Inherit the Wool Page 3

  I’d never been behind the counter before and it felt very strange and maybe a little fun viewing the interior of the Lodge from this new perspective. I quickly looked around to try to figure out what was what. Vista Del Mar still had actual keys for the rooms and each one was kept in a pigeonhole marked by the building and room number. There was a computer monitor on the counter but the screen was dark. I started playing with the mouse, hoping to get the screen to light up, and I waved to the women to come toward me.

  The computer screen came on, but it asked for a password to continue. I gave the two women a reassuring smile as I fiddled with the keyboard, but then I let out a mental eureka—some genius had decided to keep it simple, and my first try at typing in password 1234 had worked. “Okay, I can check you in,” I said brightly. “Are you traveling together?”

  Both women shook their heads and said “no.” After that it became a contest of who could be more courteous by letting the other woman go first. Finally I pointed at the woman in the baseball cap. “Let’s start with you.”

  She stepped forward, still offering the other woman the opportunity to go first. I admired their manners. If only the whole world was that considerate. “My name is Barbara Henderson,” she said. I hit a roadblock on the computer as I tried to call up the reservations and made small talk with her while I tried to figure it out. Barbara seemed friendly enough, and I was relieved that she wasn’t impatient. It was her first visit to Vista Del Mar and she said she was hoping to get away from it all.

  “You’ve come to the right place,” I said when I finally called up her reservation. I took one of the keys from the pigeonholes behind me and handed it to her. I caught a glimpse of a mark on her wrist as she took the key. She saw me looking at it and smiled. “It’s a birthmark. I keep thinking I ought to get a tat to cover it. Maybe a sunflower,” she offered.

  “Like this,” the other woman said, showing off a tiny flower tattoo on her wrist. “I wish I’d thought of a sunflower instead of a rose.” She turned to me. “My name is Rebecca Noodleman,” she said. “I appreciate your efforts, but it’s obvious you’re just stepping in. I came here before for a retreat and everything was handled very efficiently. I hope this isn’t a sign of how the weekend is going to be.” I apologized to both of them and said I was sure once we got over this glitch everything would be fine.

  The door opened with a whoosh and Kevin St. John came in. He glanced toward the registration area and his expression went from placid to horrified as his gaze fell on me. “Ms. Feldstein, what are you doing?” he sputtered. The moon-faced manager was overdressed in a dark suit that made him look more like an undertaker than the host of a rustic resort. He was not a big fan of mine, to put it mildly, so seeing me in his domain was extra upsetting.

  I considered mentioning that Madeleine had been the one to insist I step in, but since she wasn’t with him I had no backup. Under the circumstances it seemed like the best thing to do was to get out of there quickly.

  “They’re all yours,” I said, climbing back over the huge wooden counter. Just then a frazzled-looking young woman came in, holding her cell phone. Her eyes widened with horror as she took in the situation. Kevin shushed her with a stare while he went to deal with the new arrivals. As he stood with the two women, he glanced back at me, and I gathered he was apologizing and trying to smooth things over. He handed them a map and seemed to be giving them directions to the building their rooms were in. He finished with a few bows of his head and probably some more apologies before coming over to us.

  “I’m sorry,” the clerk said. She was new and I hadn’t gotten her name. “But I had to check my phone. You can’t get a signal unless you walk way down the street,” she said in an indignant tone. She looked at the manager for his reaction and seemed surprised when he was hardly sympathetic. She let out a sigh. “It’s not my fault someone decided to take this place back to the Dark Ages and make it unplugged.” She turned to me. “You’re Casey Something, right?” I nodded and she continued. “There was a message for you. One of the people coming to your retreat can’t make it.”

  “Did you get a name?” I asked and the girl got defensive.

  “Technically, we’re not supposed to take messages for you since you’re not a guest,” she said and looked to Kevin St. John for his approval, as if it would make up for what she’d just done. “So I told her she ought to send you an email or call you directly. But I’m pretty sure her name is like Clair or Blair. She started to tell me why. Something about her hair or a fair and she had a meeting or something. Maybe it’ll be in the email.” She stopped for a moment. “But maybe not. I’m not sure she said she would send one. I just remember she said she was in a hurry.”

