Breakfast at the Beach House Hotel Page 9

  Will rose. “I’d better be going, too.”

  I waited for Rhonda to tell him to stay, but she didn’t.

  Will walked out with me. “Is everything O.K.?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “I guess so.”

  I let it go, but something wasn’t right. They’d been hanging all over each other before dinner and not only had Rhonda failed to ask him to stay, she wasn’t even walking him to the front door. Curious as I was, I decided to wait for Rhonda to talk to me about it.

  ###

  Over the course of the next few days, we worked to build our staff. We hired Consuela’s cousin Rosita to be head of housekeeping. She’d had a lot of experience working for the Royal Hotel. We hired her sister Ana as a maid. She would also act as a waitress when called upon. For the time being, Consuela, Rhonda, and I would handle the kitchen.

  A notice from the Gold Coast Neighborhood Association arrived in the mail, requesting our presence at a meeting to be held at the end of the week. Disheartened, I went into the office and handed it to Rhonda. “You’d better look at this.”

  Rhonda read it, crumbled it and threw it down on the floor. “Brock Goodwin and the other condo-commando types can never let go, can they?”

  I nodded, saying nothing, but words flew in my mind—words that would make my grandmother wince.

  Later, I worked in the kitchen with Rhonda, icing the sweet rolls that were one of her signature items. We were stockpiling them in the freezer in anticipation of the time we’d need them for guests.

  I cleared my throat and asked the question that had been haunting me. “Rhonda, is something wrong between you and Will? He hasn’t been around.”

  With a pained expression, Rhonda set down her spreader. “Will is the nicest man I’ve ever met. I’m afraid if things go too far, he’ll be turned off. I don’t have a figure like yours, Annie. Why do you think I wear these caftans all the time? He’ll take a look at the real me and take off as fast as he can.”

  I blinked in surprise. When I’d first met Rhonda, I thought she was big, brash, and garish. Now, I saw a sweet face, bright blond hair, and an aura of kindness surrounding her. “Will realizes you’re not petite and I’m sure he doesn’t care a bit. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

  Rhonda hung her head. “Toward the end, I could tell Sal was turned off by me. He’d been going out with all those young girls, and there’s no way I could ever compare to that...”

  “Whoa! Wait a minute! This isn’t about Will. This is about Sal. Are you going to let an old memory ruin something new and wonderful?”

  Rhonda gave me a look of misery. “I’d be so disappointed if I lost him ...”

  “Then don’t.” I put my arm around her. “Let things just happen. It’ll work out. You’ll see. You’re wonderful just the way you are.”

  Rhonda’s eyes glistened. “Do you suppose Will thinks so?”

  “I know so.”

  “Okay. I’m going to give him a call. Wish me luck!”

  I smiled at the slight swagger in her step as she strode out of the room, more like the Rhonda I knew.

  ###

  Sorting through the mail was something I enjoyed doing. On this day, one particular piece caught my eye. When I read the all-too-familiar handwriting, my fingers turned cold. The envelope slid from my hand. Drawing a deep breath, I picked it up and opened it.

  Moments later, my pulse pounding, I raced into the kitchen and slapped the letter down on the counter where Rhonda was working. “Look at this! Robert and Kandie want to bring little Robbie here for a long weekend in late July! How am I going to handle that?”

  “Sonuvabitch,” Rhonda murmured. “How are you going to handle it? Like you’ve done everything else, Annie. With style and grace.”

  My stomach knotted like a pretzel. I sank into a chair. “What if we can’t get Brock and the neighborhood group to stop fighting the hotel? And Robert finds out we’ve failed?” At the thought, my throat thickened.

  “It’s that Brock Goodwin! I could kill ’im!” Rhonda sank onto a kitchen chair across the table from me. The flour on the tip of her nose was no distraction.

  “He told me he doesn’t give up easily.” I drew myself up, ready to take on anyone who got in our way. “This is one battle he’s not going to win.” I couldn’t; I wouldn’t let Robert be a witness to my failure.

