Chapter 7
Justine had begged a towel, washcloth, and a bar of soap from Randy the jailer, and after an okay from the chief, Randy handed them to her through the bars. But when she tossed it all on the bunk and started stripping, he made a run for it. He didn’t want to be caught on camera with a naked woman behind the bars, especially one this crazy. He went back to his desk, and as soon as he confirmed she was intending to wash up in the little sink beside the toilet, he looked away.
She craved the luxury of a nice hot shower, but she was going to happily settle for just feeling clean again, even if she had to put dirty clothes back on. The soap was abrasive and smelled like pine trees. The cell was a little too chilly for this, but she didn’t care. She was barefoot and bare-assed to the world when she got her washcloth wet and soaped it before then started scrubbing and rinsing—first her face, scrubbing off every ounce of old makeup, and then scrubbing her way down, until the last thing she washed were her feet. She wiped what she could of the ketchup off her pants, then tossed the wet washcloth in the sink and started drying. Her pants were still damp as she put them back on, then finished dressing and sat down.
Later, Randy brought her a food tray—a cold sandwich, a bag of chips, and a bottle of water—and left without meeting her gaze.
She thought of all the fine food she’d had from room service, as well as the fine food she’d rejected, then sat down and ate without tasting, refusing to cry. Refusing to feel sorry for herself. Instead, letting all of that fuel her rage. Justine accepted that she’d never finished what she started, but all that was about to change. Before she died, she would make her parents pay—and maybe she’d add Brendan Pope to that list. If he hadn’t been so mean, none of this would have ever happened.
Hours later, she was on her bunk, lying on her back and watching the second hand sweep around the face of the clock on the wall across from her cell. She’d watched every minute pass for the last five hours while playing out payback scenarios in her head, when she heard the jailer’s keys jingling.
She sat up as the door opened. The jailer and the police chief walked in. She watched them approach without moving. Staying silent. Waiting to find out what kind of hole they were going to drop her in when the jailer unlocked her cell. Suddenly, the chief was standing between her and freedom.
“Your mother is here,” he said. “The fines and cost of damage you incurred have been paid. It does not prevent anyone you injured from suing you personally, but in the eyes of the law, you are free to go.”
Justine was shocked. Her mother had come through! She swung her legs off the bunk and stood, then walked beside the chief all the way to the lobby without speaking. They stopped at the front desk, watching as the desk sergeant returned her personal belongings.
She went through her purse, checking the contents. Makeup, a couple of condom packets, a maxed-out credit card, and no cash. She opened the big paper bag they’d given her and pulled out the white faux fur jacket she’d taken off in the bar, then put it back on and signed the receipt sheet.
“Is that it?” she asked.
Chief Warren nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That is all.”
Justine slung her purse over her shoulder and walked out into the cold mountain air.
The moment Karen saw Justine exit the station, she started crying, jumped out of the car, and opened her arms to hug her. Justine stood within her mother’s embrace without responding.
“Oh, honey! Bless your heart! It’s cold out here. Let’s get into the car where it’s warm,” she said.
Justine slid into the passenger seat and went into attack mode, pitching her voice to something between a pitiful whine and unforgivable accusation.
“You both left me in jail. You didn’t show up for court. I thought you didn’t have the money,” Justine said.
Karen blinked as her empathy faded.
“Where the hell is my ‘Thank you, Mommy’? It takes a hell of a long time to drive from Dallas to here. You’re the one who was bawling and begging when you called, telling me you didn’t know when you’d be arraigned, which means neither did I. I got here as fast as I could…and you’re right. I didn’t have the money to pay for this ridiculous mess you made. But your father did, and I just traded three months of my alimony…the money I live on…so that your father would give it all to me now in one lump sum. I just got you out of jail with my rent and food money, you ungrateful little bitch.”
Justine shrugged, quickly reassessing her attitude. She didn’t want to be kicked out of both parents’ homes.
“Sorry. I’m going to have PTSD from that jail.”
“It won’t compare to the PTSD you have given your father and me for the last ten years. Stop making everyone else at fault. You’re the one who’s responsible. And as usual, you’re also not the one paying to fix it.”
