed her wineglass. “Lead the way.”

  Flynn tucked herself in the corner next to the stove while the kitchen staff whirled around her. She’d tried to introduce herself, but these people were busy, and they held knives, so it wasn’t long before she figured that the best thing she could do was stay out of the way.

  “So, here’s the thing about my brother,” Mercy said, sprinkling a pinch of something into the orangish glop that sizzled in the pan. “He’s kind of a wise-ass.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “He thinks he’s funny and most of the time he is, so that just encourages him.” Mercy grinned sideways at Flynn. “He’s so like my dad. Never say a sincere word when a joke will do.” She picked up a large metal spoon and stirred the concoction. “My mother always says she only married my dad to shut him up, and my dad used to say that’s why he knocked her up with my oldest sister so fast, so that she’d be stuck.”

  “Wow. Your dad sounds like a lot of fun,” Flynn said, trying to imagine her father ever making a joke.

  Nope. Couldn’t do it.

  “He was.” Mercy’s smile turned sad. “He was a safety inspector for OSHA, and he was killed in a piano factory. A baby grand fell on him.”

  Flynn wasn’t sure if Mercy was joking or not, and kept her expression flat. “Wow. I’m really sorry.”

  Mercy grinned. “It’s okay to laugh. Dad would have loved the irony of it. We started making jokes about it at the funeral and we haven’t stopped since. It’s what Dad would have wanted.” Mercy paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, my sisters and my mom and I joke about it. Jake never does.”

  There was a long silence as Flynn struggled over what to say. She couldn’t make light of it, but Mercy would obviously brook no sympathy. So finally she said the only thing she could say.

  “Your brother seems like a really nice guy.” She mostly meant it, and it was worth throwing a compliment Tucker’s way to get out of the awkward conversational spot.

  Mercy’s eyes lit up. “He is, isn’t he? I know he’s my baby brother and everything, but I just think he’s the greatest guy.” She grabbed a spoon from a can full of them, dipped, and tasted. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled through her nose, and then smiled at Flynn.

  “It’s perfect,” she announced, then grabbed a ladle and poured some into a bowl. Flynn took it, along with a clean spoon from the can. She eyed Mercy sideways.

  “You were kidding when you said it would pop my head off, right?”

  Mercy leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “All I’m gonna say is I take no responsibility for what happens to you.”

  Flynn laughed and dipped her spoon in, taking a bite. It was warm and sweet and rich and spicy and . . .

  “Oh, my Gooooooooooodddddd,” she said, going in for another spoonful. “This is amazing.”

  “Told you,” Mercy said smugly. She cocked her head to the side and looked at Flynn. “Would it be inappropriate for me to say that you and my brother would have the most adorable babies?”

  Flynn froze midchew, then swallowed. “Yeah. Kinda.”

  Mercy smiled and patted Flynn lightly on the shoulder. “Just an observation.”

  Jake leaned against the stack of boxes in the corner of the Rose Banquet Room and smiled to himself. The shipping labels read “Flynn Daly, c/o The Goodhouse Arms.”

  Ha! He knew she had more luggage than that one bag.

  It was almost one o’clock and the room was packed. He did a visual head count and estimated that, aside from a few key restaurant personnel, everyone was here, even people who weren’t on the schedule for today. Proof once again that there was absolutely no one better for spreading news than Annabelle.

  “. . . got beet red and ran out . . . face all sweaty and gross,” he heard a woman’s voice saying. He glanced through the crowd and located the source of the voice; Lucy from housekeeping. She was talking closely with another girl he recognized but couldn’t name, and they were giggling happily about Chase’s berry special Goodhouse Arms lunch.

  Good ol’ Mercy, he thought.

  A small niggle of guilt—on Flynn’s behalf, not Chase’s—poked at him, but he ignored it. Giving her lunch date a case of the berry sweats was all in good fun, but dumping a surprise staff meeting on her was a total dick move. Unfortunately, it was necessary. How Flynn reacted to this thing was going to tell him a lot more about her intentions than he’d ever learn by bugging her over Jameson’s neats at the bar. If she told them all flat-out that she was going to sell, then he’d know
his chances of getting her to string Chase along for a while were nil. If she hemmed and hawed, he had a shot. Plus, putting someone in front of a firing squad and seeing which way they duck is always a great form of entertainment.

  The door opened, and Flynn walked in, with Mercy trailing close behind. They shared a grin—interesting—and Mercy dove into the crowd as Flynn made her way up to the front. Something was different about Flynn, though; she wasn’t walking like a little girl in her mother’s heels anymore.