  I left the kitchen and hurried along the sidewalk to Dorothy Stern’s apartment, scarcely noticing the beautiful flowers lining the building’s front walk.

  Dorothy greeted me at the door of her apartment, her eyes full of questions. “My! You’re all flushed from the heat, my dear. Come inside. I’ve made some nice, cold iced tea.”

  I sat on the couch in her living room and faced Dorothy. “Rhonda mentioned you were excited about our hotel opening. I guess that makes you the only friend we’ll have at the hearing tonight.”

  “What do you mean? All my friends read the newspaper article. They can’t wait to join me for Breakfast at The Beach House Hotel! It sounds perfect.”

  My jaw dropped. “But I thought everyone in the neighborhood was against the idea of the hotel. Brock said ...”

  “Stop!” Dorothy’s eyes bulged with fury. “I’ve been part of this neighborhood since long before Brock Goodwin arrived in Sabal. He may think he runs this neighborhood group, but he doesn’t. You’d better tell me the whole story, Annie. I’ve got a feeling I know exactly what’s going on here, and I’m not so old I can’t smell a rat.”

  I smiled.

  By the time I left, Dorothy and I had agreed on a plan.

  CHAPTER TEN

  An excited buzz filled the crowded clubhouse of one of the condominiums in the neighborhood. I sat in a metal folding chair, nervously twisting a sapphire ring around and around my finger, wondering how it was that Rhonda had appointed me a spokesperson for the hotel. She knew most of the people. I didn’t.

  Glancing around at these strangers, I tried to guess who might support us. My pulse jumped nervously when Brock strode into the room, surrounded by a group of men. My gaze followed them as they walked to the front and sat at the long table positioned there.

  Sitting next to me, Rhonda leaned over and said in a stage whisper, “There he is. The bastard.”

  “Please, Rhonda,” I murmured as glances were cast our way.

  Will took hold of Rhonda’s hand, and Dorothy Stern gave her a look of disapproval.

  “All right,” Rhonda whispered. “You know I can’t hold my tongue. That’s why you’ve got to handle this for us, Annie.”

  Brock stood. Quiet descended as he introduced himself and the other members of the board. I studied him, wondering what had made him the way he was—his smooth, polished exterior hid a ruthlessness that rose from inside him when he didn’t get his way.

  He cleared his throat. “We’ve come here today to discuss The Beach House Hotel. Most of us feel this neighborhood doesn’t need a commercial enterprise in our midst. We plan to appeal to the city to rescind any permits for the hotel. Everyone knows what can happen if we allow a hotel in our quiet neighborhood. There will be noise, traffic, and who knows what kind of people roaming the streets.” His voice droned on and on.

  I watched several people in the audience nod their heads in agreement, and my heart sank. Stirring in my seat restlessly, I silently rehearsed what I wanted to say.

  When I was finally allowed to speak, I rose on wobbly legs, walked to the front of the room, and stood by the microphone that had been set up in front of the board’s table. The sea of faces that gazed up at me blurred as I focused on Rhonda’s smile, drawing encouragement from her.

  “You’ve heard all the reasons why The Beach House Hotel should not be allowed to open.” My voice quivered, and I took a breath. “I’d like to tell you why those same reasons are cause for a place like our hotel to exist.”

  I swallowed nervously and then laid out my case, describing the layout, the function, and the future clientele of the hotel. “Our hot
el is self-contained within high walls, giving our guests privacy and appearing no different from what you’ve seen since it was restored.”

  I heard Brock whispering to the man beside him and took a calming breath. “Local residents will have a place for guests to stay conveniently close by. They’ll also be able to hold small, private meetings and host intimate, tasteful parties.”

  A few people nodded thoughtfully.

  Brock rose and moved to the microphone, forcing me to step aside.

  “Some of you may think Ms. Rutherford’s position is sound, but I say, consider the source.” He turned to me. “How long have you lived in Sabal, Ann?”

  My cheeks grew hot. “Since right after the winter holidays.”

  “And why did you come to Sabal?” Brock asked, knowing the answer.