Karen started the car and began backing up, and then as soon as she could, made a turn and headed toward the highway.
“Wait! Where are we going?” Justine asked.
“Dallas,” Karen said.
“I need my things! All my clothes!” Justine cried.
“They’re in the trunk. Your father had them packed and waiting at the front desk. He is so done with you…with the both of us,” Karen said.
Justine glanced at her mother, saw the tears on her cheeks, and then looked away. It was going to be a long trip home, but at least she was getting out of this hillbilly town, once and for all.
***
Harley Banks had unpacked and was in the bathroom trying to do something with her hair. After she was satisfied most of the wild curls had been tamed, she peeled the wrapper from a fresh bar of soap and washed up, then opened the little bottle of hand lotion and rubbed some into her skin. It didn’t have much of a scent, but it served its purpose.
After that, she went straight to the computer, logged on with her new password, and made a quick check of all of the links on the site, then logged back out again. She needed to see the hotel in its entirety and what it had to offer before she began digging into the business side.
She reached for the hotel brochure, absently scanning the listed amenities, then studying the little map to locate the gym, hair salon, coffee bar, and gift shop, then how to get to the main dining area of the hotel.
One of the photos on the brochure was of a bathroom with luxurious amenities, even a close-up of the cute little woven basket containing extra soaps, small bottles of shampoo and hand lotion.
Harley glanced at it, and then paused and looked at it again. All of the comped toiletries in the photo had the distinctive Serenity Inn logo—pine trees and the image of a mountain on the label.
Frowning, she carried the brochure into the bathroom. The same little basket was on the counter, but instead of what was in the photo, there were just white plastic bottles for lotions, and shampoos, plain wrappers for the soaps. No fancy labels. No special scents. Just labels with the words shampoo and lotion and soap .
She made a mental note to check the vendors Ray used against the vendors supplying the hotel since Larry’s arrival, and then glanced at the time. It was getting close to noon, and she was starving.
She never ate when she flew because it made her sick, so food was the first thing on her mind. It was too cold to play tourist and walk down to the strip, and she didn’t want room service. Tomorrow she’d rent a car, but not today. It was too cold to sightsee, and she wanted a feel for the hotel, and maybe to catch a glimpse of Brendan Pope.
Still wearing black leather pants and black boots, and the thick, white cable-knit sweater she’d traveled in, she pocketed her key card, dropped her cell phone in a small shoulder bag, and left her room, pausing a moment in the hall to reorient herself toward the elevators, and wound up waiting a couple of minutes at the elevators for a car to arrive.
The car was nearly full when it stopped. “Room for one more?” she asked, and the residents quickly shifted to make room for her.
Men gawked. Women glared. She ignored it all. Business as usual.
Everyone in the elevator exited at the same time, obviously all of them heading into the dining room for lunch. She joined the waiting line to be seated, and when it became her turn, the hostess grabbed a menu.
“Table for one, please. Preferably against a wall or in a corner,” Harley said.
The hostess nodded. “This way, please,” she said and seated her at a small table for two in the corner against a wall, giving her a grand view of the town below. “Your waiter will be right with you. Enjoy your lunch,” the hostess said, and hurried back to her station.
Harley leaned back and relaxed. She was here. The job was ahead of her, and she had all the confidence in herself that she knew how to do it. She opened the menu and began scanning the selections, trying to decide what to order. But whatever she ordered, she was saving room for dessert. She was curious about the man in Justine Beaumont’s headlights and wanted to see what all the fuss was about. What better way than to sample his wares?
A few minutes later, her waiter arrived. He was a wiry young man, barely out of his teens, with sandy hair and a friendly face. He went momentarily mute as Harley looked up and smiled.
“Uh…” Then he remembered his job. “I’m Lee. I’ll be your server today. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Coke on ice,” Harley said.
He nodded. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few minutes?”
“I’m ready. I’ll have a bowl of potato soup and the jalapeno corn bread.”
“Yes, miss. Good choice on a cold day like today. Maybe an appetizer to start you off?”
“No thanks,” she said, and smiled at him again as she handed him the menu.
