Page 27 of Moonlit Hideaway
“Sure, you won’t find any complaints,” Liam said. He handed Hank a Virginia driver’s license and a printed list of references.”
After Liam excused himself to set up his trailer, Hank settled behind his desk to make the calls. The first few checks werestandard fare, with positive remarks on Liam’s handiwork and reliability.
On his next call, he reached an answering machine with the message, “Vinnie Romanski is now deceased; this call is being forwarded.”
His finger hovered over the end call button. There was something peculiar about the accent—the way ‘call’ sounded like ‘cawl’ and ‘forwarded’ turned into ‘faw-wuh-ded.’
Another voice came on the line. “Marco Garrison, what ya doing calling this line?”
“I was trying to reach Mr. Romanski,” Hank said. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry to hear he’s passed.”
“I’m handling his business now; what do you need?”
“Just checking references for a Mr. Liam Walsh. He listed Mr. Romanski as a previous employer.”
There was a brief pause. “Liam Walsh, huh? Where are you calling from?”
Hank was always cautious about respecting his guests’ privacy, and something about Mr. Garrison’s question didn’t sit right with him.
“I’m sorry to bother you, especially at this difficult time.” He quickly ended the call with a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach.
The man’s aggressiveness caught him by surprise, in stark contrast to the friendliness of the first few satisfied customers. It almost felt like Liam had run off without finishing his work. Or was there another reason Mr. Garrison wanted to know Liam’s location?
It was best to leave things as they were. If Liam Walsh turned out to be a problem, he’d deal with it then.
Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Like spending time with Sierra. Having Liam around would free him up to introduce her to the island and maybe more. He couldn’twait to show her the hidden gems of Moonlit Harbor and the water surrounding it.
As he locked up his office, a wry smile touched his lips. Tomorrow might be a good day, after all. He’d delegate his work to Liam and spend the day with Sierra. Who knew, maybe he could impress her with his not-so-rusty charm.
Cold chills racked Sierra’s body as she locked herself in her room—now bare of her things. She dropped the backpack and picked up the robe Hank had provided. A quick shower would wash away the dirt and hopefully calm her nerves. She shouldn’t have gotten so shaken up because a strange handyman asked if he’d seen her before. Anyone who’d been to Atlantic City would have seen her face plastered on the marquees.
The shower did little to dispel her worries. The island was supposedly safe, but she was also in the dark. Had her sisters’ husbands made their moves yet? Could Marco have been deposed already, or had he consolidated his power by joining up with one of the regional capos or even the head of security? Was he going to hold her to the deal with her father?
Sierra needed news from home. But more than that, she missed her mom’s meddling worries—strange how the very habits she couldn’t wait to get away from now kept her anchored with a sense of security. Despite her publicist keeping a lid on rumors, the speculation would be insane, and poor Mom would be frantic with worry. What if she went to her dad’s fixer, Tony Walsh, to ask for help? Mother knew how to play the game, and she and Tony had carried on an undercover flirtation behind her father’s back.
“A woman needs protection,” she’d always told Sierra growing up. “And the way to get protection is sex.”
Uncle Tony always promised to look after her. He’d brought her gifts when she was a little girl, and he didn’t care for the turf wars the other guys fought over. He just liked fixing things. He made traffic tickets go away the same way he whisked bad grades from her report card. She’d gotten the last spot on the cheer squad in high school and lucked out when the two top contestants in a singing contest dropped out due to sore throats. And when she competed in her first beauty contest, Uncle Tony assured her she had the winning edge, giving her the confidence and perfect evening gown to outshine the rest of the field. Sure enough, her name was called, and she stood there, tiara perched atop her head, feeling like luck was a tangible thing she could grasp.
A gentle knock on the door pulled Sierra back to the present. “Jane? It’s me, Emma.”
“Coming.” She wrapped the robe tighter around her and opened the door, remembering how hurt Emma was that she’d tried to leave. “Hey, it’s good seeing you.”
“Yeah, same. I’m so glad my dad found you on the beach. Why did you want to leave us? Don’t you like it here?”
“I do, sweetie, but I got scared.”
“Of what?” Emma’s eyes grew round, and Sierra decided to change the subject. “Hey, you done with your homework?”
“Not really.” The teen stood there with a laptop computer. “Are you any good with math?”
“Well, I did pass high school,” Sierra said. “What can I help you with?”
“Word problems. I tried typing them into AI, but I’m not sure the answers are right.”
“We should be able to check them if we go backward,” Sierra suggested. “I know enough about math to work backward.”
She showed Emma how to take the suggested answer and see if it made sense by putting the pieces back into the problem. Sitting at the small desk, Sierra leaned over the laptop as Emma watched intently. She checked a few of the answers that the AI provided and found its logic to be correct. However, one of the problems could have been more clearly worded, so Sierra had to guess what the teacher wanted.