  I swallowed my anger, though I wanted to wipe the sneer off his face with a baseball bat. “I came to Sabal because Rhonda DelMonte, whom most of you know, asked me to join her in this venture.”

  Titters of laughter broke out among the crowd. Brock was smiling broadly now. “There we have it, folks, straight from the horse’s mouth. Here is a woman who doesn’t give a hoot about the neighborhood. All she cares about is this venture of hers. We all have had experience with developers and interlopers like this before ...”

  A scraping noise stopped his speech. Will rose to his feet.

  Dorothy Stern pushed him back in his seat and marched forward on short, stocky legs, spots of red on her cheeks. “Will the chair recognize me?” She waved sheaves of papers up in the air. “Before we go any further with this discussion, I’d like to make something perfectly clear. I’m one of the oldest residents of this neighborhood, having arrived long before Mr. Goodwin did. I wouldn’t say he was still in diapers when I started visiting Sabal, but, then again, I may be wrong.”

  Laughter filled the room.

  “I’m also a member of the board of the Gold Coast Neighborhood Association, though I chose to sit with my friends. The board has had very few meetings since Brock Goodwin became its president because he chooses to run the board like a dictatorship. I’m here tonight to make sure he doesn’t. When I heard of his opposition to The Beach House Hotel, I did a little survey of my own. I have here before me a petition with the names of over 100 people who live nearby and actively support the hotel. Those of us who’ve lived here for some time can well remember what an eyesore The Beach House was before Rhonda DelMonte bought it and restored it. We can think of no better way to ensure the fact that it remains a focal point of our neighborhood as it’s always been.”

  Brock’s face darkened with fury. “You had no right to do that ...”

  Dorothy looked up at Brock through her thick glasses and appeared to grow a foot in stature. “I would suggest, Mr. President of the Gold Coast Neighborhood Association, that in the future you not let personal concerns interfere with your duties.”

  She sat down to loud applause. Rhonda clapped Dorothy on the back. I wanted to hug her as I took a seat nearby.

  After a few more people spoke, a motion was made for the Gold Coast Neighborhood Association to officially support The Beach House Hotel. It was seconded, and Brock was forced to take a vote on the item. The issue was quickly resolved in our favor.

  “Yes!” Rhonda shook her fist in the air and gave me a high five.

  I leaped up out of my chair. Without the weight of worry that had kept me sleepless, I felt as if I could fly. Dorothy hugged me. I hugged her back as Brock stormed out of the room.

  Will and Dorothy spent some time greeting people in the audience and then joined Rhonda and me. We returned to The Beach House to discuss the meeting and devise a few plans to forestall any other attempts to put us out of business.

  Sitting in the living room sipping coffee, Will confided that he’d heard through the grapevine that Brock was having financial troubles and had been forced to add a second mortgage to his house.

  “Even so, he shouldn’t have tried to mess with us,” groused Rhonda. “Good thing we went ahead with our plans. Right, Annie?”

  I nodded. We were due to receive our first guests—travel agents and their friends—in a few days.

  ###

  Rhonda and I did a final inspection of the guest rooms with Rosita and Ana. Short and stocky, Rosita was a bundle of energy. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her lips always seemed to have a hint of a smile. Ana was taller and thinner and much more serious. They’d spent a couple of days getting all the rooms ready with fresh sheets, towels, blankets, and bathroom supplies.

  We checked closets and bureau drawers for dust and debris. Bathtubs, sinks, and cabinets were inspected as well. Bedspreads were rolled back to make sure there were triple sheeting and lightweight blankets. I even looked under the skirts of the beds to check for dust balls, while Rhonda went over the inventory sheets she’d designed with Rosita and Ana.

  Rhonda and I roamed restlessly through the house, waiting for the arrival of our first guests—Mr. and Mrs. Martin Weatherbee from Connecticut. They were due to arrive from the airport in Ft. Myers, but the Weatherbees wouldn’t be our only guests. Will had agreed to come and spend the night so the Weatherbees wouldn’t feel so alone. He’d also agreed to critique the stay for us, letting us know if he found any problems.

