Eden

“If that phone rings again, I’m going to scream,” I said, a few weeks later, collapsing in my chair in exhaustion.

Gerald chuckled and when I looked at him, he gave me a commiserating smile.

“When it rains, it pours,” he said, looking almost as weary as I felt.

“Understatement of the week,” I replied as I kicked off my loafers, relieved to be out of the shoes.

They were comfortable but they weren’t designed for a fourteen-hour day spent entirely on my feet, especially not the fourth one in a row.

“What is going on, Gerald?” I said.

He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, proof that he really was as weary as I was. These last few days had been chaotic, with both Gerald and me rushing from one mini-disaster to the next, despite the help and equipment. We hadn’t had a quiet moment. I hadn’t even seen Michael in several days.

“Things have been rather active,” he said. Then he smiled. “But it reminds me of the old times. The good ones.”

I returned the smile. “You mean when it was just you and me and one housekeeper serving a forty-five-room hotel?” I asked.

“Indeed,” he said. “I’ve never worked so hard in my life, but we were a good team. And we ran a good hotel.”

“We still are, and we still do,” I replied.

Gerald nodded, but his smile had dampened.

I studied him, and though I was exhausted, now felt like the right time to talk to him, see if I could make him feel better.

“Gerald, what’s going on?” I asked.

He looked at me, his expression curious, like he was confused as to what I was asking.

“It’s been a rather busy couple of days,” he said.

I tilted my head, smiled at him patiently but unwilling to let him get away with such an evasive answer. “Gerald, I’ve known you for more than a decade.”

He smiled, although sheepishly, an interesting expression for the nearly sixty-year-old man.

“Things are so different,” he finally said with a sigh.

“They are,” I replied, not saying anything else, deciding to let him talk.

“It’s just…” He started, stopped, started again. “I know it’s been a long time but it’s a lot to adjust to,” he said.

“I know, but we talked about this too, you know?” I responded.

“I know. But when we talked about plans, resources, how we would manage things if we had the chance to do so, I always imagined it would be us,” he said.

I looked at Gerald, nodded, suddenly understanding. “And now it’s not.”

“No. We find ourselves with several owners. Some better than others,” he said.

“Gerald, I know this isn’t ideal, but the Murphys—Michael—have our best interests at heart,” I said.

He studied me, his eyes unreadable. “You really believe that?” he asked.

I nodded emphatically. “I do. Think about how different things are, how much they’ve changed.”

“I do. I do think about it,” he said.

“But not just the bad stuff, or stuff you don’t like, Gerald. We both make more now than we ever would have before. So does the rest of the staff. We get written up in travel magazines, and people rave about staying at our hotel. It’s everything we hoped for,” I said.

“Not everything,” he responded.

I reached over, patted his hand, but pulled back quickly when I saw how uncomfortable he looked. “You’ll be okay, Gerald. I know this isn’t ideal for you, but it really will be fine,” I said.

He looked at me, his skepticism clear, and then he finally nodded. “I suppose you’re right,” he said.

“Not suppose. I am right,” I said.

He laughed. “You are always so emphatic,” he said.

“Not always, but I’m right about this,” I responded.

“I hope you are. Although…” he said, trailing off.

“What?” I asked, looked at him with concern.

He shrugged. “I guess I’m just tired, but it almost seems like this place is cursed,” Gerald said.

“A curse might be too much, but all this stuff that keeps cropping up is a lot to deal with,” I responded.

Gerald leaned forward. “You think that’s just coincidental?” he asked.

I looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Gerald looked at the door, then looked back at me. “I mean you heard the stories,” he said, leaning in even more and whispering.

“What stories, Gerald?” I said, trepidation beginning to take the place of some of the whimsy of earlier.

“The stories. About them. You think it’s maybe…”

“Gerald, what are you implying?” I asked.

He looked at the door again, then looked back at me. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just a bitter old man, don’t pay me any attention,” he said.

“Gerald, I—”

The phone rang and I glared at it before I picked it up.

“M. Lounge and Hotel, this is Eden, the assistant general manager, speaking. How may I help you?” I said the familiar lines on autopilot, frustrated at having been interrupted, but grateful for the moment to think about how to approach this with Gerald.

“Eden, it’s Shelly. The police are here.”

* * *

Eden

“Oh my God!”

Less than five minutes after I had left it, I sank back into my chair.

The long days, the problems at the hotel, the conversation with Gerald were all forgotten.

“What happened to them?” I asked when I finally managed to speak.