Still a little dumbstruck by her beauty, Lee nodded and scurried back to the waiters’ station, entered the order on the computer, and then went to get her drink, then hurried back to her table with the Coke on ice. A server followed, pushing the bread cart, and left a miniature loaf of herb bread served on a small wooden cutting board, along with a ramekin of whipped butter.
“Enjoy. Your food will be out soon,” Lee said, and left Harley sampling the savory bread.
The moment he walked into the kitchen, he whistled between his teeth. “I just saw the most beautiful woman. Damn, y’all, she’s sitting alone at the back table by the windows. Blackest curls surrounding that gorgeous face… There are no words,” he said, then picked up an order and headed out to deliver it.
When a few members of the staff started to peek out the door, Chef Randolph waved a knife in the air. “I don’t care if she’s sitting there naked. Get back to your stations,” he roared.
Brendan chuckled beneath his breath as he added a single pink buttercream rose onto the tiny cake he had waiting and looked around for his sous-chef.
“Anthony, bring the mini-cart. We have a couple celebrating their fiftieth anniversary. We don’t want to keep them waiting.”
He placed the little cake on the cart, added the ice bucket with the demi-bottle of champagne, and headed for the dining room.
“Get the door,” he ordered, and Anthony ran ahead to push it open, then followed along to serve as sommelier when the cake was served.
Brendan knew the couple was at table twenty, but once he saw them, they would have been impossible to miss. A tiny little woman with snow-white hair, sitting beside a thin man with stooped shoulders and a snow-white mustache. He had a frizzy halo of white hair that rested just above his ears, and they were talking head-to-head and holding hands.
Brendan knew their names were Joe and Neelie, and when he reached their table, the look between them put a lump in his throat. He wanted that. A love and a woman who loved him enough to stay the course. Then they saw him, and the little woman clapped her hands.
“Oh, Joe! Look what they brought!”
Brendan set the little cake in the middle of their table.
“Happy Anniversary, Joe and Neelie. From all of us at the Serenity Inn, wishing you another fifty more!”
“I had pink roses in my bridal bouquet!” Neelie cried.
“A little bird told me,” Brendan said, then nodded at Anthony, who promptly set two champagne flutes at their places and did the honors. The pop of the champagne cork was heard across the dining room as Anthony began filling each flute with the bubbly wine. The waitstaff, who’d been cued to participate, moved to the celebratory table and cheered in unison—
“Happy fiftieth anniversary, Joe and Neelie!”
The diners joined in by cheering and clapping as the elderly couple toasted each other and took their first sips of champagne.
Then Brendan picked up the cake knife and handed it to Joe. “I believe you two have done this before,” he said.
Neelie was giggling as Joe took the knife.
“We do this together,” Joe whispered.
Neelie laid her hand over his, and together they pushed the knife down through the cake all the way to the plate.
“Allow me,” Brendan said, and sliced a piece of cake for each of them. “With our best wishes,” he said, and as he was turning around, purposefully looked in the corner of the room, to the woman sitting alone at a table for two, and realized she was looking at him.
Their gazes locked, and time stopped.
Lee the waiter wasn’t wrong. She was stunning. But she was looking at him with an intensity that strangers didn’t evoke. Did he know her? Or the better question might be, how did she know him? It took every ounce of restraint he had to turn around and walk away when all he wanted was to hear her voice.
***
Harley was still shaking from the look that passed between them.
Brendan Pope’s picture at the DMV did not do him justice. He was stunning—and tall, so tall—with a massive build to go with it. Broad chest and shoulders. Long, muscular legs. A true giant in the room, and he’d just treated that darling little couple with quiet dignity. No wonder Justine Beaumont had lost her mind over this man.
At that moment, her waiter came back with her food and brought her a refill of her Coke on ice while trying not to stare.
“Will there be anything else?” Lee asked.
Harley nodded. “I’ll be wanting dessert.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll bring the dessert menu shortly,” he said.
“No, just ask the pastry chef to choose something for me,” she said.
A bit taken aback, Lee nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, hurried back to the kitchen, and straight to Brendan’s workstation.
“Chef, the lady at Table 12 will be wanting dessert in a while. She asked if you would mind choosing something for her.”
The hair crawled on the back of Brendan’s neck. He went still, and then nodded. “I don’t mind.”