  I’m not sure which of us Kevin St. John glared at more.

  It was obvious why he was unhappy with her, and by now I’d gotten that her name was Janet. But it was not so obvious what he had against me. I doubted the glare had to do with my invading the sacred territory behind the counter. Someone else might have actually said thank you for trying to help out. To cut right to the chase, he simply didn’t like me. It irritated him no end that the Delacorte sisters were giving me such a deal on the rooms and meeting space, and what he really wanted was for me to give up the whole retreat business and just go away.

  He kept his personal life under wraps and so far all I’d been able to find out about him was that he was probably single, was a native Cadburian, and had been brought up by his grandmother, who died under suspicious circumstances.

  “If there’s nothing else, Ms. Feldstein,” Kevin St. John said, indicating the door. I heard him drop his voice as he began to lecture Janet. I wondered if she’d still be there when I returned.

  Chapter Three

  The one positive about my time behind the counter was that in looking for the reservations of the two women I’d been able to check on my group and saw that everything was in order. When I went back home, I realized I’d left the dishes on the table and cleared them off. Julius did figure eights around my ankles and then went and sat down in front of the refrigerator. His message couldn’t have been clearer. I’d ignored his demand before, but this time he was standing his ground. He wanted some stink fish.

  Of all the cat foods in the world, he had to zero in on the smelliest of them all. I’d never looked too closely at the ingredients—I didn’t want to get that close to the can. I swear you could smell it even when the can hadn’t been opened.

  I had given up being tough about giving in to his demands and most of the time simply gave him a tiny dab. The only problem with that plan was that it meant I was constantly having to deal with the smell. I kept the open can wrapped in several layers of plastic wrap in a plastic bag within another plastic bag. Even so, as soon as I grabbed the plastic bag I got a faint whiff of it. I automatically closed my nose for the duration as I went through all the unwrapping and put a tiny blob of it in his bowl and wrapped it all up again.

  “I’m going to be tied up a lot until Sunday,” I said as the black cat hovered over his bowl, daintily licking the pink blob. “I have to spend a lot of time with this group.” I looked down at him. “So you are going to have to be a good cat and stay out of trouble.”

  At the word trouble he looked up at me with his arresting yellow eyes and blinked a few times. When Julius had first come to live with me, I’d tried to make him an indoor cat. Even now I laughed at my folly. In the end he’d won and I left a window open enough for him to squeeze in and out, and he came and went as he pleased. “You can’t come on the Vista Del Mar grounds looking for me. You know what happened before,” I said in a stern voice. Kevin St. John didn’t like Julius. He had been hostile to the cat from the first time I’d seen Julius wandering on the grounds. The manager had almost run over him then and later blamed him when there was an accident with some yarn.

  Julius rubbed against my ankles a few times before going back to his food. Did that mean he understood?

  I pulled out a couple of roll
s of butter cookie dough I always kept in the refrigerator. I liked to bring some baked goods to the workshops. While the oven preheated, I sliced the rolls and spread the disks of dough on metal sheets. They were baked and cooling on racks in no time.

  It was almost showtime and I went to check my appearance. The rust-colored turtleneck and black jeans seemed a little too casual. I found an old suede blazer and slipped it on, thinking it added a professional air. It wasn’t as comfortable as the loose-fitting fleece jacket I usually wore and I realized I’d probably be cold in it, but this time I was more concerned with the look than my comfort. I always added a handmade item from my aunt’s stash as a finishing touch. I picked out a knitted scarf in shades of brown and rust made out of a nubby silk yarn. I checked my reflection and gave myself an okay, all the while chiding myself for being concerned with what the Baller-rinas might think of me.

  I packed the cookies in a tin, grabbed my oversized red tote bag stuff with the smaller bags for the group, and headed for the door as I convinced myself to stop fussing about the upcoming retreat. There was nothing I could do about it now anyway. And with the news that Blair wasn’t coming, there would be one less person to worry about pleasing.