My eyes had started to water, and tears threatened to fall, but I fought them back, held the gaze of the detective who sat across from me. He looked stoic, not at all shaken by what he had just told me. I guessed he was used to delivering this kind of news.

I just wasn’t used to receiving it.

“We found Steve and Bob in an abandoned vehicle, both dead from a single gunshot wound to the head,” he said.

“Oh God,” I whispered, struggling to wrap my mind around that.

When I looked over at Gerald I saw that his face had gone ashen white—he looked as shocked as I felt.

“Do you know…? When…?” I sputtered.

“Three days is our best guess. We’ll know more when we get the coroner’s report,” he said.

I looked at Gerald again, struggling to comprehend.

“Do you know why?” I asked.

“I was hoping you might have some idea,” he responded.

“Me? Why?”

“They used to work for you?” the detective asked.

I nodded quickly. “For years.”

“And what happened with their jobs?”

“We had a disagreement about work hours, and I could no longer retain them,” I said.

Even through my shock and sadness, I sensed there was an undercurrent in this conversation, something that had nothing to do with Steve and Bob. Instinct told me to tread carefully.

The detective looked around our office, though I couldn’t tell if he was simply taking in his surroundings or searching for something particular. “Can you be more specific?” he asked.

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, though I was wary. “No. It was nothing of note,” I said, not divulging the details, mostly because I sensed there were other motives at play here.

“You sound certain about that,” the detective said, looking at me pointedly.

“I am,” I replied, stern yet polite. “There are sometimes issues with staff. I’m certain you know how that goes.”

By now, the tears that had filled my voice had faded, and I had shifted to my detached, impersonal voice. The detective noticed, and though he gave no outward indication, I was certain he was assessing me.

“Do you know who else they were working for after they left here?” he said.

“No,” I replied. “Gerald, do you know?”

Gerald looked at the detective.

“I’m afraid not. I hadn’t kept up with them. Eden usually does that kind of thing.”

“Is that so?” the detective said.

I looked at Gerald, knowing he hadn’t intended it, but still feeling implicated.

I reached into my pocket and retrieved my business card. “Here’s my card if you need to contact me. Do their families know?”

“Yeah. I spoke with their wives earlier,” the detective replied, taking the card from my hand.

I stood and reached out to shake his hand, still shocked by what he’d told me but more than ready for him to go.

“Thank you for letting us know,” I said.

The detective nodded, and I walked him to the parking lot on shaky legs, and then slowly made my way back to my office.

This was unbelievable, and between the shock of their deaths, the strangeness of that conversation with the detective, I was off balance.

“I’m sure you’ve heard by now,” Gerald said as I entered the office.

I instantly saw Michael, and I wanted to throw my arms around him, have him hold me, tell me that everything would be okay.

But I couldn’t do that, of course. Besides the fact that doing so would be inappropriate in this environment, I didn’t know how he would respond to that, whether he would welcome it.

So instead, I stayed where I was, hovering in the doorway looking between Gerald, who still looked flustered but livelier now that Michael was there, and Michael, whose face showed no expression at all.

“I heard,” he said. Then he looked at me. “You okay, Eden?”

I nodded. “I am. It’s a shock. We should do something for their families.”

“Whatever you think is best,” he responded. That was an unusually noncommittal answer from Michael, but I was too preoccupied to examine it too closely or to think about what it might mean.

“Well,” Gerald said, clearing his throat, “I’ll go gather the department heads and make sure they give the news to the rest of the staff. If they don’t already know.”

I looked at him. “Thanks, Gerald. And I’ll set something up, make sure there’s a counselor on hand if anyone needs someone to talk to.”

He nodded and then left.

I had stepped aside, but when Gerald was gone I walked into the office, moving intently toward my phone.

Was stopped in my tracks when Michael reached out, wrapped his arms around me.

I let myself rest against him, listening to the thud of his heart under my ear, the steady sound, the warmth of his body calming me.

“You really all right?” he asked, his voice rumbling out of his chest.

Oddly, hearing that question made tears well in my eyes, but I swallowed them back.

“Yeah,” I said a long moment later.

Then, using strength I didn’t know I had, I pried myself from his arms, went to the phone without looking at him.

I searched the database until I found the phone numbers I’d been looking for.

“I-I need to make a couple of calls,” I said, not looking at him.

“Eden,” he said.

I kept my gaze down for a moment, then looked up.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Then I’ll take you home,” he said.

“Okay,” I said and then I started to dial.