Page 29 of Nightcaps at The Beach House Hotel

Regaining her composure and smiling broadly again, Everly waved and blew a kiss to the cameras.

We walked beside Everly as she climbed the front steps of the hotel.

Once inside, she turned to us. “I’m not going to bother to register. I want to go directly to The Presidential Suite. Flying today is so unpleasant.”

“We’ll show you to your suite and send someone from the Front Desk up to your room to take care of your registration,” I said, warning Rhonda with a look to keep quiet. Rhonda was, as she would say, totally pissed to have Everly treat us and our procedures that way.

We led Everly to a winding staircase in the corner of the lobby to what once was Rhonda’s private headquarters. Now it served as The Presidential Suite, worthy of any hotel.

We opened the carved wooden door of the suite and motioned Everly inside. From the front entrance, one faced the living room. A large Oriental carpet in greens, blues, and deep red covered most of the wooden floor. It was offset by white couches and subtly patterned chairs in complementary colors.

The dining room was next to the kitchen, which wasn’t large but was well laid out. Outside, between the kitchen and living room, a large balcony held a table and chairs and overlooked the side garden. In contrast, the master bedroom offered a perfect view of the beach and Gulf water. The master bath was everyone’s favorite space. The shiny brass fixtures added to the marbled interior which had an enormous shower that Rhonda had once told me was her “playpen.”

Another bedroom, full bath, and powder room were part of the suite.

Everly followed us around but did not comment until she saw the gift basket left for her. “I hope it’s a good wine. I’m ready for some,” she said, lifting the bottle of pinot noir from the basket.

“Anything you need, just call the front desk,” said Rhonda.

“Have a wonderful stay. We’ll send someone up from the front desk to get the information we need. Thank you,” I said, backing away from her toward the front entrance, fighting the awful feeling that something bad was about to happen.

Rhonda closed the door behind us and shook her head. “She’s on something. Did you see the way her hands were shaking?”

“I didn’t, but I’m afraid you’re right. It was more than being hungover or travel fatigue.”

We went to the front desk and told one of the clerks what we wanted him to do.

Bernie came over to us. “How did things go? Sorry, I was busy with a call and didn’t make it out to the lobby to greet Everly Jansen.”

“We’ve just sent someone up to her room to get her registration information. She refused to go to the front desk and do it even though no one else was there,” I said.

“She’s a pain in the ass already,” said Rhonda.

“Don’t worry, the staff and I will take over from here,” said Bernie in what was a soothing tone for him—crisp and clear.

“Okay, thanks,” I said. “I see we have a VIP private dinner tonight. I assume Annette is handling that, but I’ll be on hand to greet them and help Annette.”

Bernie bobbed his head and walked away to see about the commotion outside in front of the hotel.

Rhonda and I followed but hung back as Bernie approached the group of photographers and news reporters. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m asking you to please leave. The Beach House Hotel is known for offering our guests the privacy they deserve. Any requests for information need to come through my office as manager of the hotel. Thank you.”

I couldn’t help smiling. The more serious Bernie became, the thicker his German accent.

Rhonda and I headed to our office. There were other things we needed to take care of.

We were discussing plans for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s celebrations when I received a call from the front desk.

“Hello, Ms. Sanders. I want you and Ms. Grayson to know that the charge card Ms. Jansen used for her deposit didn’t go through. Neither did a second card.”

I thanked the clerk and turned to Rhonda. “Problem already. Everly’s charge cards didn’t go through.”

“Surprise, surprise,” grumped Rhonda. “Let Bernie handle it. I’m already too annoyed to be polite.”

I blinked in surprise. Rhonda must be really upset to admit she couldn’t deal with the situation. Normally, she would’ve been on her feet, ready to confront Everly with some spicy language. She hated deceit.

“Are you alright, Rhonda?” I asked, giving her a steady look.

Rhonda sighed and shook her head. “I’m worried about Will. Ever since Reggie’s father, Arthur, married Lorraine and came to live in Sabal, he and Reggie have been working overtime to finish work and to try to get new clients. It’s as if they’re trying to compete with Arthur who brought many of his high-profile clients with him to Florida. It’s really like comparing apples and oranges.”

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