Veiled Threat (8 page)

The warmth from his kiss evaporated. “Thanks. Really.”

“What?”

“Go ask your brothers. Even Pat could clue you in on this one.”

twelve

The baby-blue Escort hatchback
drove like only its rust held it together. The last rental Giulia drove—a tiny Kia Soul—was solid as a tank compared to this car.
Stop complaining. This rust-bucket is exactly what your new persona would drive.

At least the snow had held off for an entire day. Interstate 376 was clear and slush-free. She fiddled with the radio and found an all-Christmas station. “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,” “Frosty the Snowman,” and a series of alternating carols and Santa songs took her down the interstate. The Boston Pops’ nine-minute medley got her to the park entrance. She let “Silver Bells” play until she saw the sign for the resort.

This story is simple. Early-morning barista who took this extra job because Christmas bills will be coming in. I wouldn’t mind if the job became permanent. Simple.

She drove through a tunnel of pine trees at least eighty feet tall. They made the driveway so dark that the old-fashioned streetlamps lining its sides only created a parade of light-puddles. At its terminus the trees ended as though someone had guillotined them smooth. Snow glare slammed Giulia in the eyes. She braked while her vision adjusted. A group of three small buildings clustered directly in front of her across the parking lot. A white-sided two-story hotel stretched along the left side of the lot. The sidewalk next to it led to an even longer white-sided building with a painted wrought-iron sign that read,
The Wildflower—Est. 2007
.

The half-filled guest part of the lot had room for about a hundred cars altogether. Piles of plowed snow blocked several spots. Snowed-in tennis courts and stables ranged away to her left. The long, gray lake lapped at the snow-covered bank a few feet from the right-hand hotel. Fifty feet behind it, a boathouse with frosty windows sat dark and silent amidst snowdrifts.

She drove to the cluster of buildings and fit the Escort in a narrow slot next to an older pickup truck by the back wall of the building labeled
Laundry
. Steam belched from its chimney. At first Giulia thought that was the only sign of life, but a moment later four cross-country skiers appeared from behind a maintenance shed and passed the stables.

Get to work, Falcone. No, no, no. I need a name. Um
…
Regina. Something I’m used to answering to. Last name
…
What’s the love interest in the book I’m reading right now?
…
Ryan. That’ll work. Regina Ryan.

Horses whinnied when she slammed the car door. Wind whipped off the lake. Her long, violet wool coat was almost not enough for the end of December. She slung her purse over her shoulder and locked the door with her right hand, her sneakers dangling from her left. Her boots gave excellent traction on the salted parking lot, despite a few stubborn patches of black ice. If it had been a different season, she would’ve looked for the employee entrance. Today she went right to the main doors.

A fireplace. Wonderful.

It was meant for paying guests to bask at, so she reluctantly walked past it to the front counter, which stretched across the entire east wall. Giulia heard the desk clerk before she saw her. A high, thin voice, but sweet nonetheless. As Giulia got closer, the desk clerk stood up from where she’d been seated behind a large computer monitor.

“May I help you?” Her smile matched the voice—thin and sweet.

“Good afternoon. I’m the new part-time person in housekeeping.”

The smile became admonitory. “Use the side entrance from now on, through the kitchen storage area.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know where the employee entrance was.”

“Everyone gets a mulligan the first time.” She pointed to her right. “Go right through the gift shop. There’s a door next to the DVD shelf. I’ll unlock it for you.”

Giulia walked to the end of the counter and entered the shop. She caught a glimpse of sweatshirts and T-shirts among other things she couldn’t place. A narrow door opened and she slipped through.

“Come this way. I hope you’re ready to get dirty. I’ll show you where to hang your coat. There’s a boot rack next to the proper entrance. Barbara is expecting you. She has paperwork for you to fill out.”

Giulia took off her coat and hat, set her sneakers on the floor, and removed her boots. The desk clerk waited for her while she laced her sneakers. Her braid flopped over her shoulder, and one of her Santa Claus earrings caught in it. She untangled the earring and flipped the braid back into place before standing.

“Did you overspend on Christmas this year?”

How rude.
Giulia took in the other woman’s inquisitive expression.
Get over it. She probably just wants harmless gossip, like the hostess in that Mexican restaurant where I used to work.

She nodded. “Impulse buys. No one to blame but myself.”
Shut up, conscience. You know Father Carlos will absolve you from lies told for the greater good.

“Then I’m glad we had an opening. Barbara’s office is this way.”

Mustering every ounce of “nondescript,” Giulia followed. The desk clerk was several inches taller than Giulia’s five-five, but she stooped. Not in the way people who worked all day at a computer did; more like she’d spent her life perfecting what Giulia was trying for: to be unobtrusive.
Odd for a woman in the hospitality industry. Maybe she was the tallest girl in school and couldn’t get a date unless she made herself look shorter than the guys.