  The sun was still in hiding and a cool breeze carried the scent of the ocean mixed with the pine trees and the wood smoke from all the fireplaces as I walked back down the Vista Del Mar driveway. I veered off before I got to the Lodge and took the path that led to our meeting room. I glanced at the golden grass on either side of the walkway, amazed at how dry it looked. With all the cloudy skies here on the tip of the Monterey Peninsula, the area didn’t get a lot of rain.

  I passed the Sand and Sea building, where my friends would be staying. It was covered in dark brown weathered shingles. The entrance was hardly grand, just a small stoop with an overhang held up by a column made of stones. I tried to think of a positive spin on the building to offer to my friends. It was historic and an original building from the time this place was a camp. It had actually served as a dormitory for the camp counselors. I could mention the Arts and Crafts style and that it was designed by a famous woman architect. The one thing I couldn’t say was that the accommodations were luxurious or even close.

  The meeting room took up part of a one-story building called Cypress and was positioned in an open area between the structures that housed the guest rooms. I’d used it many times before, and when I stepped inside the only thing that seemed a little off was that the fireplace was dark and no coffee and tea service was set up on the counter. I left the tin of cookies where the refreshments would be and took a last glance around the room. The tables and chairs seemed fine. Crystal would bring everything else. Then it was out the door and on to greet the arrivals.

  I took the other path back and ended up on the side of the Lodge building that had a large deck that looked toward the sand dunes. I’d passed some new arrivals pulling their suitcases up the path and we exchanged friendly hellos. I still had a smile from the exchanges with the guests as I cut through the Lodge. When I opened the door on the other side I was surprised to see that the airport shuttle had already arrived and was unloading.

  Most of the group had arranged to fly together, going from Chicago to Los Angeles and changing to a smaller plane that flew into the Monterey airport. Only Blair had planned to come in separately, but that was irrelevant now. As I looked over the arrivals, I wondered if the mystery guest was among them. Along with no name, there’d been no flight details.

  I felt a last-minute surge of nerves and anxiety as I realized this was it. And how little I knew about where they all were in their lives now. There had been some wedding invitations and birth announcements, but somehow I’d never done anything beyond sending a gift. We had been such a hodgepodge of personalities that when we no longer had Clayton U. in common, I’d lost touch with them.

  I watched as the van emptied and the driver opened the back and started to hand out bags. I looked over the clump of people, trying to pick out any familiar faces. I laughed at myself, realizing that I was looking for the girls I’d known, but it had been fourteen years since I’d seen them and they’d probably changed.

  I had only glanced over the photos and information each of them had posted about themselves on Facebook. The truth was I was sure they’d all gone on to do great things and I hated to be reminded that I was still trying to find my way.

  Out of nowhere a red ball came flying toward me and bounced off my head before I managed to catch it.

  “Who threw that?” I said with mock anger.

  “You didn’t think we’d come ball-less,” a woman said. “Not on your life. The balls are what brought us together and are an important part of this reunion.” She had filled out a bit since I’d last seen her, but I recognized Elizabeth Bronsky. I’d always thought there was a primness about her. Her skin had a natural pallor and her dark hair always looked as if it had just been combed. She had never been particularly into fashion, and it seemed as if that hadn’t changed. The stiff-looking jeans were topped with a nondescript white top and a black sweater. She’d taken out a tube of lip gloss and spread it over her mouth several times, and I recalled that she’d had an obsession about lip gloss.

  It figured that she would have brought the balls. I chuckled as I remembered my title for her—the ballatarian, since she was the one who had come up with rules and implemented them without consulting anyone.

  “Speak for yourself,” Vanessa Peyton said to Elizabeth before turning to me. “I thought it was a stupid idea to bring them, but she was like a terrier about it, wouldn’t give up until I agreed.” I was still holding the ball and was considering what to do with it. Vanessa stared at it in my hand. “Don’t even think about bouncing that to me.”

