Beach Thriller(64)
“Dr. Hill sort of lives in the past,” Conrad explains. “He’s got antique cars, a vintage motorcycle, and he even restored a 1970s motorboat that’s a real beauty now. If it’s not old, it’s not worth his time.”
Dr. Hill chuckles. “Guilty as charged. But at least my medicine is up-to-date.”
Conrad smiles warmly. “The doc here has been our family physician since I was a boy. A true pillar of the community.”
“The way you’re describing me, I could be classified as an antique.”
They share a laugh, and I feel compelled to join. Vernon’s appearance supports his observation. He’s wearing a tweed jacket and worn loafers. The black doctor’s bag in his right hand is made of aged leather, and in his left, he holds his signature fedora. This guy puts the folk in folksy—but I overheard the list of pills he’s prescribing Maeve, so I know he’s no joke.
“They don’t make things like they used to,” Dr. Hill says. “Quality clothing lasts, same as those old cars. You just have to know how to take care of things.”
“Like this watch,” says Conrad, who lifts his shirtsleeve to reveal an elegant timepiece. The face is deep black, shiny as a mirror. Slim gold hands move smoothly past the delicate baton markers indicating each hour, encased in domed crystal as if time itself were captured inside a snow globe. The watchband resembles a gold mesh bracelet, with tightly woven links that can bend like fabric.
“This is an Omega Seamaster De Ville—a true relic of the 1960s,” he says, with odd reverence for an era that he didn’t actually live through. “It was Baxter’s—older than I am, but still works as if it were new.”
“Simple yet elegant—the perfect timepiece for the man who appreciates quiet status,” says Dr. Hill.
“It looks great,” I say. While I’m not really sure how much to gush over a watch, I do know that it’s time to get back to business. “Um, Sid mentioned you wanted to talk to me?”
Conrad offers a nod goodbye to Dr. Hill, along with a muted thank-you, and sends him on his way. I mean, what do you say to the guy who just told you your mother is going to die?
“Come into my office,” Conrad says. “I have news for you.”
My muscles tense. Am I getting fired? I mentally prepare my plea to stick around because I have to be here—for Holly, for the story. But if I’m forced out, at least I won’t have to watch Maeve slowly decline.
Before Conrad has a chance to say anything, I blurt: “Please don’t fire me. I really need the money.”
Conrad tilts his head. “Fire you? Jade, you’re doing a great job. In fact, I spoke to my mother earlier, and apparently you’ve impressed her quite a bit.”
I gulp. “Oh … wow, okay. Plot twist.”
“You’re getting something of a promotion,” he says, eyebrows raised as if the news surprises him as well. “I have to say, it’s a rare person who receives a compliment from Maeve Carmichael. You should be flattered.”
“Sure—yeah, like, super cool,” I say, though I’m really just confused. I didn’t do anything other than what Sid advised. I did my job and mostly kept my mouth shut. “What’s the promotion?” I ask.
“You’ll still be clearing out my stepfather’s belongings, but now you’ll also be helping with some of the last-minute party preparations. Of course, you’ll make more per hour with the added responsibilities. Mother can fill you in on the details. I would help, but my planning skills are woefully lacking—I don’t even plan my lunch.”
There’s sadness in his smile. I project that he’s thinking about planning a funeral.
“Mother is upstairs resting. I wanted to catch you first, in case you don’t want the extra responsibility. This party means a lot to my mother. It’s going to be stressful.”
“I can handle it,” I insist, certain he can detect my hesitation. The last thing in the world I want is Maeve Carmichael riding me like a donkey for her sandy fiesta, but my mission outweighs all my reservations.
Before I can offer additional assurance that I’m the girl for the job, an alert on Conrad’s phone distracts him. He sends me off with an apologetic, albeit dismissive, wave. Clearly it’s an important call. Private, too, for he shuts his office door as soon as I exit.
I return to the echoing foyer, feeling off-kilter. This family sure knows how to throw me for a loop. I thought Maeve couldn’t stand me, and here she is, offering a promotion.
I’m not paying attention to where I’m going when I nearly collide with the housekeeper, Rose, who appears to be rushing for the door. She’s wheeling a small suitcase and has a black bag slung over her shoulder. She’s dressed in her work outfit—gray pants and a white button-down shirt—but doesn’t have her apron on.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” I stutter. “Is everything okay? You seem to be in a hurry.”
Rose checks her surroundings as if nervous she’ll be overheard. “No, everything is not okay. Unfortunately, my mother is very sick. I need to fly back home to be with her.” Her eyes fill with worry. “I won’t be returning.”
I recall Conrad’s earlier observation that employment here is akin to a carousel—round and round, they come and go. Now Rose is departing.