“Go on.” Bree waved her away. “I got you. But you’re gonna owe me a batch of chocolate-chip cookies.”
“Two batches,” Shannon promised. Then she bolted for the parking lot with fire in her eyes and malice in her heart.
Traci had barely finished dealing with her brother-in-law when she got a call on her office phone.
“Mrs. E? This is Howie, up at the main gate. There’s a lady up here says you know her.”
Traci heard a familiar voice in the background.
“Tell that bitch she can’t hide from me. Tell her if she doesn’t let me in, I’m gonna set right here on the side of the road, and I’m not leaving ’til she comes out.”
“It’s okay, Howie,” Traci said, massaging the back of her neck, where the headache had decided to commute. “Tell her to leave her car at the gate, and bring her up here on a golf cart.”
“You sure you really want that?” The security guard lowered his voice. “She threatened to kick me in the balls if I didn’t call you ASAP. She’s kinda crazy-acting.”
“That’s not acting, that’s Shannon,” Traci said. “Bring her directly to my office, please. I don’t want her causing a scene in the hotel lobby. And Howie?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Watch your crotch.”
Ten minutes later, Shannon charged into Traci’s office, with the wary-looking security guard trailing a few steps behind.
“Howie, I’ll give you a call when our guest needs a ride back,” she told him.
“So this is the seat of all the glory and the power,” Shannon said, pacing around the office. She was still dressed in her hospital scrubs, with what looked like a lump of mashed potatoes directly over her heart, and her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. The freckles sprinkled over her nose reminded Traci of their carefree teen years spent at the beach or the rec center pool.
Shannon stopped in front of a framed color portrait of Traci and Hoke on their wedding day. She started to say something, but stopped short.
Next she walked over to a vintage black-and-white photo of the Saint’s façade, taken shortly after the hotel was completed.
“Y’all should have kept it like this,” Shannon said, pointing to the photo. “Now this place looks like a cross between Cinderella’s Castle at Disney World and Barbie’s Dreamhouse.”
Traci waited. She turned to the console behind her desk, opened the mini-fridge, and removed an eight-ounce glass bottle of Coke. She held out the bottle, and the bottle opener, to her old friend—an unspoken peace offering.
Shannon snatched the bottle from her hand, uncapped it, and drank.
“God, that’s good,” she said, when the bottle was half-empty. “I don’t know when’s the last time I had a cold Co-Cola right out of the bottle.”
“What can I do for you, Shannon?” Traci asked, when the other woman finally stopped pacing and sat, abruptly, in the chair opposite the desk.
“You know what I want. I want you to either fire my daughter or encourage her to quit her job here.”
“I’m not gonna do that, and you know it,” Traci said. “Livvy is one of our most valued team members. She’s been promoted to guest relations and given a raise.”
“This place”—Shannon gestured toward the lobby—“is a snake pit. You can change the way it looks on the outside, but it’s just like it was when we were kids. Rich assholes parading around their privilege like it’s a badge. I don’t want Livvy exposed to people… like all of y’all.”
“Like me?” Traci gave a short, joyless laugh. “My husband’s family has money, yeah, I won’t deny that. I live a comfortable life. A bougie life, as the kids would say.”
She leaned across the desk. “But I work my ass off here, Shan. Twelve-, fourteen-hour days are the norm, and if I’m lucky, maybe I get an afternoon to myself in the offseason. I haven’t taken a vacation since Hoke died. I know you think I live in some mansion with hot and cold running servants, but I don’t. I live in the same little bungalow his parents handed down to us when we got married. Three bedrooms, two baths. I bet your house is bigger than that. In fact, I know it was. Remember all the nights I spent there when we were kids?”
“So what? I don’t want my daughter working here, especially since you’ve got a murderer running around loose. It’s not safe. You’ve got my kid living in some dorm, partying with a bunch of drinkers and druggies. I don’t want Livvy living like that.”
Traci fixed her old friend with a level gaze. “You mean, like we lived when we worked here when we were exactly Livvy’s age? I seem to remember you weren’t opposed to getting drunk or high back in the day.”
“It was different back then!” Shannon’s face was pink with agitation. “Nobody back then was lacing weed with fentanyl.”
“No, they were cutting it with other stuff, like rat poison, but luckily, neither of us ever ingested enough to get us anything worse than sick as a dog.”
