“I’m clear.”
She handed over the money.
He took it from her and fished a key out of his pants pocket. “Here you go.”
She closed her fingers around the cool metal.
“Moving in today?” he asked. “Just so I can get myself under control in time.”
He was teasing her. She should have shot something back at him, but she couldn’t think of anything appropriately cutting.
She knew what he was thinking. That she wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t feminine. She’d never been especially girly, but living with a few thousand soldiers had made her even less inclined. Now she couldn’t imagine ever caring about something like her clothes or nails. Her only goals in life were to save the inn and stop hurting. If she could even get one night of decent sleep, she would consider herself lucky.
“Either today or tomorrow,” she said. “I have some other things to do.”
“Need any help with your things?”
“No, thanks.”
“All right. I’ll see you around.”
She nodded and turned.
Her foot caught on the carpet, locking her in place. Her weight shifted, landing on her bad hip and leg. The pain was a bullet of glass and fire, wrenching the last of her reserve from her and nearly bringing her to her knees. Only a strong grip on her upper arms kept her from falling.
She gulped in air, nearly weeping from the searing burn.
“I’m okay,” she managed, shifted her weight and straightening.
Jared waited until she was steady before he released her.
She thought he would say something. Offer to help her to her truck or tell her she needed to go to the doctor. Instead, he remained silent. Maybe he didn’t like to get involved. Maybe he knew she had to figure this out on her own.
She made it to the door, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll see you around.”
“I’ll be here.”
She nodded and left.
Once in the truck, she glanced at the house. From the outside, it wasn’t much. But to her it was everything she needed. A place to retreat and lick her wounds. Somewhere she didn’t have to pretend. Sanctuary.
Nine
Carly had spent hours of her life sitting on the visitor’s side of Brenda’s desk. They’d discussed work, had talked about their plans, and sometimes Brenda had yelled at her.
The unhappy conversations had been long and difficult, with Brenda ranting and screaming, calling Carly names, threatening to fire her until her voice went hoarse. Sensing giving in to tears would mean the other woman had won, Carly had kept quiet, offering a few words of defense when she could, otherwise simply enduring.
Despite the fact that Brenda had been gone three months and Carly had a two-year employment agreement, she still felt a flutter of nerves as she walked into the familiar space.
She rarely used the room, preferring to do her paperwork from a much smaller office behind the linen storage closet. The sense of safety and privacy more than made up for the lack of windows and ancient furniture.
Michelle, still pale and thin, motioned for her to sit. Carly eyed the chair, wondering if she would ever be able to see it without remembering the screaming. Reminding herself that Michelle wasn’t her mother and that she was needed would have to be enough for now.
“Thanks for getting me this,” Michelle said, waving the papers Carly had given her. They listed everyone’s duties, including her own, and approximate hours worked.
“I’m going to go through the books for the past couple of years and see where all the money went,” Michelle continued. “From what I’ve been able to learn so far, there have been plenty of guests staying at the inn. I know the remodeling sucked up big chunks of cash.”
Her gaze dropped to Carly’s wrist, where one of Brenda’s charm bracelets lay next to her watch.
Carly stiffened. Brenda had left her all her personal effects. It was in her will, the one Carly had taken to a local attorney to discuss. The one that made it clear the inn had never been Brenda’s to offer.
Carly had packed up the other woman’s personal belongings and put them in storage. Clothes, books, papers. A lifetime of intimate things. Even though Brenda had charged her with taking care of them, Carly hadn’t been sure. Michelle was Brenda’s daughter. The decisions should have been hers.
Brenda had also left Carly all her jewelry. The collection had grown over the years. Pretty rings and earrings. A few necklaces and the charm bracelets.
Carly had packed most of them away, as well, keeping a few pieces—the ones with good memories. Legally she could have kept it all. Brenda had been very specific in her will. But it hadn’t seemed like the right thing to do.
Now she felt self-conscious about the bracelet, wanting to cover it with her free hand and explain.
“I need to follow the money,” Michelle told her. “That will take a few days. Maybe a week.” She glanced at the list Carly had prepared. “You have a lot of responsibilities.”
“I like to keep busy.”
“You’re scattered.”
“I fill in where I’m needed.”
“You’re good with the guests.”
Carly tilted her head, sure she couldn’t have heard right. “What?”
“I’ve read a lot of the comment cards they leave behind and I’ve been talking to people.”
“Not Damaris,” she muttered before she could stop herself.