  Guess she’s not feeling too bad about poor Chase and his hives.

  Jake smiled to himself.

  Flynn stepped up behind the podium set up at the front of the room, and the chatter quieted down. She smoothed her hair behind her ears and smiled her crazy, wide smile and Jake wondered if everyone else was as mesmerized by that grin as he’d been. He glanced around, saw that the ratio of happy faces to suspicious ones was pretty much in a dead heat. She didn’t have everyone in her corner yet, but considering the circumstances, Flynn was doing pretty damn good.

  “Good afternoon,” Flynn said, and the buzz in the room died down. She glanced at the back of the room and spoke louder. “Can everyone hear me?”

  A chorus to the affirmative came up from the back of the room, but Flynn caught Jake’s eye and held it until he nodded yes.

  “Good. Thank you for coming to this meeting this afternoon. I’m glad this meeting was called”— she gave Jake a sharp look—“because I . . . uh . . . really wanted to introduce myself to you all. Um, as most of you probably already know, my name is Flynn Daly. Esther Goodhouse was my great-aunt, and when she died, she left the Goodhouse Arms to my family.”

  There was a long, awkward pause as Flynn stared out into the sea of faces. Jake pushed up from the boxes and stepped a little closer.

  “Um, okay then,” she said, letting go with a nervous laugh. “That’s pretty much it. If you don’t have any questions—”

  “Do you have any experience in running a hotel?”

  Jake glanced toward the voice, which had come from Olivia, the head of housekeeping and one of the more skeptical faces.

  “You mean, me personally?” Flynn cleared her throat. “Well, my family has been in real estate development for a long time, and over the years we’ve owned a number of hospitality businesses.”

  “My dad was a mechanic,” someone to Jake’s left grumbled. “Doesn’t make me a car.”

  “Esther gave us raises on the anniversaries of our hire dates,” Selah, one of the bar waitresses, called out. “My anniversary is in October. So am I just shit outta luck or what?”

  Selah wasn’t known for her delicate nature.

  “I, uh . . .” Flynn blinked a few times. “I haven’t had time to review Aunt Esther’s financial policies, but—”

  A hand waved in the air, and relief flashed across Flynn’s face as she pointed to Annabelle. “Yes, Annabelle?”

  Annabelle stood up. “I think what people want to know is, you know, if you’re going to sell to a big chain or something? Because, I mean, we know they don’t, like, disembowel people and put their heads on pikes—”

  Jake dropped his face into his hand and laughed.

  “—but, you know, they do sometimes come in and kinda clean house and we all really like it here and like this place the way it is.”

  Flynn’s eyebrows knit and she seemed frozen while trying to unweave the delicate strands of Annabelle’s logic. “Um . . . was there a question in there . . . somewhere?”

  “Yeah. She’s asking if you’re going to sell us out.” Oscar, one of the landscaping guys, took a step forward from where he was standing at the back. “Because if you are, we need to know so we can find other jobs.”

  “Well . . .” Flynn’s eyebrows were practically meeting above her nose. “I mean . . . even if we did sell, you’d keep your jobs.”

  Oscar folded his arms over his chest. “Can you promise that? Can you put that in writing?”

  Flynn looked like she’d been slapped, and Jake felt a knot of anger rise in his gut. Despite the fact that he had no one to blame but himself, he really wanted to take Oscar outside and pummel his fat head.

  “In writing?” Flynn said. “No, I can’t. But if someone takes over this place, someone who . . . who . . . who knows what they’re doing . . . I mean, why wouldn’t they keep you?”

  “Because we get paid decent,” Selah said.

  Oscar nodded. “Esther valued us, and she paid us like she valued us. You think a big chain is going to do that, sweetheart? Think again.”

  Flynn blinked. “I . . . uh . . . well . . . I . . .”

  Jake had expected this to happen. Watching how Flynn responded to the situation was a big part of getting to know who he was dealing with. It was his response that was throwing him for a loop. He hadn’t anticipated how impossible it would be for him to simply stand back and watch her swing.

  He took a step forward.

  “I was wondering,” he said, noting the completely reasonable expression of alarm in Flynn’s eyes as he walked up the aisle toward her, “what you thought of the place?”

  He stopped, mid-aisle. There was a pause while Flynn seemed to be waiting for the sucker punch, but when it didn’t come, she allowed a small smile.

