Through the open pavilion wall, he could see the boardwalk. The event planner and the dock man were standing at the railing, talking. Not touching, not even close, but he could read the space between them. She’d turned her body a few degrees toward him without seeming to know it.
Her pen was in her right hand. Caleb had learned her tells by now. Clicking or twisting her pen meant she was bracing. Simply holding it meant she trusted the room.
The dock man said something, and she laughed. Short. The sound carried across the boardwalk and through the open wall, and the sound landed hard. He wondered when the last time was that he’d made anyone laugh. Or trust him that easily.
He turned back to the ornaments and got to work.
The junior staffer’s name was Derek. Twenty, maybe. Lanyard swinging from his hip, blue-stripe keycard catching the light. Staff level.
“Ms. Marston said you needed extra seating for the showcase, Mr. Henson,” Derek said.
“Caleb. Nobody calls me Mr. Henson.” He grinned. “First season?”
“Yes, s… yeah.” Derek caught himself.
“You’ll love it. Best job in the world when the weather holds and the guests are happy.” Caleb took two chairs off the stack. “Back wall. Three rows of ten. Leave an aisle wide enough for two people with champagne glasses. You ever set a room for a showcase before?”
“No.”
“The trick is sight lines. Every chair should have a clear view of the display case. If a guest has to crane their neck, you’ve already lost them.” He positioned the first chair and stepped back. “See? Angle it five degrees toward the center. Try the next one.”
Derek angled the chair. Caleb nodded. “Perfect. You’re a natural.”
The kid stood a little straighter after that. They always did.
“Hey, Derek. I’ve got a load of gear in the storage room that needs to come out here. Extension cords, backup LED panels. You free to help me haul it?”
“I’ve got a break in ten minutes.”
“Perfect. Grab a cart.”
The storage room was at the end of the service corridor, past the electrical room and the ice machine that hummed like a sleeping animal. They loaded the cart together. Two bins of LED equipment, a canvas bag of extension cords.
Caleb handed Derek his water bottle. “Hold this? My hands are covered in dust.” He patted his pockets. Frowned. “Shoot. Left my phone on the shelf. Can I grab your card real quick? Mine doesn’t open this door if it locks behind me.”
Derek hesitated. His hand went to the lanyard at his hip, and Caleb could see the calculation happening. Rules versus the friendly guy who’d spent the last hour talking to him like an equal.
Caleb kept his face easy. Open. The face that had gotten him into vendor booths, VIP suites, and private galleries for fifteen years. The face that made people want to say yes. “Ten seconds, I can see it from here.”
Derek unclipped the lanyard and handed it over. The keycard was warm from his body heat. Blue stripe. Staff access. The whole quiet spine of the resort in a piece of plastic smaller than a playing card.
Caleb walked back into the storage room. Derek stood with the cart, water bottle in one hand, phone in the other. Not watching.
Eight seconds. That was all it took. Palm the keycard from the lanyard. Slide it into the inside pocket of his cargo shorts. Clip the lanyard back together with the empty holster facing inward, against his hip, where the missing card wouldn’t show.
He picked up a phone charger from the shelf and walked back. “Wasn’t my phone. Just the charger. Getting old.” He laughed and handed the lanyard back.
Derek clipped it on without looking.
Back in the pavilion, they unloaded the cart. Derek set the last row of chairs and wheeled the cart toward the door.
“Anything else?”
“You’re good, kid. Thanks.”
Derek left. Caleb turned back to the display case. Twenty-four ornaments under glass. A hundred and seventy thousand dollars in blown art, lit by LEDs he’d angled by hand, sitting in velvet cradles he’d ordered and paid for out of his own pocket. Four thousand dollars he didn’t have, added to the debt that was drowning him.
He thought about slipping the card back onto the kid’s lanyard before the shift ended. It would be the careful thing. Then he thought it through the way he thought through a load-in, every step in order.