Michelle surprised her by smiling. “Not Damaris. But other people who work here. Everyone likes you.”
Carly waited, but there was no slam that followed the comment. “I like what I do,” she finally admitted. “Working with the guests is what I enjoy most.”
“Then it all works out because I think you need to spend most of your day dealing with the guests. That’s where the money is. We’re rearranging the work schedule in the gift shop.”
Carly thought about the store and sighed. “It’s not making much money, is it?”
“I haven’t looked into it in detail yet, but no. What the hell were you thinking?”
Vintage Michelle, she told herself. “I was thinking that your mother wanted to open a gift shop, and no, I couldn’t talk her out of it and neither could you. I was thinking we could use a hotel-like gift shop off the lobby where we offered snacks, toiletries and a few local knickknacks. She had Barty draw up the designs for what you see now.”
“Barty?”
“The contractor.”
“My mother slept with a guy named Barty?”
Carly grinned. “I think it was a family name.”
“Like Mango? What is it with these family names?”
“Mango?”
“Never mind. So now we have Barty to thank for that monstrosity. I have no idea what we’re going to do about it. Maybe fire-sale everything. I’ll have to work up the numbers. I wonder what we can use the space for.”
“The gift shop might be profitable if we had more focused inventory.”
“We’re competing with the stores in town.”
“We have a captive audience with our guests. If they decide they want something, why go all that way when they can buy it here? With the gift shop as part of the hotel, our rent is cheaper. Maybe we could narrow the scope and sell it for a little less than everyone else.”
“That could work.”
“Excuse me while I fall over in my chair.”
Michelle glanced at her. “You’re allowed to have good ideas. You managed to work with my mother for nearly a decade. That means you’re tough or really, really stubborn.”
“Maybe both,” Carly said, thinking she’d never thought of herself as tough, but she liked the sound of being that way.
“I’ll run the numbers. It’s all going to come down to math.” She passed over a sheet of paper.
Carly leaned forward and took it.
A neat grid showed the various parts of the inn—the restaurant, front desk, housekeeping, the gift shop—and
the hours of operation. Names had been placed in different boxes.
“It’s a work schedule,” Carly said, pleased to see it was close to the one she used, with a few modifications. Mostly in her hours. They were substantially less.
“A lot easier to do on the computer,” Michelle told her. “How can you survive without knowing how to use one?”
“I know how,” Carly told her. “I’ve taken business classes at the community college. Brenda preferred to handle it all herself. When she got sick, I offered to help, but she refused.”
“So it’s not that you can’t use the computer?”
“I know how.”
“That’s something. You’ll let everyone know about the new schedule?”
“Sure.”
“Then I guess we’re done here.”
Carly didn’t stand.
As much as she hated to admit it, Michelle had been completely reasonable. Was that a temporary phenomenon or could she count on a boss who was even-tempered and rational? It was a heady thought.
“You have something else?” Michelle asked.
“A couple of things. They’re related.”
Michelle leaned back in her chair. “Go ahead.”
“How are you feeling?”
“We’re not talking about that.”
The words came quickly, forcefully. Michelle’s attention immediately went back to the computer screen. Carly wasn’t sure if her work was that interesting or if was a defense mechanism. She would guess the latter.
“You’re tired,” Carly continued. “I know what I’m doing here. I can help.”
“Do your job. That helps.”
“That’s it? You have nothing else to say?”
Michelle rolled her eyes. “What more do you want? Should I tell you I’d be lost without you? That you complete me? That working together is great? I don’t know what it’s going to be.”
“Meaning if the bank weren’t forcing you to keep me, I’d be out on my ass?”
“I honestly don’t know. I have no reason to trust you.”
Carly wanted to point out that the truth was, in fact, the reverse. She shouldn’t and couldn’t trust Michelle.
“Whether you trust me or not, you need me. You’ve told me how things are here, so I’m going to do the same.” She stood, partially to give herself a sense of power and partially to be able to bolt. “You need to dress better.”
Michelle’s expression hardened and a muscle under her left eye twitched. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. This is a place of business where we deal with our guests on a personal basis. Your shirts are hanging on you and those cargo pants you wear are hideous. Dirty and stained and falling off. You need to dress more professionally.”
Michelle slowly, painfully stood. She braced her hands on her desk and leaned forward. “Get out.”
Carly stood her ground. “You’re giving our guests the wrong impression.”
“Get out.”
“Get your hair cut and try a little makeup.”
