Stuff is going down: When Lizbet gets back to the lobby, she sees Richie with three gentlemen in suits, one of whom is handcuffing him!
“Wait!” Lizbet cries out. Her head feels like it’s going to topple off her body. “What’s going on?”
“Mr. Decameron is under arrest for wire fraud,” one of the gentlemen who’s not cuffing Richie says. He holds up a badge. “Agent Ianucci, FBI.”
Lizbet blinks. Mr. Ianucci, formerly of room 307.
“Richie?” she says.
Richie hangs his head. “I’m sorry, Lizbet.”
26. The Cobblestone Telegraph
On Sunday evening, Fast Eddie heads into his real estate office on Main Street to type up the listing sheet for the Hotel Nantucket. He received a call from Xavier Darling earlier that afternoon; Xavier wants to sell, pronto. He’s already gotten an offer from a colleague in London who wants to convert the hotel into an office building, but this colleague is holding firm at sixteen million.
“List it at twenty-five,” Xavier told Eddie. “But between us, I’ll take twenty.”
“You put thirty into it,” Eddie said. “Thirty-two if you count what you paid for it.”
“I need to take it as a loss this year,” Xavier said. “Though not too much of a loss.”
Eddie puts the listing on his website at seven p.m. Xavier informed Lizbet and the rest of the hotel staff of his intent to sell at five p.m.
Poor Lizbet, Eddie thinks. She poured her heart and soul into that place and turned it into a genuine phoenix-risen-from-the-ashes success story. She has such a magic touch that Eddie decides he’ll offer her a job as a sales associate with Bayberry Properties and sponsor her classes.
Eddie then pops into Ventuno for a celebratory cocktail. He tells the bartender, Johnny B., that he’s re-listing the Hotel Nantucket for twenty-five million. Those of us who overhear this tidbit note the barely suppressed glee in Eddie’s voice. He’s looking at quite a commission, especially if he comes up with the buyer.
One of the people who are sitting at the Ventuno bar within earshot of Eddie is Charlene, the nurse from Our Island Home. Charlene is drowning her sorrows because her favorite resident, Mint Benedict, has contracted pneumonia and the doctors say he’s not likely to make it through the week.
The next morning when Charlene goes to visit Mint at the Nantucket Cottage Hospital, Mint asks her to collect everything from his safety deposit box at Nantucket Bank.
“There’s some of my mother’s jewelry that I want you to have,” Mint says, his voice broken and gravelly. “And there are papers I’d like you to go through—letters and my father’s journal.”
Charlene pats Mint’s hand, which is burning up, despite the intravenous antibiotics. “I’ll bring it all here and we can go through it together, how about that?” She considers telling Mint what she overheard about the Hotel Nantucket going on the market again, but she isn’t sure if this will make him feel better (he was right, the place does seem to be cursed) or if it will send him into a downward spiral. She decides to keep the news to herself.
Jordan Randolph at the Nantucket Standard notices the new real estate listing right away. He calls Lizbet to find out what’s going on, but Lizbet isn’t available for comment.
Jordan then hears about an FBI sting at the hotel and he immediately contacts the Nantucket Police Department to see what Chief Ed Kapenash knows about it.
“Wire fraud,” Ed says. Ed is a gruff fellow on a good day, but tonight he sounds particularly worn out. Jordan empathizes—it’s the end of a long, hot summer and everyone on this island is in need of a three-day nap. “Their night auditor was selling people’s credit card numbers, addresses, and driver’s license information. He was doing a brisk business in stolen identities.”
“Wow,” Jordan says.
“Apparently the Feds have been watching him for a while. He did some small-time embezzling at an insurance company in Connecticut—wiring his child-support payments out of their payroll account. The company didn’t press charges because he’d been there so long and the ex-wife had really stuck it to him in the divorce. Then he hooked up with one of those sneaker brokers and that guy got busted for tax evasion, and I guess Decameron knew about it and was accepting cash to keep quiet.”
“And Lizbet gave him a job anyway?” Jordan says.
“I’m sure she was desperate for the help,” the chief says. “She hired some guy who presented well but who ended up being in over his head.” He pauses. “Some days I feel like that guy.”
“Yeah,” Jordan says. “Me too.” And the conversation ends on a laugh.
Blond Sharon can’t believe her good luck. The Hotel Nantucket is at the center of all this gossip at the same time that her sister, Heather, checks in for a weeklong stay. Sharon picks up Heather (who is brunette) from the airport, drives her to the hotel, and accompanies her inside under the guise of “getting her settled,” but really Sharon wants to find out what, precisely, is going on. She passes Sweet Edie Robbins on the front steps. Edie waves and says she’s going to lunch but that Alessandra will be happy to check Heather in.
Bingo! Sharon thinks. Alessandra is one of the people Sharon wants to see, because Alessandra is reputedly the woman who slept with Michael Bick, then made everyone think it was Lyric Layton. Sharon is expecting a villainess from a James Bond film, and while she’s not disappointed by Alessandra’s appearance—she’s a stunner, with wavy strawberry-blond hair and stylish makeup (she’s wearing white eyeliner, and Sharon wonders if she could get away with that or if she’s twenty-five years too old, and what about eye crystals?)—Alessandra isn’t the evil bitch that Sharon expects. She’s warm and genuine as well as incredibly helpful and organized. She prints a list of all of Heather and Sharon’s dinner reservations and she has somehow managed to score the two of them a tee time for the next day at Miacomet Golf Club (which is basically impossible, because everyone knows there’s a top secret list of preferred clients even though the course is public).
Well done, Alessandra! Sharon thinks. “Is Lizbet around, by any chance?” Sharon asks.
“Let me see if she’s available,” Alessandra says.
A second later, Lizbet emerges from the back office looking as fabulous as ever in a black linen sheath with peekaboo cutouts at the waist and a cute belt.
“Is the black because you’re in mourning?” Sharon asks. “I hear the hotel is being sold.”
“I’m optimistic that whoever buys it will keep it the way it is so we’ll all have our jobs next summer.”
“Hmmm,” Sharon says. “Not to be Gertie Gloom, but I heard there was a buyer already who wants to turn it into a corporate headquarters.”
Lizbet purses her lips. “Sharon,” she chides, “you know better than to spread rumors.”
“I have a good source.”
“Well, then, I suppose I’ll be moving to LA,” Lizbet says.
Sharon is rendered temporarily speechless. Nobody on this island wants to see Lizbet move away.
“What happened to your night manager?” Sharon asks. “I heard the FBI arrested him.”
Lizbet smiles without showing any teeth. Sharon isn’t without self-awareness; she knows she’s pushing it with this question.
“Richie is a very sweet man,” Lizbet says. “However, Love Robbins will be on the night desk until we close.”
Sharon reaches out a hand. “We’re all wishing you well, sweetie pie.”
And it’s true, we all are. It’s one of the few things we can agree on. After watching the unlikely blossoming of the Hotel Nantucket over the summer, we want to see it succeed.
But we have to admit, it’s not looking good.
27. Long Shot