“I want eight more hours in the day.”
“Can’t pour that.” Jolene leaned against the bar. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“Didn’t ask if you were fine. Said you look tired. Big difference.”
Margot wrapped both hands around her mug. Even in the humidity, the warmth was welcome. “It’s the ornament collection. A hundred and seventy thousand dollars in glass, arriving in a few days, and I’ve got one security guard.”
“Pete?”
“You know Pete.”
“Everybody knows Pete. Three years ago the resort hosted a vintage car show. Somebody backed a ’57 Corvette into the pool house. Pete was on security that day.”
“What happened?”
“He was in the men’s room. Missed the whole thing.” Jolene raised an eyebrow. “He’d hold the door for you in a hurricane. But if you’re counting on him to stop someone walking off with a hundred and seventy thousand dollars in glass, you might want a backup plan.”
Margot laughed. It surprised her. She hadn’t laughed in days. The sound bounced off the wooden bar top and disappeared into the ceiling fan’s lazy rotation.
“There you go.” Jolene almost smiled. “You should do that more often. You’ve got a good laugh.”
“I’ll pencil it in. Right after the fire inspection and the lighting walk-through.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Jolene shook her head. “You schedule joy like it’s a vendor delivery.”
The couple in the corner left. The man by the window had fallen asleep. The ceiling fan turned overhead with a faint rhythmic click, and somewhere outside a boat horn sounded in the channel.
The room had narrowed to their table, the kind of place where you might accidentally say something true.
Jolene refilled Margot’s mug without asking. Stronger than the first cup. Margot noticed.
“You upgraded me.”
“You looked like you needed it.”
“Is that your professional assessment?”
“Twenty-two years of reading guests. I’m never wrong.” Jolene set the rag down and squared her shoulders. “So, what else is eating at you besides the glass and Pete?”
Margot turned her mug in a slow circle. “Caleb Henson. The décor guy. What’s his deal?”
“He’s Elaine’s brother.”
Margot set down her mug. “Elaine Marston is Caleb Henson’s sister?”
“Marston’s her married name. Marriage didn’t last, but the name stuck. They don’t advertise it. Elaine thinks it looks like nepotism.” Jolene folded the rag into a neat square. “Which it is, a little. But Caleb does decent work, and he brings his own crew.”
“Is that why he moves through this resort like he owns it?”
“He moves through this resort like that because that’s how Caleb moves through everything.” Jolene set down the glass. “But having a sister who signs the checks doesn’t hurt.”
“No one mentioned this to me.” Margot thought about Caleb volunteering for the ornament lighting. The proprietary way he’d handled the display platform. The casual expertise that always seemed to show up exactly when it was needed.
“No one mentions a lot of things around here until they matter.” Jolene studied her face. “You’re the type who likes to know everything up front.”
“I’m the type who got burned by not knowing.” The words came out sharper than intended. She softened them with a half-smile. “Sorry. Long day.”