“Get out!”
The last two words were delivered at a volume that could shake windows.
“Fine. I’m leaving. But you know I’m right.”
* * *
Still fuming from her run-in with Carly, Michelle stalked out into the warm afternoon. Okay, not stalked. She walked slowly, limping, but she was moving purposefully in her heart.
She stepped into the watery sunlight and let the quiet peace of the outdoors calm her. Unfortunately, as she moved, she felt her cargo pants sliding down her hips, which reminded her of Carly, which made her want to scream. And she’d never been a screamer.
She wanted to blame Carly, but knew she was fighting a whole lot bigger battle than simply an annoying friend. Former friend, she reminded herself. And dammit all to hell, Carly was right about the clothes and her appearance. In truth, she was almost embarrassed about how she looked. She avoided mirrors—not a huge challenge these days. There was only a small one in her bathroom. But still, she knew she looked bad.
She eyed the grass on the expansive lawn, wondering if she had the strength to deal with the uneven ground. From there her gaze slid to all the daises. They were a cheerful flower and they also annoyed her.
The call of a crane caught her attention. Nature annoyed her, too, with her daisies and birds and—
Her gaze narrowed as she realized there were three or four cranes at the far end of the lawn, by the trees, their clawed feet stepping on the grass as they headed toward something she couldn’t see.
Knowing walking on grass would count as exercise and make Mango happy, she set off to find out what they were doing. The afternoon was relatively warm—nearly the mid-sixties—and being outside was…nice.
She walked slowly, taking her time, being careful not to do anything stupid. When she was only a dozen or so feet from the trees she realized the cranes had their attention on Carly’s daughter. Or at least on the small plate of cookies on the blanket next to her.
The girl was reading, her attention completely caught up in the book. Michelle took a second to study the blond hair, the slight body. She still had trouble believing Carly had a kid, but here was proof.
As she watched, she realized Gabby wasn’t reading at all. That she was tense, her shoulders hunched, her head pulled close to her chest, her breathing rapid. Michelle recognized the symptoms of fear, but it took her a second to find the cause.
The cranes.
Like every other student on the island, Michelle had studied cranes in grade-school science classes. She knew the Puget Sound cranes were on the small side—maybe forty inches tall. They migrated every year, lived in pairs during breeding season and their dove-gray body feathers darkened to an almost blue-gray by the tail.
“Hey,” Michelle said softly, before she could stop herself.
Gabby jumped, then looked up. The cranes hopped back.
“What are you doing here?” the girl demanded.
“I came outside because I couldn’t stand being inside anymore. You ever get like that?”
Gabby studied her. “Maybe.”
Michelle looked toward the chattering cranes. The boldest of the three started toward the cookies again. “When I was about your age, the cranes had it out for me. I spent the whole summer getting pooped on. It was disgusting.”
“Really?”
Michelle nodded. “They’re hard to avoid around here.”
“I know. We have scientists who come and do research on them.”
“Have they figured out how to stop them from pooping?”
Gabby smiled. “No.”
“Figures. They’re probably studying things like population and eggs and stuff.”
The smile widened. “They are. You should talk to Leonard. He knows all about them. You can ask about the poop.”
“There’s a way to start a conversation. ‘Hey, Leonard. About that crane poop.’”
Gabby giggled.
Michelle pointed to the cranes. “Are you afraid of them?” she asked bluntly.
The humor faded. “They always follow me.”
“You have cookies. They want food.”
“Not always. Sometimes I’m just out.”
Michelle glanced at the blanket and thought about sitting down. The problem was she couldn’t figure out how she would manage to get back on her feet. She didn’t think the visual of her crawling back to the inn would help their guests feel more comfortable.
“I read this article once,” Michelle said. “Puget Sound cranes can recognize human faces and somehow they tell other cranes about certain people. So if somebody is mean to a crane, the whole flock learns about it.”
“I know,” Gabby said, glancing at the nearby birds with more than a little fear in her eyes. “Scientists thought that only crows had facial recognition, but they’ve realized our cranes have it, too. They’re special.”
“Interesting. How do you know that?”
“I’m smart.”
�
��And modest.”
Gabby grinned.
“Okay, so one crane tells the other cranes and somehow everyone in the flock knows about the latest gossip.” Michelle shrugged. “Obviously they associate you with food, which is why they’re hanging around, trying to intimidate you into giving up your cookies.”
Barefoot Season Page 9
