Her new obsession is monitoring Yolanda’s trips to and from the Blue Bar kitchen. Yolanda seems to go mostly in the morning and the afternoon, and Lizbet knows that Mario doesn’t arrive until four (or, when he wanted to make out with Lizbet in her office, three thirty). Yolanda also visits the kitchen in the late afternoon right before service starts, so this is when Lizbet watches her most closely. Does she seem ravished? Not really. She’s as serene as always, and she’s never weird or tense around Lizbet. One day, she stops at the desk and gives Lizbet an appraising look, and Lizbet thinks, Here it comes. She’s going to say: I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize, I hope you can forgive, I never meant to hurt…
Yolanda says, “You look like a person in need of a yoga class. How about thirty minutes in savasana pose?”
Lizbet manages a smile. Although Yolanda is right, Lizbet can’t imagine ever practicing with her again, not after all this. “I’m fine, thanks,” she says. “It’s just August.”
Lizbet worries beads along a mental string: Mario, Mario, Yolanda, Mario, Yolanda.
But then something steals her full attention.
It’s eleven o’clock on Thursday, August 4, and the lobby is popping. Louie is playing Mr. Tennant from room 201 in chess and the match is so close, there’s a little crowd around them; it includes Richie and (an exasperated) Kimber Marsh, who are waiting for Louie to finish so they can all go to the 167 Raw food truck for tuna burgers and then to Cisco Beach. Edie is on the phone with the Galley, trying to secure a beachfront lunch reservation for room 110, and Alessandra is calling the Hy-Line to make a reservation for the Keenan family, who somehow neglected to arrange for their transport home.
Lizbet is about to head to the percolator—it will be her eighth cup of coffee, which is a lot, even for her—when she notices a woman enter the lobby. This woman is dressed in the best kind of casual way: cute jeans, a white blouse that’s as crisp as paper, and gladiator sandals. She’s rolling in a hunter-green Away carry-on, which is the exact same bag that Lizbet travels with. Her dark hair is cut in a bob at her jawline and she’s wearing chic glasses. None of this is particularly remarkable, but Lizbet gets a feeling. The woman stops just inside the entrance to the lobby to look around. She whips out her phone and begins to take pictures and type notes. Lizbet hurries over.
“Welcome to the Hotel Nantucket,” she says. (Adam always sings this; it’s a fun touch, but Lizbet can’t pull it off.) “May I help with your bag?”
“Thank you,” the woman says. She follows Lizbet to the desk, where she pulls out her Washington, DC, driver’s license and a Delta SkyMiles Platinum American Express, both in the name of Claire Underwood.
Claire Underwood. Washington, DC. House of Cards! Lizbet thinks. (Lizbet and JJ watched all six seasons.) Here’s what Lizbet has been waiting for: an inside-joke alias. Lizbet tries to act natural. She wishes that she could let Edie and Alessandra and Raoul and Adam and Zeke know that Shelly Carpenter is in the house! They should have come up with a secret signal word, like Amsterdam or unicycle. Why did Lizbet not think to do that? They all knew this day would come. Shelly posted her review of the bed-and-breakfast in Hyannis Port only five days earlier. Maybe she popped over to the Vineyard to check out the Winnetu or the Charlotte Inn and now she’s here on Nantucket. She’s purposely arrived at eleven in the morning, which is the most frenetic time of the day because of guests checking out. Lizbet quickly reviews the reservation: three nights in a standard deluxe room, paid in full, booked on July 5 (the day of Lizbet’s first date with Mario, she can’t help thinking). “Claire Underwood” booked long before all the brouhaha about the ghost.
Lizbet says, “It’s so wonderful to have you staying with us, Ms. Underwood. Are you visiting Nantucket for any special reason?”
Claire/Maybe-Shelly smiles. “Just a quick getaway,” she says. “I was curious about the hotel.”
Lizbet bites her lower lip to keep from giving Claire/Maybe-Shelly an unhinged grin. “There are a few things you should know about our property. Technically, checkin is at three—”
“I understand,” Claire/Maybe-Shelly says.