The clerk knocked on a white door stenciled around the edges with violets and buttercups.

“Yes?” A brisk voice from the other side.

“The new housekeeper is here.”

“Oh, good. Have her come in.”

The desk clerk opened the door and Giulia stepped into a small, crowded office. Two desks sat against the east and north walls, one covered with stacks of paper, the other with a multi-slot organizer. A computer monitor rose above the papers like a ship above whitecapped water. The woman sitting at the monitor turned toward them.

“Good afternoon. Maryjane, would you let Monica know that we’ll be finished in about fifteen minutes?”

“Of course.” The desk clerk closed the door.

“Please sit down. I’m Barbara Smith, really and truly. Did you like how I avoided calling you by name just then? I never got a chance to ask that police captain what name you’d be using.” The resort owner’s pixie-style haircut fit her round, smiling face.

“Regina Ryan.”

“Okay. Let me type that in.” She swiveled back around to her keyboard. “I’ll make up an address for you, just in case someone tries to get at my files.” Her fingers paused, then continued typing. “This is killing me. I would’ve sworn on a stack of Bibles that the worst thing any employee of mine would get into is weed. We hire college kids in the summer, you know?”

Giulia put a hand on her shoulder. “Someone who can orchestrate stealing babies from their parents would have no problem acting like a model employee.”

Barbara’s shoulder tensed. “That’s just it. I feel like I have to be suspicious of everyone I’ve hired.”

“Not at all. Evil people depend on the trust of good people. We’ll take care of this and the Wildflower will be fine.”

The shoulder relaxed. “You’re not at all what I expected. I’m so glad. All night I worried that they’d send someone whose every move telegraphed ‘plant.’”

Giulia smiled but it wasn’t sincere.
Nondescript. Captain Jimmy was right.
“I’ll do my best to fit in. Point me in the right direction to get suited up.”

Barbara finished typing and closed the file. “Right. Maryjane will take care of you. She was here when the original owners ran the place as a family vacation spot. She can tell you anything you want to know. Come see me before you leave today and I’ll give you all the papers I was going to courier to the police station earlier.” She opened the door, which gave them a clear view of the front counter. “Good. No one’s needing help right now. Maryjane? Regina’s all set. Could you take her to the staff lockers?”

Giulia followed the desk clerk through an open office of four desks and the biggest magnetic In/Out board she’d ever seen.

Maryjane stopped next to it. “Everything is alphabetical. Your name will be on a gray magnetic strip like the other indoor staff. Move it to ‘Out’ when you leave for the night and note the time with one of the markers. I’ll show you the timesheet program tomorrow.” She opened another door that led into a staff break room. “I pulled three uniforms for you, sizes ten, twelve, and fourteen. Monica will be thrilled to see you.” Lockers are through that swinging door to your left. Yours is the last one in the row against the wall.” She looked Giulia up and down. “The twelve should fit you. Go ahead and change. Monica will be down in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Maryjane walked out, sensible shoes making no sound, tailored khaki slacks blending with the orchid resort-logo shirt.

Giulia took another look at the desk clerk’s retreating figure.
She made those slacks. Impressive.

The lockers were alphabetical too, except for the row of blank ones against the wall. She tried on the size-twelve beige uniform dress trimmed with white collar and cuffs.
Of course she knew it would fit me. She’s a seamstress.

She hung up her sweater and pants and stashed her purse in the top compartment.
Good thing I remembered to bring the combination lock from my gym bag. Also that I’m not too uptight to change in an open locker room. Which reminds me, I need to locate the bathroom.

“Regina? Oh, good, the uniform fits. And you wore sneakers. And you brought your own lock? You’re my favorite employee already.” Monica, the head of housekeeping, appeared at Giulia’s side. “We’ve got one checkout and one weeklong to clean. I’ll work the first one with you. You’ve done this kind of work before, I understand?”

Monica walked them through another door that led into a break room with two round tables, a counter with sink and dish drainer, and a small refrigerator. Her beige uniform clung to her ample figure, unlike Giulia’s, which had room to move in. Her black-as-ink bobbed hair swung side to side with every step.

“The rooms are in Snapdragon—that’s the hotel alongside the parking lot.”

They walked to the end of a short hall, wallpapered in retro-Victorian floral. Bathrooms on one side, doors marked
Maintenance
and
Electrical
on the other. Monica opened a third door after those, labeled
Utility
.

“There’s a covered walkway between here and every building on the property: both hotels, the pool, the rec area, the auditorium, and the stable. The guests think we built it for them.” She gave Giulia an elaborate wink. “But it’s really for us. It’s a lifesaver in bad weather. Here’s the cart you’ll be using.”

