He emailed like he talked: staccato bursts of information thatcircled back on themselves unexpectedly. It took Charlie a few reads to make sense of it, and even then there were lingering questions. What friend had emailed? When?
Although he tried not to sound too frantic in his reply, the urgency must have come through because Dr. D answered right away—an unheard-of reaction for a man who forgot there was such a thing as voicemail for months at a time.
As quickly as his spirits had soared, they came crashing back to earth when Charlie realized it was a form message, letting the world know the recipient was currently out of office.
Charlie didn’t have time to play phone tag with Dr. Dillingham’s graduate assistant. What if it was Jean trying to contact him? She could be in trouble and need his help. Or just want to talk, for whatever reason. If only he’d memorized her number. Or found out where she lived. If Charlie hadn’t been afraid to leave his cottage, they could have hung out at her place—
The resort! Why didn’t he think of that sooner? Charlie’s hands trembled as he looked up the number. He let part of himself—maybe a pinkie’s worth—hope that Jean would be the one to answer.
The familiar greeting hit him like a stomach cramp. They really did make dreams come true, at least until they turned into a nightmare. That probably wasn’t the kind of customer-service testimonial they could put in their brochures.
He shook himself, swallowing the disappointment of not hearing Jean’s voice. Time to focus on the task at hand.
“Yes, Polly—”
“Pauline,” she interrupted. “But I guess you can call me Polly. The customer is always right.”
“Right,” he echoed, uncertainly.
“I know. That’s what I said.”
Charlie stopped himself from sayingrightagain. Clearing histhroat, he tried to explain that he was looking for an employee named Jean for reasons that were not at all nefarious or creepy. Probably he shouldn’t have mentioned that part.
Pauline stopped humming long enough to say, “Nah. I don’t know any Jean.”
“Are you sure?” Charlie gave up trying to sound normal. He’d comeso closeto making contact. “Dark hair, smart as a whip, incredibly artistic?”
There was a lot more he could have said, but Pauline’s laughter cut off his Ode to Jean.
“Just messing with you. Jean’s my girl.”
“Really?” Charlie hugged the phone to his chest, until it occurred to him that Pauline might be able to hear his heart pounding. “Could I talk to her?”
“No can do,” Pauline replied.
There was a long silence.
“Why?” Charlie finally asked, when no further explanation appeared to be forthcoming.
“I’m not supposed to say.” She barely paused. “But between you and me, she doesn’t work here anymore.”
He sat up in bed. “She doesn’t?”
“We’re heading into the slow season. They always cut back staff. And then that whole business with you-know-who.”
Charlie had a sinking feeling he did know. “What happened?” he asked, already wincing.
“Oh man, you didn’t hear about it? We had one huge celebrity staying with us. The Silent Storm, baby. Adriana Asebedo’s ex,” she added, when he failed to react.
“I don’t know that I’d call him a celebrity—”
“Ha! Shows what you know. Anyway, that’s why the boss was pissed. Jean never introduced him to Hot Stuff. He probably wanted to ask for some pointers.” She laughed again, loud enough to cover Charlie’s stricken silence.
“Your boss was mad? At Jean?”
“Big-time. Told her to pack her things and not come back. Major stink.”
His hand tightened around the phone. Jean had lost her job—because of him?