“Let me know when it’s ready and I’ll serve it,” Lee said.
“No need. You let me know when she’s ready and I’ll deliver it.”
“Yes, Chef,” Lee said, and hustled back to deliver another order.
Brendan went to the cooler with a dessert plate, eyed the trays of ready desserts, chose a strawberry napoleon one from the trays, and then left it on the plate awaiting delivery, and went back to work.
Pans of herb bread were coming out of the ovens, more were going in, and he didn’t have time to let his thoughts wander.
But at the other end of the kitchen area, Chef Randolph was vocally objecting to the cuts of meat his sous-chef just brought from the cooler.
“What is this?” he yelled. “These aren’t porterhouse cuts!”
“That’s what was delivered, and the boxes are clearly marked,” the sous-chef said. “Maybe it was a packing error. I’ll look again.”
Randolph frowned. “You take over the grill. I need to see this for myself!” he said, and stormed off.
It didn’t take long for him to see that his sous-chef was correct. The delivery was clearly marked, but the meat inside was not what they’d ordered. The cut was similar, but it was from a lesser quality of meat.
He began looking through the rest of what they had on hand, and then stormed out. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, and he was fed up. He went back to work, but when this shift was over, he was going over the manager’s head and straight to the boss’s daughter about the poor quality of meat being ordered. It wasn’t what he requested, and this wasn’t up to Randolph’s standards.
While Brendan was working, he got a text from Liz.
Dad’s auditor, Harley Banks, is on-site. She’s been given free rein through the hotel. Oh…just a heads-up. She’s stunning.
Maybe that’s why the woman was staring at me. She already knows who I am and what I look like. I misread the whole thing. Or did I?
Now he was anxiously awaiting the signal from Lee to deliver her dessert, and when it came, he dropped what he was doing, took the plated dessert from the cooler, and placed it on a tray.
“Anthony, watch the timer on the breads,” he said, and walked into the dining room with the woman’s dessert.
***
Harley was reading a text from Ray Caldwell when she sensed someone standing beside her. It was Brendan Pope, and she hadn’t even heard him coming. Yet here he was, and it appeared she’d underestimated him. He didn’t just choose a dessert; he was delivering it. He’d not only read her play, but he’d also called her bluff. Maybe she’d unleashed something she didn’t know how to handle.
“Your dessert, ma’am. A strawberry napoleon. Enjoy.”
Harley smiled, and then stood and held out her hand. As tall as she was, she was still looking up when she spoke.
“I’m Harley Banks, and you surprised me, Chef Pope. I didn’t hear you approach.”
“Brendan,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ray told me you were coming. He also asked me to watch out for you if the need arose.”
“Really?” Harley said.
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled a card from his pocket and laid it on the table. “My personal cell number, just in case.”
“Nobody calls me ‘ma’am.’ Just Harley, okay? When you get time, would you mind coming to my suite after you clock out? I need to pick your brain a bit. I promise it won’t take long.”
“Yes, ma’am. Happy to help,” he said, and left her standing.
Harley watched him walk away, thinking how remarkable that a man that big could move with such grace. Why do I feel like I’ve just been sideswiped? She plopped back into her chair, eyed her dessert, and then picked up her fork.
“Taste test,” she muttered, and poked the fork into the light-as-air puff-pastry sheets, down through the vanilla pastry cream and thinly sliced strawberries, all the way to the plate, then scooped up the bite and popped it in her mouth. “Oh my God,” she muttered, and rolled her eyes, savoring the crisp and smooth and fruity all on her tongue.
Lee the waiter appeared with a coffee, smiled as he set it down, and disappeared.
“I could get used to this,” Harley said, and didn’t look up until she’d eaten every bite.
While she was downing dessert, Brendan was sliding fresh bread onto cooling racks, and pretended meeting her was no bigger a deal than meeting any dinner guest, but that would have been a lie. And, he was going to have to face her again tonight after work.
Harley Banks might just be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but he was so used to dodging Justine that he was still in stealth mode.
He hadn’t forgotten Amalie’s warning. If he was to believe it, then he had to accept that sometime during her stay, Harley Banks was going to need him, and that she would matter in his life, and not to push her away.
