No, Lizbet thinks. It wasn’t the internet guy and it wasn’t Lyric. It could have been some woman that Michael was sleeping with, a woman he met on the ferry and decided to let stay awhile because it was raw, chilly spring on Nantucket and he was always up for a little action with a beautiful woman and because Michael essentially gambled for a living and because this other woman was wily and had no morals. Alessandra saw the key to the Laytons’ house and she’d probably gathered through eavesdropping or casual conversation that the Laytons next door were close friends, and she burgled the Laytons’ house so that when she vacated the premises, Heidi would think Michael was sleeping with Lyric.
“I’m having the ramen,” Heidi says. “What about you?”
“I haven’t even looked. I want sushi.” But Lizbet can’t think about sushi. She isn’t sure what to do. Should she tell Heidi what Alessandra said about meeting a “friend” on the Hy-Line back in April and staying with him on Hulbert Avenue? Should she describe following Alessandra by bike and being caught by Alessandra right in front of Heidi’s house? Should she then mention how Alessandra is a casual liar who showed up with sketchy references （all of them European, like she’s the Talented Ms. Ripley）？ Should she tell Heidi how Alessandra is so startlingly beautiful that she’s managed to overwhelm the hotel’s male guests?
It’s a proper quandary, one meant for an advice column. If I suspect a friend’s husband was cheating on her with someone I know, do I tell her? Or do I let her believe that it wasn’t a mistress but rather a revenge plotted by her husband’s nefarious work colleagues?
The affair, Lizbet reasons, is over. Heidi and Michael are settling back into their summertime routine of beach and tennis and driving the kids to camp and going out to dinner. Who is Lizbet to disrupt their lives on a hunch? She has no actual proof it was Alessandra.
But one thing is for sure: Lizbet is going to start watching Alessandra more closely.
“The spicy tuna roll looks good,” Lizbet says. “And let’s get some sashimi.”
August 8, 2022
From: Xavier Darling （[email protected]）
To: Employees of the Hotel Nantucket
Good morning, all—
This week on TravelTattler I noted a lovely review of our hotel that expressly mentioned bellman Ezekiel English. This guest praised Ezekiel’s intimate knowledge of the island, including the recommendation of Stubby’s to satisfy our guest’s late-night case of the “munchies.” Outstanding job, Ezekiel!
XD
Edie and Zeke are, once again, eating ice cream together in the break room when Raoul pops his head in and says, “Congrats, Zeke. You won the bonus this week.”
“I did?” Zeke says, and Edie thinks, He did?
They check their phones, and sure enough, there’s the letter from Xavier.
Zeke laughs. “Those guests were plastered; they’d just gotten back from the Chicken Box and the dude was starving. I guess he assumed there would be chicken at the Chicken Box—”
Edie offers a lame smile that Zeke doesn’t seem to notice.
“But since we all know there is not one piece of chicken at the Chicken Box, I sent them to Stubby’s. And he wrote about it. Ha!”
Ha, Edie thinks. Her crush on Zeke has only grown more excruciating with each passing day, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling bitter that he won the money for recommending Stubby’s, which is essentially Nantucket’s version of a McDonald’s drive-through.
“Why were you even working night bell?” she asks. “Where was Adam?”
“It was the night he and Raoul went to the White Heron to see that play,” Zeke says. “I covered Adam’s shift.”
He deserves the money, Edie thinks. He worked a double so Adam and Raoul could have a date night. She feels resentful that she can’t even be properly resentful.
Zeke tosses his nearly full bowl of ice cream into the trash. “I’m going to run to Indian Summer and see about a new longboard,” he says. He gives Edie’s shoulders a squeeze. “Your boy is hyped!”
Edie would normally be glowing from the half-hug and the use of the term your boy, but once Zeke leaves, Edie feels bereft.
Then something on her phone catches her attention.
August 8, 2022
Abigail Rashishe—Cornell School of Hotel Administration Alumni Facebook Page
Warning to my fellow hotelies and especially to anyone who shares my obsession with Shelly Carpenter （I assume this means everyone）： There’s a woman at large who is imitating Shelly Carpenter. She shows up solo and presents IDs in various obvious aliases. When she checked into the Woodstock Inn （where I’ve recently been promoted to FDM!）， her ID said Diana Spencer. She asked for a room upgrade, presented a written list of requests, and did that thing of trying to subtly take photos and type notes into her phone. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was completely fooled. I bent over backward to get “Diana Spencer” a room upgrade and I even gifted her a bathrobe after she asked where we sourced them. I was aghast when “Diana Spencer” called the next day to say that she’d left a Prada raffia tote behind. We couldn’t find the tote—our housekeeping staff hadn’t seen it—but nevertheless, we offered to replace it, which cost us over a thousand dollars. （Of course we replaced it—we were dealing with Shelly Carpenter, or so we thought!）