Page 29 of Hibiscus Heights

“First time in many years,” Kitty replied. “Although we used to come every summer. Whitley, isn’t it?”

His eyes lit. “Yes, ma’am. I’m the general manager. Welcome back.”

“We’re eager to see your changes,” Grant said.

“We have many improvements,” Whitley said. “However, I think you’ll find the ambiance just as relaxing as it’s always been.”

Grant could see that.

The soaring entry and lobby area featured the original wood paneling, now restored to warm honey tones that brought out the natural wood grains he found so intriguing. He’d once shot an entire series on the California redwood forests. That collection was immensely popular.

The bronze caged elevator Grant recalled looked like it had been polished and restored, although a red velvet rope indicated it was no longer in use. His gaze traveled up to the coffered ceiling and clerestory windows that flooded the space with sunlight and cast fascinating shadows.

“Oh, my,” Kitty breathed, taking in the Persian rugs and mahogany reception desk. “This is even lovelier than the photographs I saw in the magazine.”

“Coastal Design & Living?” Whitley asked.

“That’s the one,” Kitty replied. “It came in the mail just yesterday.”

Grant noted the fresh orchids and tropical plants arranged throughout the space. Someone knew just where to place them. Through the lobby’s far windows, Grant could see a sunny courtyard where guests sipped drinks at wrought-iron tables. Beyond that, the Pacific Ocean’s sun-dappled waves stretched to the horizon.

Kitty’s eyes danced with happiness. “I don’t know why we waited so long to return.”

Grant could think of a few reasons, but he only smiled. Why dwell on the past? He put his arm around his mother’s shoulders. “It’s good to be back. I’m glad you insisted.”

“We shouldn’t wait to do what we love,” she said. “We both know that all too well.”

Whitley chatted about the hotel’s services as he escorted them to the front desk. “We can send your luggage up for you if you’d like to go to the cafe or the beach.”

“We would appreciate that,” Grant said.

While a front desk clerk checked them in, a woman entering through the courtyard doors drew Grant’s attention. Tall and blond-haired, she strode across the lobby, her cream linen dress flowing around her toned calves. Something about her bearing and confidence was familiar. She seemed to belong here.

The desk clerk held out their key cards. “You’re in rooms 320 and 322, adjoining suites on the third floor.”

“Thank you.” Grant pocketed the key cards, still watching the woman as she approached the reception desk.

“Ms. Whitaker,” the desk clerk said, handing her a pink message slip.

Whitaker. Grant’s pulse quickened as the name summoned memories. He touched the old photo still in his pocket.

Could it be her?

But before he could get a better look, the woman hurried away and disappeared behind a door.

His mother didn’t seem to notice. Did she remember?

“Someone will bring your luggage up shortly,” the desk clerk said.

“Ask them to take special care with the canvas tote bag,” Grant said, concerned it could be misplaced. “It contains someone—or something—very important to us.”

“Jock always hated getting lost,” Kitty said with a smile.

The desk clerk immediately understood. “We look after all our guests.”

Grant nodded in appreciation. His father’s ashes were traveling in a custom urn tucked inside Jock’s monogrammed canvas bag he often took sailing. It had seemed fitting to them. His Dad had been adamant about not being put in the ground. He’d always loved sailing with the wind.

“One more thing,” Grant added. “We’re looking for some family members who are already here.”

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