She put a hand on one of two wheeled carts twice the size of the grocery store kind. “Towels in these drawers on the side, washcloths on top, hand towels in the middle, bath towels on the bottom.” She opened each drawer. “Only emergency replacements, of course. The laundry staff stacks them on these shelves for us to take when we ready a room for a new guest.”

Giulia put her hands on the other side of the cart, touching each item in the top compartments so she’d remember them. “Soap, miniature shampoo, conditioner, lotion. Stationery, pens, tea lights, matches, coffee, tea, sugar packets, powdered creamer, plastic stirrers.” She met Monica’s appraising gaze. “Where are the cleaning supplies?”

“Opposite side from the towels.”

Giulia opened a deep drawer. “Oh good. Rubber gloves. The mild version of Lime-Away, too. Yay. I’ve used the industrial-strength version. It’s nasty.”

“Ready? Let’s go.” Monica backed out of the room, towing the cart. Giulia closed the door after them, wheeling an upright vacuum cleaner.

They wheeled the cart back down the hall and took a right at the bathrooms. This led them into a chilly glassed-in walkway. Snow covered the arched roof and drifted up the sides. Giulia shivered.

“I saw that.” Monica smiled at her. “It’s mostly psychological. The temp in here is about sixty-two.”

Two women holding hands walked toward them. They smiled and said, “Merry Christmas.” Monica responded.

When the women were out of earshot, Giulia said, “The owner doesn’t mind if the staff talk to the guests?”

“Where have you worked before? Prison? Barbara likes it when the guests realize that the staff are people too.” The hall opened into a standard hotel hall lined with doors. Monica opened room 133, and Giulia wheeled in the cart.

“You take the bathroom and I’ll strip the beds. Supervisor privilege.” She lowered her voice. “There’s one unbreakable rule here. No casual sex between staff and guests at the Wildflower.”

thirteen

Giulia kept her face
neutral. “I assure you that won’t be a problem.”
Don’t laugh, Falcone. Don’t even think about smiling.

Monica patted her on the shoulder. “Good. Barbara doesn’t mind if we hang out for a bit after our shift is over or even if we share a drink with the guests. Just remember that as far as bed-hopping is concerned, the staff are as celibate as nuns.”

Giulia went into the bathroom and stuck her head into the shower, camouflaging herself by gathering up the used soap and shampoo bottles.
Don’t have casual sex with the guests? Pretend I’m as celibate as a nun? Good Heavens. Frank is going to laugh till he chokes when I tell him that one.
Several deep breaths later, she had herself under control.

When she got a good look at the bathroom, the overpowering desire to transport it all to her apartment took over. Ivory-tile floor and walls, both with a wandering periwinkle pattern. Shell-shaped sink in the center of a five-foot-long vanity. Matching shower curtains and periwinkle-colored towels.

Work, Falcone. Don’t lust after the interior decorating. You’re supposed to be making a good impression your first day on the job.

She scrubbed the toilet, sink, and shower; wiped down the floor, set out new soaps, and replaced the miniature shampoo bottles. Monica inspected while Giulia hung fresh towels.

“Very nice. Good job on the floor. Don’t forget to clean the mirror.”

“Sorry.” She sprayed it with cleaner and wiped it with the correct cloth.

“Let me show you the way we do sheets.”

Together they made up the king-sized bed with standard hospital corners to the sheets and a lavender-scented blanket. Four pillows plumped into two duvets and a quilted bedspread with similar pattern to the bathroom tiles finished the bed. Giulia vacuumed; Monica straightened the couch cushions and opened the sliding door to the small balcony. The snow on it was trampled in an oval, just far enough for an arm to flick ashes into an ashtray on the small wrought-iron table out there. Giulia emptied the ashtray.

“Smoking is allowed only on these outside balconies.” Monica closed the door on the weather. “No place else on the grounds, especially not near the childcare area.”

“Childcare?” Giulia busied herself with the used sheets and towels.

“Did you know this used to be a family resort?” When Giulia nodded, Monica said, “When Barbara and her partner bought it, they wanted to keep that family-friendly atmosphere. So while they renamed the place and redecorated the hotels, they kept the childcare section as it was.”

“Do they get a lot of couples with children?”

Monica rolled the sheets tighter while Giulia wrapped the cord around the vacuum. “In the summer, yes. The kids love the lake and camping out and all that back-to-nature stuff. Hardly any in the winter. They get antsy. Most families do, well, family stuff for the holidays. We run a wild Valentine’s Day week, too—we discourage kids for that week.” She gave the room a last check and closed the door. “Very good. It makes my job so much easier to have someone hit the ground running. I’m going to let you handle 137 on your own. If you run into anything you can’t handle, call the front desk for help. Leave the sheets in the hall. I’ll be back to check in twenty minutes.”

