Holly wasn’t entirely, but she wasn’t about to say so. “I’ll have the shutters checked,” she said, making a quick note. “But I do recommend opening your bedroom windows at night. The salt air breeze is so restorative!”
“I have a sea salt scrub for that,” Sissy said.
“Besides, let’s not invite West Nile in,” Mr. Sutton joked tightly. He went to close the window Holly had just opened.
Holly didn’t bother to say that a good sea breeze kept mosquitoes at bay.
“Are the bathroom floors heated?” Mrs. Sutton wanted to know.
“No, but we do have towel warmers on the walls,” Holly said. The hardwired installation had eaten no small amount of her renovation budget.
“A shame,” Mrs. Sutton said.
“Mummy,” Sissy whispered. “Remind me to bring shearling slippers.”
“What about room service?” It was the only question Mr. Sutton had asked.
“Harold adores room service,” Sissy added.
The tour was not going as hoped. Despite the thoughtful and luxurious touches Holly had worked into the renovation, the inn’s historic architecture and charm seemed to be completely lost on the Suttons. Like an outgoing tide, she could feeltheir wedding-weekend reservation slipping away. And if they canceled now, she would be hard-pressed to fill the entire inn with that short notice, the very thing Francine had fretted over. “Yes,” Holly lied, scribbling quickly on her clipboard. “I’ll have an updated room service menu to share when you return.” The demand list was growing.
With the tour mercifully over, Holly led her picky party back downstairs, pausing to point out a collection of old photographs of the ship merchant’s family and the cranberry boggers, but the Suttons were not interested. Nor were they touched by the local landscape paintings done by resident artists hanging throughout the lobby. Originally, Holly had planned to show the Suttons the inn artifacts locked in the trunk, but she strode right past it. The Suttons wanted valet parking, climate control, and pest management. Good thing she’d kept Bruce tucked in the library during the tour. She showed the Suttons to their table in Harvest’s sunroom, with the best view of the bay, and limped out of there.
“How’s it going?” Linus whispered.
“About as well as theWadena,” Holly huffed.
“The shipwreck?” Linus made a face. “Tragic. I’d best start pouring.”
“Pour heavily. I’ll alert Greta. She’s our last hope.”
When Holly returned to the dining room, Linus’s cocktails had been sucked down at a surprising rate.
“This is the one!” Sissy declared, holding up an almost empty martini glass. “The Bitter Truth. What a name!”
Even Mrs. Sutton was smiling.
The tasting saved them all. Holly had to give it to Linus, who supervised the service expertly, stopping only to compliment Sissy’s handbag in whispers.
“Prada, spring collection, Milan,” she said.
Greta’s dishes were devoured as quickly as they were served. Mrs. Sutton, who’d stated before the tasting began that she was a “light eater,” had polished her plate.
“These tomatoes,” she said dreamily, spearing a small golden orb.
“Those are husk cherries,” Holly shared. “From our garden. Around here they’re known as Cape gooseberries, for their sweet flavor.”
“Divine,” she said, spearing another. “I could eat a whole bowl.”
Holly laughed. “I hope you enjoy our next course as much: local clams.” Holly knew they would: she and Greta had done their homework.
The clams were served casino style with great salty flecks of Canadian bacon and garlic. The sound of slurping filled the dining room as the Suttons, ignoring their cocktail forks, tipped back their shells.
Entrées followed. “This course will be served family style, so you may help yourself to your entrées in order of preference?” It was the one decision Greta had suggested for service that Holly wasn’t so sure of: clearly the Suttons liked to be waited on.
She was relieved when, without hesitation, Mr. Sutton reached for the steak fork and Mrs. Sutton for the cod spoon. Sissy helped herself to the tuna. Relieved, Holly left them to taste in private.
“How do you think it’s going now?” she asked Linus.
