“Check out what?” I grumble.
“Oy. Scarlett, someday you’re going to learn how to prepare yourself for life.”
I’m ignoring the drama and going to sleep. “Goodnight, Brenny boo-boo.”
* * *
“What is this,The Notebook?” I ask the Uber driver. “I should have known by the name of this ‘hotel.’”
“You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into, I take it?” he says with a chuckle.
The small dip in between the pavement and the dirt road woke me up about twenty-seconds ago, and it’s taken me that long to figure out if I’m still asleep. This is not Boston, I can see that much. There are weeping willow trees every few feet, dirt for roads, and a large house that looks like it has to be two hundred years old. There’s no way this is a new hotel.
“Dick told me the hotel was new, which threw me off, but part of me knew it would be something like this, which is why I didn’t want to do any research,” I tell Brendan.
He doesn’t respond since he’s too busy taking in the scenery as we drive by a small pond with actual lily pads and lilies. I’m not sure of the last time I’ve seen a pond with greenery and flowers floating on top. It’s usually just scum and trash with maybe a few flies here and there in the city. The pond is pretty and gives me a good first impression of the hotel grounds, but it isn’t until I see a group of women walking along the side of the road that I know something is seriously odd about this place. They look like they’re all dressed in their Sunday’s best for church. Though, most people don’t dress so conservatively up North on Sundays, so it’s a bit different to see.
“Just so you’re aware, the owner of the plantation doesn’t like Uber drivers to pull up past the parking lot unless you’re checking in or out with bags. He tries to keep traffic to a minimum—something about the ‘old-time feel’ of the place,” the driver says.Oh, dear God. Maybe now is the time I should become concerned.
The Uber driver pulls up to the front of the plantation and hops out to tend to the bags in the trunk.
“I—think I’m going to love it here,” Brendan says, still ignoring my shock as he opens his door and steps out. He stretches his arms up and out and pans his head slowly from side to side, taking in the abundance of greenery. “The air even smells clean.”
I open my door and step out, feeling my heels tilt to the side as I sink into the dirt. I steady myself and silently acknowledge the clean air too. That is nice, I suppose.
Wait a minute. Dick said there were villas here. There are definitely no villas at this place. This can’t be right.
“Welcome!” A man wearing a white button-down shirt that’s tucked into a pair of gray slacks jogs down the front steps with his hands in his pockets. “Miss Scarlett, I assume?”
“Y—yup, that’s me,” I say through a stutter as I nearly trip again. “And, this is my friend Brendan. He took one for the team and moved down here with me.” I wrap my arm around Brendan and squeeze because he’s staring at the man with an odd look that’s makingmeuncomfortable.
“Great! It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’m Ellis Freedman, manager of this establishment. It’s nice to have you in Blytheville. How was your flight?” As he approaches me, he reaches his hand out to shake mine. I can hardly see him with the sun glaring right over his face, but I take his hand. “It was long and boring. You know how it is.”
“Actually, I rather enjoy a nice flight. It’s a good time to collect my thoughts and be closer to God.” I have to press my lips together to keep myself from saying something stupid. “Here, don’t worry about your bags. Ralphie will come out and take them for you.”
“This is a hotel, right?” I ask him.
“Of course; what else would it be?” he responds as if my question is as crazy as this place looks from the outside.
A nursing home, or maybe a haunted mansion? I can think of a few ways to describe this place, and none of them come close to any sort of hospitality accommodation. We walk up the stone steps to the front porch that’s decked out with white rocking chairs. See? It’s totally a nursing home. Another step takes us into the “hotel,” and I’m a bit surprised to see the modern decor inside. There’s a front desk with a dark-tiled backsplash along the wall, a large fountain in the center of the marble floor, and there’s live shrubbery lining all four walls where oversized windows overlook perfectly manicured gardens. “Wow, it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you, we only have a few months of work left before we can call the project complete, but everything in the public interior areas is in good condition now.”
“That’s great,” I tell him.
“This is where you’ll be working,” he says as we walk by the front desk. Brendan is following close at my heels but hasn’t said a word. He looks like he just ran into Taylor Swift by the shock and awe beaming across his face.
We continue down a hall trailing off from the lobby and head out a side door into the gardens. To my surprise, there are, in fact, villas back here. They appear more modern than the main building but still outdated. Maybe it’s purposeful, to keep the charm of the antiquated place. “Most of the standard guest rooms are above the lobby, but for our elite guests who prefer more quiet and luxury, we offer villas. They are usually booked up far in advance though, so we’ll be getting reservations for them eight to twelve months before a guest arrives.” I won’t be complaining about staying in the luxury quarters then. That’s pretty sweet.
After passing by the last villa, we take a sharp right, and there’s a very small brick house that strongly resembles a shed. “And this is where you’ll be living. All of the utilities are running, and the amenities you need are in working condition. An interesting story about this part of our property is that back in the eighteen hundreds, this is where the—servants—would sleep. There were obviously no working utilities or amenities at that time, but it’s always nice to know the history of where you’re living. Don’t you think?”
What do I think? I think I’m horrified because I don’t think he’s referring to paid servants. If I’m correct, how in the world could they continue using this space for accommodations? I hope I’m wrong, but if I’m haunted by someone tonight, I’ll have a pretty good idea that I’m right.Great, I transferred down here to—literally—live in the servant’s quarters … or worse.
Ellis unlocks the front door, and the space is no more than a studio with a small galley kitchen. “If you need privacy, we’ve left a folding wall in the closet for you.” He points straight across the box of a living area toward the closet, then shifts his direction toward the corner where there’s a closed door. “And your bathroom is right in there.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. Now that we’re inside here, I get a better look at Ellis and his slicked-back, blond hair. He exudes confidence in a way I’m not sure I like just yet.
“Well, I need to get back to the front desk. Ralphie should be here soon with your bags. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” He reaches his hand out once again to shake my hand, and I feel a whole lot of hesitance at the moment. “It’s so nice to meet you, Miss Scarlett and Brendan. So nice.” He slips his hands back into his pockets and pivots on his heels to leave.
