“That’s a relief. I’m glad she’s okay,” Steve said.
The ring of sincerity in his tone struck Christopher. Steve wasn’t the smartest guy, but he was kind. For the first time, Christopher wondered if he should do something to help. His enemy wasn’t Steve as much as Carl.
The man demanded top dollar from Inn guests for a subpar experience. Christopher had fought for improvements and better prices. But Carl knew that as long as Christopher didn’t take the initiative to offer his own cruising options, the Inn would remain a steadfast partner.
Unless I hire Steve?Ashley wouldn’t balk. She might encourage the idea. Christopher could picture her bright smile. Was her happiness enough to override the frustration inherent in dealing with Steve as an employee? The man was little more than a lackey. Carl browbeat his son into a pulp. Could Steve step up once he was free of his old man?
“Let me handle this,” a gruff voice yelled on the other end of the phone. “You always mess things up. You mishandled this whole situation.”
Christopher pulled the cell away from his ear. The sharp words cut through the nice image like a serrated blade, a crude hacking of the surface.
Carl wasn’t even on the call, and he was loud enough for the listener to cringe.
Christopher didn’t particularly want to hear more. “She’s fine. I’ll handle her bills. Thanks for your help.” He ended the call. He didn’t want to stay on the line and deal with Carl. Although, he did feel a twinge of guilt for subjecting Steve to that prospect.
What was there tomishandle? Steve’s outlandish assumption, that Ashley was kidnapped, bothered Christopher. The situation had been serious enough without adding in foul play.She could have been killed.He’d assured them both that the lighthouse accident was an inevitable mishap. The building should have been torn down or fixed up years ago. He wasn’t certain.Had someone tried to kill her?
The more he thought about the entire calamity, from explosion to rescue, the worse he felt. Dread coiled around him, weighing down his arms with old iron chains. No, he wouldn’t let Carl’s sourness turn his mind. Carl was the worst parent in town.
Xavier had been hard to please. Ashley didn’t understand how impossibly high the standards her father held himself to were only lowered slightly for her. But he had never been cruel. He’d been indulgent for too long and had put his foot down when he had no other choice. Pride had prevented him from being honest. Their relationship suffered.
Christopher’s temples throbbed, and the car walls closed in. The tight quarters were cramped. He’d rather not sit in a tight box with his work calls—and thus problems—forwarded to him. If he had issues, he’d rather deal with them from the comfort of his office.
Christopher slid out from the driver’s seat with a harumph, locked the car, and crossed toward the front entrance.
“Mr. Lewis,” a gruff voice called. “A moment.”
Carrying a rake and wearing coveralls, the groundskeeper scowled, the expression just perceptible through the silver beard. He looked formidable and fierce. However, anyone who knew the man was aware he only terrorized weeds. “Good afternoon, Mr. Willie. Did you block off the island?”
“Little good a rope will do.” Mr. Willie snorted. “Dismantle the bridge. You must take serious action to deter lookie-loos. Someone getting injured is a big problem.”
Mr. Willie was, as usual, one hundred percent correct. But Christopher wasn’t dealing in logic at the moment. He was working with his wife.After we catch the villain. “Yes, I’ll consider the suggestion. Any luck with the lifeguard chair?”
“It’s dry. I’ve placed it back into position. Not that anyone is swimming this early in the season.” Mr. Willie raised a hand to cover his mouth. “Perhaps you can give Mrs. Hale-Lewis chores that don’t involve the grounds?”
The words were muffled but not enough to lessen the impact of hearing her referred to by her married name. Christopher pressed the heel of his right palm against his pounding heart. “Of course.”
Mr. Willie tipped his head and strode back the way he’d come.
Christopher continued toward the entrance, nodding and smiling at the bellhops and valets as he strolled inside his kingdom. He’d grown up on the grounds and never imagined anywhere could come closer to heaven on earth. He’d left for college and returned as soon as he could. She’d wanted to keep traveling. He’d never been enough for her, and neither had Loon Lake. What changed? Was she here because she came to appreciate what she’d had? Or because she had nowhere else to go?
He wanted this to be her choice.
Inside the lobby, the Inn was buzzing with conversations and activity.
Christopher made eye contact with each staff member standing behind the registration desk as he passed. He reached the bottom of the stairs before anyone stopped him.
Mr. Brixen stood in his path. “Mr. Lewis, may I have a word, sir?” The concierge darted his eyes and nodded toward the front office.
“Of course,” Christopher said brightly, following the man. He was always aware of being present and pleasant when in the Inn’s public spaces and the community in general. Only in the attic could he be himself. Xavier had taught him the importance of keeping a calm countenance.
Christopher stepped inside the office and shut the door. “What’s the problem?” he asked under his breath, careful and aware as always of ears everywhere.
Mr. Brixen tapped on his cell phone and extended it. “Look at this. It’s only been picked up locally. But this isn’t the sort of thing you want getting out.”
Christopher raised the phone, squinting at the screen. A webpage with the bold headlineCURSED?!appeared over his senior yearbook photo. He frowned. Using the worst possible publicly available image was a low blow, even for Zach Jenkins on his Loon Lake conspiracy blog, The Jenkins Report. He scanned the text, swallowing his sigh. The text mentioned some of Ashley’s recent shenanigans, leaning into the ghost angle she was so fond of but twisting it from a friendly specter into a malevolent poltergeist.
Luckily, the post didn’t include today’s explosion. But it mentioned that access to the island was restricted recently. Mr. Willie wouldn’t like that; it might spur some of the youths to sneak onto the island and poke around the rubble, potentially hurting themselves.
