“That’s what you think,” Felice said. She turned and left.
“I know you hired her, Traci,” Charlie started, “but I don’t think that girl grasps how important our business relationships are. The Betzes have been supplying our fish since—”
“Happy Beach Bash Day!” Madelyn Eddings swept into the room, clutching her ever-present planner. “Wanted to let you know the flowers for the centerpieces were just delivered and they are stunning, if I do say so myself.”
“Centerpieces?” Traci eyed her sister-in-law warily. “What happened to just using pineapples and palm fronds on the tables, like we always used to do?”
“Traci, must you cling so tenaciously to the clichés of the past? Wait until you see what I’ve done. Three different kinds of orchids, bromeliads, tuberoses. It’s absolutely heavenly.”
“And I bet the florist bill will be hellish,” Traci snapped, out of patience.
“The Saint is a five-star hotel, and we must give our guests a five-star experience,” Madelyn said, waving away her sister-in-law’sobjections. “And now, I’ll just scoot along down there to supervise, and then I’ll see you out front at five.”
Traci and Parrish stood in the entryway to the hotel lobby, dressed in coordinating Hawaiian-print dresses, their arms full of leis. The plan was that promptly at five, the doors would be opened and they would begin greeting their guests and offering the leis.
“About your text,” Traci told her niece. “How worried should I be?”
“Not here,” Parrish whispered, as one of the valet parking guys jogged past. “Have you seen my dad? Or Madelyn? Shouldn’t they have been here by now?”
“Madelyn came by the office earlier…” Traci said.
“And here she is now,” Parrish said, nodding as her stepmother approached. “Jesus! Will you look at what she’s wearing? I swear, I can see the tops of her nipples.”
“Oh my,” Traci whispered back.
Madelyn Eddings’s dress was made of the same eye-popping floral fabric as the other two women’s dresses, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Her own dress was a short, shirred, skin-tight tube of fabric, and her breasts spilled aggressively over the top. She wore beaded orange sandals with five-inch heels.
“Traci-Wacy! Parry-Warry. Look at you two,” Madelyn exclaimed, clapping her hands in glee. “Totes adorbs.”
“Yes,” Parrish deadpanned. “Just look at us. Can I ask you a question, Mads?”
“Of course.”
“What happened to the rest of your dress? And also, how do you plan to walk on the beach in those fuck-me pumps?”
Madelyn’s smile vanished.
“Parrish! Such a potty mouth. For your information, I won’t be here that long. I just dropped by to be part of the family welcoming committee.”
“Where’s Dad?” Parrish asked. “I thought this was supposed to be an all-hands-on-deck family-fun day.”
Madelyn shrugged. “Ric has a scheduling conflict. He sends his regrets.”
“How’s it looking down on the beach?” Traci asked, as Charlie walked up wearing his own Hawaiian shirt.
“It’s all good,” Charlie assured her. He looked over at Madelyn and blushed violently. “Hi, Madelyn. Is Ric coming?”
“Big meeting with investors,” Madelyn said, shaking her head.
Charlie motioned for Traci to give him her armful of leis. “I swear, everything is under control. Why don’t you get a glass of prosecco and try to relax?”
“Relax? What’s that?” Traci’s stomach was in knots. Coming out of the pandemic, they’d canceled the annual Beach Bash for the past three years. This was her first time running it without Hoke by her side, and she was quietly terrified. The back of her dress was already clinging from perspiration, despite the fact that they were standing inside in the air-conditioning.
She stepped forward as Charlie unlocked the heavy carved wooden doors. A swirl of tropical-garbed guests quickly flooded into the lobby, and Traci, Parrish, and Madelyn began greeting them and placing leis around their necks.
A couple in their early fifties approached Traci and her niece. The husband wore a violently patterned Hawaiian shirt, baggy Bermuda shorts, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. His wife was reed-thin, with a deep, leathery tan. She was wearing skin-tight white jeans, kitten-heeled sandals, and a low-cut embroidered Mexican cotton shirt.
“That’s the Logans,” Traci whispered. “He’s vice president of our bank…”