  The sound of a car pulling into the driveway had me racing to the office. “Rhonda, they’re here! C’mon!”

  We hurried to the front of the house and descended the front steps to greet our guests. My pulse raced with excitement as we watched them get out of their rental car.

  “Welcome to The Beach House Hotel,” Rhonda said, beaming at them.

  “Yes. We hope your stay will be pleasant,” I added. “Leave your bags. Manny will get them for you.”

  We ushered them up the front steps, into the hotel, and gave them a quick tour of the facilities.

  “It looks okay,” said Mr. Weatherbee, with little enthusiasm.

  His wife said nothing, and my heart plummeted. They didn’t seem the least bit impressed. After showing them to their room, Rhonda and I met in the office.

  “They didn’t even crack a smile,” groused Rhonda. “Maybe Will can lighten them up.”

  Too nervous to sit still, I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Standing there, looking out toward the pool, I noticed Mrs. Weatherbee strolling around the lanai, studying everything.

  I joined her outside. “Is there anything we can do for you? If you care to swim, the pool should be pleasant.”

  She shook her head. “No swimming for me. I just wanted to take a look at your landscaping. Tropical plants are so interesting.”

  “Yes, they are. Please let me know if I can be of any help.”

  “Thank you. My husband and I won’t be staying here for dinner. As soon as he’s ready, we’re leaving to look at other places.”

  Disappointment cut through me. They didn’t even want to eat here. I returned to the office and picked up a brochure. Had it been misleading?

  Will arrived as scheduled. Because Rhonda was on the phone, I showed him to his room. The Weatherbees were coming down the stairs as we went up.

  “Nice evening,” commented Will. “And this is a beautiful place. Don’t you agree?”

  “Should be for the price we’re paying. Good thing it’s just for one night,” grumped Mr. Weatherbee. His wife gave me an apologetic smile.

  My stomach churned as I watched them leave the hotel.

  At breakfast the next day, I surreptitiously kept an eye on the Weatherbees. They were quiet and subdued, eating every bit of the bacon, eggs, and potatoes Consuela placed in front of them. Politely, they asked for seconds on the sweet rolls, along with another cup of coffee. They finished their meal and went upstairs.

  I crossed over to the small reception desk we’d placed in the front entry and took a seat behind it. I did some paperwork to kill time until the Weatherbees were due to check out. Hopefully, I’d learn why we didn’t measure up.

  Mr. Weatherbee c
ame downstairs and approached me, his expression stern as always.

  My mouth dry, I braced myself for his complaints.

  “Is it possible for us to stay another night? My wife and I have decided of all the places we’ve seen, we like this hotel best. It’s small but classy.”

  I blinked in surprise and forced myself to speak calmly, though I wanted to dance across the foyer floor. “I’m sure we can accommodate you.”

  Happiness whirled inside me as I made the change on the computer. The Beach House Hotel was working its magic after all.

  The next guests to arrive were due that afternoon. From upstate New York, the two couples were friends who’d known each other for years and were anxious to take advantage of our pre-opening rate. They arrived shortly before four o’clock and immediately filled the house with their presence, going from room to room, talking and joking with each other, bringing the place alive.

  At cocktail time, I helped pour drinks and noticed the Weatherbees had been included in all the activity. The six guests sat together in the living room, sipping drinks and chatting with one another . I let out a sigh of relief. In a small place like ours, it was important for each guest to feel welcomed.

  On the day the group from upstate New York was to leave, they asked for a late checkout. We gave it to them, happy they were having so much fun. After they finally left, Rhonda and I went upstairs to see how Rosita was doing cleaning their rooms.

  I peeked into the room where one of the couples had stayed. The bedclothes were scattered on the floor, closet doors were thrown open, and table tops were cleared of everything—magazines, the basket of fruit brought to each room each day, and even the plate that had held the cookies the night before.

  “What happened?” asked Rhonda, walking into the room behind me.

  “It looks like they’ve taken a lot of our things with them.” I went over to the closet. The lightweight terry robes we’d hung there for our guests’ use were gone, along with the multi-colored golf umbrella with our name on it.