***
Alex Fallin, the young man Brendan had pulled from the roof of the overturned bus, was healing nicely, and his sister, Josie, had finally quit crying every time she looked at him, thank God. At first, she’d scared him, making him think she knew something about his injury that he did not, and he had begun to wonder if he was going to die.
He’d traded the hospital bed for a bed in her touring bus and spent his time watching TV and sleeping and eating when Josie popped in to check on him throughout the day. Every time she came back to the bus, she would talk about the man who’d saved his life. Then this morning, Josie walked in with a cinnamon roll and plopped it down on his table and started talking.
“I brought you something good. It’s a cinnamon roll from a place downtown called Granny Annie’s Bakery. They are so good. And the coolest thing! I found out that the woman who runs the bakery is Brendan Pope’s aunt. I told her how he saved you.”
“Nice,” Alex said, and took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Oh man, you were right! This is amazing!”
Josie’s phone was buzzing, but she was ignoring it. She just kept looking at her brother. He was eight years younger, but after their parents divorced, they both stayed with their dad. It had been the saving grace for both of them.
After Josie became famous, her mother tried to come back into her life, but Josie didn’t buckle. And then last year their father died. Alex graduated college in December and was coming to live with Josie while he began job hunting. Then this happened. Josie was so grateful she hadn’t lost him, too, that for the first couple of days, all she’d done was look at him and cry about what might have been. But that fear had finally passed, and watching Alex plow through the sweet roll made her happy.
“Guess what else I found out about Brendan Pope. He’s the head pastry chef at the Serenity Inn. That’s where I’m hosting a fan-club event in a few days,” she said.
Alex glanced up. “I think I remember him mentioning something about working there, but I was kind of out of it. So, he bakes stuff?”
“Apparently that skill runs in the family,” Josie said, pointing to the cinnamon roll. “I talked to your doctor. I can get some crutches for you now. I’ll do it today, but you still have to keep weight off your leg until your staples are removed.”
Alex nodded as he licked the sugar off his thumb and finger. “I’m really sorry all this happened. I wanted to spend some time with you, and now you’re having to take care of me.”
Josie patted his foot.
“Sugar, I’ve been taking care of you since you learned to walk. I miss you. Being on the road gets lonesome. I’m so damn grateful you didn’t die in that wreck.”
He grinned. “Me too.”
***
Harley changed from her travel clothes into an old pair of jeans and a nondescript sweatshirt, swapped running shoes for the boots she’d been wearing, and spent a couple of hours at the computer, setting up a spreadsheet for the audit.
Once she was satisfied with the start she’d made, she pocketed her key card and left her room to find the manager’s office and introduce herself to Larry Beaumont. She’d learned a long time ago that, in her line of work, presenting herself as harmless made everything better. She already knew the office was on the fourth floor and took the stairs down four flights instead of waiting for an elevator.
It was simple enough to locate the office from the sign on the door, and she promptly knocked, then waited for permission to enter.
***
Larry was at the window in his office overlooking the back side of the hotel. From where he was standing, he could see the whole of Pope Mountain, part of the creek and the swiftly flowing water that came down from some spring up above, and the back end of a parking lot for one of the music venues. Sometimes when he looked at the scene, he felt the mountain’s majesty. Other times, he felt a threat from its presence, as if it was barring him from getting too close. Today, he felt hemmed in, which had nothing to do with his location and everything to do with his family.
He wanted a drink. But he was on the job. Then someone knocked. He jumped from the unexpected sound and then turned.
“Come in,” he said.
The door opened to a woman so stunning that he forgot to breathe.
“Mr. Beaumont?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Harley Banks, the auditor Mr. Caldwell sent. I wanted to introduce myself.”
Larry smiled. “Yes, of course! Come in! Take a seat.”
Harley closed the door behind her as she entered, then sat. It was hard to pull off being the numbers nerd when she wore this face and hair, but she’d become adept at not calling more attention to herself than necessary.
“How was your trip?” Larry asked.
Harley noticed he was still standing. A very male move in trying to assert authority.
“It was fine. My suite is quite comfortable and roomy enough for me to work in. It’s much appreciated. Thank you,” she said.