  “I think it’s . . .” She paused for a moment, seeming to fight within herself until one side won. Her face relaxed a bit, and an almost smile played on her lips. “I think it’s incredible. The grounds are gorgeous, and so well kept. And the lobby is . . . oh, if I could move into that lobby, I would, I’m telling you.” There was a mild smattering of appreciative laughter. Flynn motioned out to the area where Mercy had taken a seat. “The pumpkin risotto is a dream come true.”

  “So it’s safe to say you’re impressed, right?” Jake kept his eyes on her.

  She met his gaze and nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, considering you haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours yet, I think that’s pretty much all we can ask.”

  “Bullshit,” Oscar said. “We can ask about the sale.”

  The room went starkly quiet. Jake turned toward Oscar, wanting to pummel him now more than ever.

  “She just got here, man,” he said in a low voice. “Back off.”

  “No.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Jake raised his head to find Flynn moving her focus over the crowd, connecting with as many people as possible. “It’s a fair question. It deserves a fair answer. The truth is, I don’t know. The decisions haven’t been made, and I honestly don’t know yet what I’m going to do. If you feel that you want to look for employment elsewhere, I certainly wouldn’t fault you. But I think this place is very special, and I hope those of you who think so too will stay.”

  Flynn gave one quick, decisive nod to the crowd and left the podium. She walked gracefully down the aisle, but Jake could see her hands shaking as she passed him by. He stood where he was, watching the doorway through which she’d disappeared, until he felt a faint tug on his sleeve.

  “Oh, hey, Annabelle,” he said, glancing down at her quickly before returning his stare to the doorway.

  “Um, Flynn had those boxes come in for her, and Herman almost put his back out—what do you think she has in them? A dead body? Anyway, I thought maybe you could—”

  “Have Clyde do it,” he said quietly, pulling his focus away from the door and turning a forced smile on Annabelle. “I’m the last person Flynn wants to see right now.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Annabelle said. “She seems really nice.”

  “She is really nice,” Jake said, still staring at the doorway.

  Too bad I’m a total asshole, he thought.

  Chapter Six

  Oh, God,” Flynn groaned, sitting up in her bed. “You again?”

  The room was golden. Aunt Esther was sitting in the corner, rocking on her phantom rocking chair, not caring that the real one was backward and her face was passing back and forth through the wooden slats that supp
orted the headrest. Flynn made a mental note to turn it back around in the morning; this was infinitely creepier than the first time.

  Esther set the purple afghan in her lap and looked at Flynn. “I’ve come to a decision.”

  Flynn closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and tried to alter her dream through sheer force of will.

  Okay. Sunny beach. A drink with an umbrella, delivered by a faceless yet handsome man wearing only a wink and a smile.

  “Ahem.”

  Lady, stop screwing up my concentration. Okay. Ocean breezes. Warm sand. Fully loaded drink. Faceless Yet Handsome wearing a wink and a smile . . . and a mysterious tattoo right above his—

  “Ahem.”

  Flynn opened her eyes. “You don’t like me very much, do you? Because you know this is just mean, right?”

  Esther picked up her afghan and continued knitting. “It’s not a matter of whether I like you or not. It would appear we’re stuck with each other. And it occurs to me that the white light of which you speak so fondly may not be available to me until we figure out whatever it is we’re supposed to be doing.” She raised her eyes to Flynn’s, yanked out a loop of yarn, and wrapped it militantly around the tip of the needle.

  “What we’re supposed to be doing? We are not supposed to be doing anything. I’m supposed to be sleeping, and you’re supposed to be dead.” She sniffed. “And why does this place always smell like peppermint? Is that like a special ghost thing? I’ve had the windows wide open for two days—”

  Esther stopped rocking and focused her ghostly eyes on Flynn. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Do exorcisms only work on demons? Couldn’t a good priest just”—she wiggled her fingers toward the apparition—“cast you out?”

  Esther rolled her eyes. “You really are a prickly little thing, aren’t you?”

  “Sometimes. Maybe.” Flynn swallowed. “Can you blame me? You’re really creeping me out.”

  Esther sighed. “I can see how you’re Elizabeth’s granddaughter. Same contentious nature.”

  “Gee, I wonder if I’d be less contentious on a full night’s sleep. Let’s try it, shall we?”

  Whoosh. Suddenly Flynn wasn’t in her bed anymore. She was in the corner of the Rose Banquet Room, watching herself staring down at Tucker from behind the podium. Tucker was standing in the aisle, smirking up at her with that smirky little smirk. After throwing her up there like a piece of raw meat in front of a pack of wolves, he had the nerve to stand in that aisle and come to her defense with that smirk?