Grace is tempted to pull the covers up over Wanda’s shoulders and tuck her in, but she’s done enough for one night. She whisks out of the suite and down the corridor. In the lobby—oh, hello!—she finds Wanda’s mother, Kimber, leaning over the desk, deep in conversation with Richie. It’s so late that Raoul, the night bellman, has gone home. Richie and Kimber are the only two people awake in the entire hotel; this, Grace can sense. They’re eating bowls of soft-serve ice cream that Richie has obviously brought from the break room.
“Craig told me I was too critical,” Kimber says. “He claimed I was always harping on things that other people—such as my nanny—let ride. Do you know what happens when you let things ride? Mediocrity.” She draws a spoon over the melting ridge of chocolate, then holds the spoon in the air before her mouth. “What about you? Is there a Mrs. Richie?”
“I’m divorced,” Richie says. “Three kids. Unfortunately, we split while I was still at the insurance company, so my alimony and child-support payments are calculated on an income I no longer make. I worked for a start-up sneaker concern when I left insurance, but my CEO was a twenty-two-year-old kid out of West Hartford whose parents were bankrolling him. He mismanaged the business and it went under.”
“Ugh,” Kimber says.
“Big ugh,” Richie says. “I’ve tried to go back to court but I still owe my attorney money from the first go-round, so he’s not exactly eager to take my calls. I’m way behind in paying Amanda and she refuses to let me see the kids until I catch up.”
“Oh no,” Kimber says. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hearing my sad story probably isn’t helping your insomnia,” Richie says. “Anyway, I try to be grateful for what I do have. I’m gainfully employed and I’m healthy.”
“And handsome and charming!” Kimber says.
Well! Grace thinks. That’s forward!
“Thank you,” Richie says. “You’re good for my ego.”
“I mean it,” Kimber says. She licks the ice cream from the spoon like it’s performance art. “You’re quite the catch. You could easily find a woman to date on this island.”
Richie laughs. “During the day,” he says. “I work every single night.”
“I’m here every single night,” Kimber says.
Audacious! Grace thinks. She’s making it very clear that Richie is her crush. How will he respond?
He clears his throat, blushes, stares into his bowl of vanilla.
“Wanda told me there’s a ladder to the widow’s walk up on the fourth floor,” Kimber says. “Want to check it out?”
“I shouldn’t,” Richie says. “I’m on the clock.”
“It’s one thirty in the morning,” Kimber says. “Nobody will need you.”
“Mr. Yamaguchi is checking out tomorrow,” Richie says. “He’s been here all week and I need to pull his bill together. Guy’s a big spender—and a big drinker. He’s ordered two bottles of Dom Pérignon every night, and as far as I know, he’s by himself.”
“Do his bill later,” Kimber says. “Come on.”
There’s no way Grace is missing this. She trails Richie and Kimber up to the fourth floor and watches as first Kimber and then, reluctantly, Richie clamber up the ship’s ladder to the widow’s walk. Grace is confined to the inside of the building, but that’s okay because she knows what the view looks like. She used to ascend that very same ship’s ladder with Jack; they were standing together on the walk overlooking the harbor when he told Grace he loved her and that, in a few short weeks, he would divorce Dahlia and marry Grace. (Lies, all of it.) Back then, Grace hadn’t seen how she was being used, and she certainly didn’t know she would be murdered, and so the time on the widow’s walk looking over the water and the streets of sleeping Nantucket had seemed…magical, transcendent. She had believed, in those stolen moments, that everything would turn out okay.
Ha.
From what Grace can see, it’s a clear night. A crescent moon hangs just west of the white spire of the Congregational church. Grace sees Kimber shiver—she’s wearing only shorty pajamas, a thin cardigan, and a pair of the hotel slippers, which is silly because Grace knows she has a perfectly good robe hanging on the back of her bathroom door. She may be exaggerating about how cold she is so that Richie will put an arm around her, but he’s a good foot or two away, gripping the railing with both hands. His eyes are squeezed shut even though there is a sky full of stars. Then Grace realizes that Richie is afraid of heights.
“It’s breathtaking up here,” Kimber says.
“I should get back to the desk,” Richie says. He steps down the ladder and Kimber follows, looking dejected. Her romantic rendezvous was a bust. Grace thinks she might have better luck playing hard to get.
As if reading Grace’s mind, when Richie pushes the elevator button, Kimber says, “I think I’ll take the stairs. Good night, Richie.” She disappears down the stairwell and both Grace and Richie can hear her slippers slapping against the concrete steps. Now Richie is the one who looks forlorn. Good move, Kimber! Grace thinks. She’s about to follow Richie back to the desk—something about him still bothers her—but then she feels a tug that lures her to the second floor. Grace arrives just in time to see the door to suite 215 open. Mr. Yamaguchi’s room. A woman with long apricot-colored hair slips out, holding her shoes in her hand.
It’s Alessandra.
13. Affirmations
July 4, 2022
From: Xavier Darling ([email protected])
To: Employees of the Hotel Nantucket
Happy American Independence Day, staff! I’m delighted to announce that front-desk manager Alessandra Powell has once again won the week’s bonus. She received a rave review from a hotel guest who said she went above and beyond on his behalf during his stay. Great job, Alessandra, you’re setting a wonderful example.
XD
On the fifth of July, Lizbet calls Edie into the office to say she’s leaving fifteen minutes early.
“No problem,” Edie says. “I can cover things.” Edie gives Lizbet a valiant attempt at a smile but Lizbet knows she must be bitter that Alessandra won the thousand-dollar prize for the second straight week, and as soon as they all got the e-mail from Xavier, Alessandra said she had cramps and would be going home for the day. Later, when Lizbet checked TravelTattler, she saw a glowing review from David Yamaguchi from suite 215, who specifically stated that Alessandra had made his stay “sublime.”
“You’re doing a good job here, Edie,” Lizbet says. “I hope you know that.”
These words, which Lizbet meant to be reassuring, cause a lone tear to drip down Edie’s face. She swipes it away. “Thank you,” she says. “I love the job.”
“But?” Lizbet says.
“No but,” Edie says. “Though I did apply for a position at Annie and the Tees a few nights a week. I need the extra money.”
Lizbet frowns. Edie is already working over fifty hours a week at the hotel. How is she going to handle another job? “Isn’t that taking on a lot?”
“It is,” Edie says. “But I have student loans and…other expenses.”
Lizbet thinks for a moment about intervening with Xavier on Edie’s behalf. An extra thousand dollars would help. But somehow, Lizbet knows Xavier won’t go for it. (This isn’t a participation trophy.) Next, Lizbet thinks about posting a review on TravelTattler under a made-up name, extolling the virtues of a certain Edith Robbins. Fraud, Lizbet thinks. Finally, her mind rests on the four thousand dollars in cash that Kimber Marsh handed over earlier that week. It’s still sitting in the safe because Lizbet hasn’t had a single second to get to the bank. Embezzlement, she thinks.
“You’re so young, Edie,” Lizbet says. “Don’t you want a social life?”
“Not right now,” Edie says. “I told you in my interview, I broke up with my college boyfriend…”