“You’re most welcome! Good to know it suits. I like to make sure our guests always have everything they need. It’s quite cold here this time of year, so do let me know if you’re not comfortable.”
Harley already knew Ray had ordered it all, but Larry appeared to be taking full credit. However, trying to look like a big shot was not a crime.
“It is cold here, but I’m from Chicago. I left several feet of dirty slush and snow behind me, and more predicted, but Jubilee wears her winter coat well.”
Larry blinked. She’s beautiful, obviously intelligent or she wouldn’t be an auditor, and she speaks like a poet. I wonder if she has a significant other? Then he realized she was still talking and tuned back in.
“Necessary now and then for me to view parts of the hotel that are off-limits to guests, although I’m certain you already know that. Just know that I won’t get in the way of anything. I’m just auditing, not redecorating,” she said, and then laughed.
The sound went all the way to Larry’s toes as he laughed along with her. Then to his dismay, she was on her feet and in the act of leaving.
“Thank you for letting me disturb a bit of your day. I’ll be on my way now. I’m taking a little tour of the shops and guest amenities. I rented a car that will be delivered here sometime tomorrow. Other than that, I think we’re good for now.”
Larry hurried to open the door for her and, as she walked past him, realized she was taller than he was. He watched her walking away before he shut the door and then went to the bottom drawer of his desk, pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass, and poured himself a drink. He tossed it back in one gulp, then rode out the fire and heat as he swallowed, before returning the bottle to the drawer.
“That is one fine woman,” he muttered, and went back to work.
Satisfied that hand had played out as she intended, Harley took an escalator downstairs to the lobby and began wandering through the shops, eyeing what was for sale, and noting how the shop clerks interacted with the guests, then took the elevator down to the pool area. Rising vapor from the water was visible from where she was standing, which told her the pool was heated.
She found the spa area and stopped in to visit a bit and pick up a brochure.
“Welcome to the Serenity Inn. I’m Tori. Are you here to book an appointment?” the receptionist asked.
Harley shrugged. “Maybe later. I’m going to be here for a while. I’ll check my schedule and get with you later,” Harley said, and left the spa.
She was back up on the ground floor and walking through the lobby when she saw a police car come to a quick stop at the front entrance. Curious, she paused to watch, and as they got out, she did a double take. The tall one with black hair could have been Brendan Pope’s twin. Then she remembered he was one of four brothers, two of whom were officers with the Jubilee police force.
Both officers came hurrying inside in long, hasty strides as two security guards from Hotel Security came out of a room with a fortysomething woman in restraints and handed her over to the officers.
One guard quickly read off her particulars.
“Virginia Taylor. Age forty-seven. Caught in the act of picking a man’s pocket in the bar. When searched, we found a purse full of wallets belonging to some of our guests.”
Virginia had been crying. Her mascara was smeared and there was lipstick on her teeth, likely from biting her lip as she was doing when they handed her over.
“This has all been a misunderstanding. I think some teenagers planted that in my purse while I was at the bar,” she wailed.
The moment that excuse came out of Virginia’s mouth, Harley saw the Brendan look-alike frown as he pulled out his handcuffs.
“Well, Virginia, you didn’t think that story through. Teenagers aren’t allowed in the hotel bar. Please stand still,” he said, and read her the Miranda rights, but when he went to cuff her, she let out a wail.
“You’re hurting me. I have witnesses,” she whined.
He looked up, eyed the gathering crowd, and snapped on the second cuff. “I’m not hurting you. You’re hurting yourself. I asked you to stand still and you chose to ignore the order. And yes, there are people witnessing your arrest for pickpocketing.”
“I have rights. What’s your name and badge number?” she shouted.
Without missing a beat, he rattled off the info.
“Officer Wiley Pope…spelled like the one in Rome…related to half the population of Jubilee. Badge number ten, as in the number after nine, but the one before eleven.” And then he slipped his hand beneath one elbow while his partner took the other, and they walked her out of the hotel to the tune of continuing verbal complaints.
It was all Harley could do not to laugh. She didn’t know about the rest of Brendan’s brothers, but on the job, this one was unflappable. She was still smiling as she headed back to her room.