  Vanessa had always had that polished look from facials and designer haircuts, but it seemed she’d taken it up a notch. Her hair was long and a wheat color that I knew wasn’t hers, but it had been done so expertly with variations of tones that it could have passed for natural. Her makeup was flawless and understated. She was an expert at camouflaging her curvy shape. She wore washed-out jeans that no doubt had come with a huge price tag, along with an asymmetrical cream-colored long top that was probably silk. She covered it all with a long yellow kimono-style jacket splashed with showy orange poppies.

  “I don’t get your attitude,” Elizabeth said to Vanessa. “How could we have had a Baller-rinas reunion without our balls?” Elizabeth turned back toward me and urged me to throw the red ball back to her. It felt like a basketball but was much smaller and easy to hold in one hand, and I was happy to oblige. This ball business was something I hadn’t anticipated and I hoped it wasn’t going to cause a problem. The dark-haired ballatarian caught it and began to bounce it up and down. Without missing a bounce, Elizabeth spoke to me as she rocked her head with frustration. “What I had to do to get her to let me look for them at her parents’ house.”

  I laughed inside at Elizabeth calling where Vanessa’s parents lived a house. How about a mansion on a primo piece of North Shore land with a view of Lake Michigan. My family was very comfortable since both of my parents were doctors, and we had a view of Lake Michigan from our Hancock building apartment, but Vanessa’s family was rich rich. The money came from the slew of car dealerships they owned. There was Peyton Ford, Peyton Buick, Peyton Mercedes and Peyton Legace.

  “I can’t believe you still have them,” I said, as it came back to me that since we wanted to be so fabulous with our routine, Vanessa had bought a set of the balls and let us practice at her place.

  “Whatever floats your boat,” Vanessa said with a dismissive wave of her hand, and I caught sight of a diamond the size of a rock on her finger that probably would work well as a weapon if she ever got in a real street fight. I chuckled at the thought, as if that would ever happen.

  Vanessa went to retrieve her bag as another woman joined me. “Hi, Casey,” she said brightly. “In case you don’t remember me, I’m Lauren Fischer. Well, it’s L
auren Fischer Clark now technically, but I still go by Fischer. Taking your husband’s name seems so archaic. ”

  “Of course, I know who you are,” I said. She was as cute and perky as I remembered her being. She was lucky to have the kind of roundish face and features that would never age, and she looked virtually unchanged. She’d been the one of us most likely to save the world and had always been championing some cause. I recalled that Lauren had worn jeans and a lot of graphic T-shirts that had some sort of statement on them, along with one of those green army field jackets. She was still wearing utilitarian jeans, but instead of a T-shirt wore a red print peasant top with a nubbly black shawl wrapped over it. Her brown hair was still short in the kind of cut that just needed a good shake after a shower to fall into place. If she wore any makeup, I couldn’t see it.

  “Do you knit?” I asked, touching the shawl to feel the texture.

  “Nope. It came from a women’s collective in Peru.” She seemed dismayed as she caught sight of Vanessa’s brown and tan monogram suitcase. “Do you have any idea how much one of those cost?” I didn’t need to answer because she quickly added that the Louis Vuitton bag on wheels went for more than a couple of thousand dollars. “And it doesn’t do any more than my bag that I got for fifty bucks at Costco. I wish I could send the difference to those women in Peru.” She continued to mutter to herself about other ways that money could be spent that would help others, and I wondered why she was so versed on the price of the bag considering how negatively she felt about it.

  By the process of elimination, I knew for sure that the sleek-looking woman with glossy mink-colored hair grabbing her bag had to be Courtney Arlington. I would have recognized her anyway as soon as I saw her face. Not to be unkind, but Courtney had a prominent nose and the space between it and her mouth was not proportional. Her navy slacks with a matching pullover sweater accessorized by a light blue paisley scarf gave her a professional air. She would never be beautiful but she’d succeeded in making herself look distinctive and maybe a little intimidating. I saw her nails were perfectly manicured and painted a blood red as she pulled out her cell phone. My momentary thought that she must have gotten over her habit of biting them turned to panic. They’d know soon enough about their cell phones not working, but I wanted to stall a little longer.