“But I’ll try to get you into your room as soon as possible.” Lizbet goes on to tell Claire/Maybe-Shelly about the adult pool and the wellness center, and then she hands Claire/Maybe-Shelly a copy of the Blue Book. “This lists all of our recommendations for shopping, restaurants, beaches, galleries, bars, and nightlife. If you have any requests, please let me know.” Lizbet realizes with horror that she has forgotten to introduce herself. “I’m Lizbet Keaton, the general manager.”
“I do have some requests, actually,” Claire/Maybe-Shelly says, pulling a piece of paper out of her cute woven clutch. “First off, would it be possible for me to get a room upgrade?”
A room upgrade? Lizbet thinks. The hotel is full! But she understands that Claire/Maybe-Shelly has to ask; it’s what savvy travelers (and famous hotel bloggers) do. How will they ever get the fifth key if Lizbet can’t accommodate this request? They won’t is the answer.
Then Lizbet realizes that they do have one free room: Xavier’s suite, which is awaiting his arrival on August 24. Richie has asked Lizbet why she doesn’t rent the room out, since they know Xavier’s dates, and Lizbet said she wouldn’t feel right. Xavier asked her to hold it for him; he’s been paying the nightly rate all summer. Lizbet is certain that the day she agrees to let someone take Xavier’s suite, Xavier will appear out of the blue for a surprise visit.
But Shelly Carpenter is a special case. I bought the hotel to impress two women. If Lizbet doesn’t offer Shelly the owner’s suite, she reasons, Xavier will be furious.
“I can upgrade you to the owner’s suite,” Lizbet says, and she watches Claire/Maybe-Shelly’s eyebrows lift.
“Excellent, thank you,” Claire/Maybe-Shelly says. “I also have these requests.” She slides the piece of paper across the desk.
Thursday 7:30 p.m. Pearl bar seat
Friday 7:00 p.m. Nautilus bar seat
Saturday 8:00 p.m. Blue Bar bar seat
Four-door Jeep Wrangler hardtop Saturday, please also arrange pickup of charcuterie platter from Petrichor
Stand-up paddle lesson, Friday noon
Tour of Cisco Brewers, Friday 5:00 p.m.
Yoga class before 10:00 a.m. Friday through Sunday
“I’ll handle all this right away,” Lizbet says. She’s relieved the Deck isn’t on Claire/Maybe-Shelly’s list. “Do you have any other luggage? I’ll have Zeke, our bellman, bring it up to you right away.”
“No,” Claire/Maybe-Shelly says. “Just this.”
“Well, then, give me a few minutes to have housekeeping prepare your room and I’ll walk you up myself. We have complimentary Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee in the percolator.”
“Fantastic!” Claire/Maybe-Shelly says. “I missed my coffee this morning. And I love percolated coffee. It’s such a nice touch.” A cheer goes up from the chess match: Louie has beaten Mr. Tennant. Lizbet takes this as a good omen. The hotel will win Claire/Maybe-Shelly over. They will get the fifth key.
What’s not a good omen is the icy silence on the other end of the telephone line when Lizbet calls Magda to tell her to prepare the owner’s suite, 317, for a guest checking in.
“That’s Xavier’s suite,” Magda says.
“Mr. Darling’s, yes,” Lizbet says. “But since he’s not here…”
“I would strongly advise against putting anyone in Xavier’s suite,” Magda says. “He’s paying to keep it empty.”
“Shelly Carpenter is here,” Lizbet whispers. “She asked for an upgrade.”
Magda clears her throat. “You’re sure it’s her? Beyond a shadow of a doubt?”
“No one is ever sure. But there’s been more than one indication.”
“Fine. Give us fifteen minutes to stock the minibar, dust, and plump the pillows for Ms. Carpenter.”
“You need to do more than that,” Lizbet says. “You need to run through the checklist. What if there are cobwebs? What if the windows stick? What if the sound system is doing that funny stuttering thing? And make sure the pens work and that the sink drains properly.”
“Perhaps you’d like to come up and do my job for me?” Magda asks, and Lizbet presses her lips together. Lizbet suspects that although she is Magda’s boss, Magda sees it as the other way around.
“Not at all, Magda,” Lizbet says. “Thank you.”