Giulia set the rolled sheets on the floor outside 133’s door, pushed the cart down the hall, and went back for the vacuum. Room 137’s occupants hadn’t been quite as neat. Wet, crumpled towels littered the bathroom floor. Makeup and lipstick smeared the buttercup-yellow hand towels and washcloths.

She scrubbed out the toilet with cleanser and tried to flush it. The handle fell off the tank into her hand.

“Fancy plumbing shouldn’t break.” She scowled at it, then set it on the top of the tank and headed for the phone on the nightstand.

The desk clerk answered on the second ring. “Maryjane, it’s Regina in Snapdragon room 137. The toilet handle broke.”

Maryjane huffed. “Again? Give me strength. I’ll send my Phineas over to fix it.”

Giulia stripped and remade the bed in the meantime, tossing used tissues and an empty tube of—she read it twice to make sure—arousal lubricant into the trash.
I guess I missed that issue of
Cosmo
.

“Maintenance.” A man’s voice followed by heavy boots clomping into the bathroom.

Giulia followed. “Good afternoon. You’re Maryjane’s Phineas?”

“Yep. Married twenty years last June. Wasn’t surprised when she called. This cursed handle breaks every other week.” He worked a wrench with one hand and a pliers with the other. “I know I put in a requisition for a new fixture—” his wrench slipped.

Giulia waited for him to say something unprintable.

His nostrils flared, but he said nothing. He gripped the nut and turned the wrench. The handle followed the wrench, rotating till it was parallel to the floor. He jiggled it, then flushed. The toilet made all the correct sounds. He wiped a spot of oil on the tank with a rag. “No machine’s ever beaten a McFarland. Not in the Navy, not at home, not on the job.”

The wrench and pliers clanked into the toolbox. He looked up at Giulia. “You the new housekeeper?”

“Yes. Thanks for fixing the toilet.”

“I could make it a recurring appointment on my calendar.” He stood and spoke over his shoulder as he walked out. “Have to get back to the light display in the gazebo. Got an angel without wings.”

Giulia scrubbed his bootprints off the floor before cleaning the sink. She slid him into a niche in her mental filing system as she wiped down the mirror.
Handy. Middle-aged. Gruff but friendly. Makes sense—resorts wouldn’t hire curmudgeons.

Monica reappeared as Giulia wound up the vacuum cord. “Let’s see.” She counted the towels, checked the soap and lotion, straightened the duvet, and checked the balcony. “You’re hired forever. I see these two use that new lotion. You’re lucky. The couple in the room I just cleaned had the most interesting trash. And by ‘interesting’ I mean I’m going to check my kids’ Internet usage when I get home. There are websites for everything nowadays.”

“I don’t think I want to know.” Giulia rolled up the sheets.

“Do you have kids? No? That’s why there’s no gray in your hair.”

Two women wearing fluffy blue bathrobes stopped at the doorway and kissed. Then they walked into the room and kissed again.

“Hi.”

“Excuse us.”

“Are you done with the room? We just got out of the spa and need to shower.”

“We didn’t think we were messy enough to need two people to clean up after us.”

Giulia had to smile at their giddy happiness. Monica explained about training the new staff.

“Oh, thanks.”

“We really love it here. Everyone is so friendly.”

“We sound silly, don’t we? We have a reason, honest.”

They kissed again.

“We’re on our honeymoon.”

“Congratulations,” Giulia said.

“Thank you so much.” The honeymooners hugged Giulia, then Monica, then each other again.

Monica said, “Did you tell Maryjane when you registered that this is your honeymoon? We provide a bottle of champagne for newlyweds.”

The one on the left squealed. “This is the best vacation ever.”

The one on the right hugged Monica. “We didn’t know. You are all so awesome.”

Monica imitated Giulia’s grin. “I’ll let the bartender know. He’ll send it up after supper.”

She took the vacuum, Giulia the cart. As Giulia closed the door, the newlyweds were kissing again.

“Someday I’d like to be that happy.”

“You just gotta find the right man.” Monica stopped dead. “I’m sorry. I mean, if you’re into men.”

Giulia grinned wider. “No worries. I’m into men.”

Monica relaxed. “Every so often someone gets all self-righteous
about presuming someone’s sexuality. It’s like saying ‘Merry Christmas’ and getting a lecture about how the whole country isn’t Christo-centric.”

“Or the other way around.”

“Yeah. Spare me the crusading self-righteous. Okay. I’ll take the sheets and you head upstairs. And 212 and 229 just need cleaning too. After that, bring the cart back to the closet and take a break. Fifteen minutes.”