The Book Club Hotel(3)

Hattie had no intention of firing Chloe. She was one of the few members of staff who didn’t bring tension into the room with her.

“This is her first job,” Hattie said. “She’s learning. Mistakes happen.”

“This is supposed to be a quality establishment. Quality establishments don’t tolerate mistakes.”

The whole venture was a mistake, Hattie thought wearily. What were you thinking, Brent? “I’ll talk to her. Where is she?”

“In the laundry room, crying. I just hope she’s not blowing her nose in the sheets.”

Maybe they could cry together, Hattie thought as she made her way through the welcoming reception area and past the open door of the library. She gave the well-stocked bookshelves a longing look, wishing she had time to snuggle down in an armchair in front of the flickering log fire and escape for a while. The library was her favorite room and nothing pleased her more than seeing someone curled up on one of the sofas with a book.

Occasionally, she envied her guests, who were pampered and cared for, their every need anticipated, their every wish granted. Her guests did seem happy and most of them booked again, so maybe she wasn’t doing such a bad job as an innkeeper even if she was a terrible people manager. Was she a terrible people manager? Or was it just that she wasn’t good at managing terrible people?

She headed downstairs and found Chloe exactly where Stephanie had said—in the laundry room.

Her eyes were red and she scrubbed her face with her hand when she saw Hattie.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe muttered. “She told me I had to change the bed in four minutes, so I was going for speed. I messed up, I know I did, but Mrs. Bowman frowns so much that she makes me nervous and flustered and then I make mistakes.”

Hattie wondered if she should confess that Stephanie Bowman had the same effect on her.

“Don’t worry about it.” She patted the girl on the shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

“No, it isn’t. The bedding is ruined.” Chloe’s face was scarlet. “It’s supposed to be snow-white, and now it’s pink. And not pale pink, but pink. I’m going to try washing it again, but I think the color is stuck fast. It will have to be thrown away.”

“It really doesn’t—” Hattie let her hand drop. “Wait a moment. Did you say pink?”

“Yes. It was a hat. I think it was part of Mr. Graham’s Santa suit. He hired it, and it obviously wasn’t colorfast.” She frowned. “And it’s weird, because I could have sworn I’d packed the whole suit away for them, including the hat. I was very careful, but somehow the hat was mixed up with the laundry so I guess not.”

Hattie blinked. “Santa suit?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Graham from Ohio. They spent two nights in the Cider Suite. He told me that Mrs. Graham’s fantasy was to spend a night with Santa, so he hired a suit to surprise her.”

“It’s November.”

“I don’t think he cared about that. He also bought a festive-themed sex toy, but I didn’t ask for details. I thought it might ruin Christmas for me.”

“Indeed.” Hattie was so fascinated she momentarily forgot how tired she was. “How do you know all this?”

“People talk to me,” Chloe said, “which can sometimes be a little alarming, to be honest, but it does lead to interesting revelations.”

“And pink sheets.” Hattie grabbed a box of tissues from the shelf in the laundry room and handed her one. “Stop crying, Chloe. You might just have done me a favor.”

Chloe took the tissue and blew her nose. “I have?”

“Yes. There are guests who would apparently love to sleep in pink sheets. They’re soothing, didn’t you know?”

“No—” The girl looked dazed. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do. Put the pink sheets to one side. Do not throw them away.” Hattie hurried back to the reception desk, where Stephanie was tapping her foot.

Hattie took a deep breath and smiled, hoping to reduce the tension and soften her mood. “All sorted.”

Stephanie paused the foot tapping but didn’t look remotely softened. “You fired her?”

“No, I didn’t fire her. It was a mistake.” Or was it something else entirely? Something Chloe had said niggled in the back of her brain. “Odd, really, because she seemed convinced that she’d packed the red hat away with the rest of the Santa suit Mr. Graham brought with him. She couldn’t figure out how it got mixed up with the rest of the laundry.”

Stephanie’s expression didn’t flicker. “Probably because she’s careless. You’re far too lenient. Brent would have fired her.”

There was no way Brent would have fired Chloe, but he would have found a way to manage Stephanie.

She had a feeling that Stephanie wanted her to fail.

“We’re a team,” Hattie said, “and our job is to support one another.” Fortunately for her, Gwen and Ellen Bishop, two sisters in their eighties who had been regular guests since the inn had opened, chose that moment to wander into reception. Hattie had never been so relieved to see anyone. “Excuse me, Stephanie. I need to attend to our guests.”

She hurried across to the Bishop sisters and greeted them as if they were a lifeboat in stormy seas. “How was your breakfast?”