Page 3 of Moonshine and Magnolias
“Here’s fine.”
Fiddlesticks. She assessed the determination in his hazel eyes and nodded with reluctance. “We have you and an additional guest booked for a couple of weeks. If you decide you need more attention than what we can offer, you can leave at any time with no penalty.”
“Thank you. Right now, I’d just like to get to my room.”
“Very well.”
They continued through the dining room and down the long hallway. She paused after opening the door that separated the lobby from the rest of the first floor. The chairs were lined against the walls and soft music drifted in from the parlor, just as she had requested. The pocket door of the library was open. Mr. Rosario had handled all the flowers beautifully. Everything looked perfect.
Except there was no Grandma.
“I don’t mind being an extra pair of hands,” he said. “Since you’re short staffed.”
“Now what definition of southern hospitality means putting our guests to work?” Wendy slid around the desk and removed the old-school register from underneath. “May I see your driver’s license and credit card?”
He removed his wallet. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Oh…” She looked up from placing the manual imprint machine on the counter. He knew. His face was touched with feeling, like he was truly sorry and not just reciting the words to be polite. She cleared her throat and willed away the tears that once again threatened to make an appearance. She’d deal with them later. “Thank you.”
Wendy placed carbon paper on the credit card and pushed the handle of the archaic machine. The shucking sound broke the silence between them. She handed back his card and ID and added a pen so he could sign in. “All the rooms are on the second floor. Yours is Twelve Oaks.”
He flipped through the book, tracing along the signed names with his finger. “You have a signed registry?” His eyes brightened with boyish delight. “What a remarkable historical keepsake. Have you always done this?”
“As far as I know.” Though no one ever got as excited as he did. “It started when Fountenoy Hall became a boarding house in the late 1800s. The tradition continues to this day.”
“So you can prove claims that someone famous slept here long ago, like a president or celebrity.”
“I suppose so, if we still have the old books.”
“This is amazing.” His voice caressed the pages as he turned and scanned the list of guests. “Ms. Marsh, my work is in historical research. People hire me to verify military service of their great-grandfathers, find details about a little known event that family lore claims happened, and things like that. If you have the registries, you may have just made my reason for being here a whole lot easier.”
“What is your reason for being here?” She didn’t necessarily care at the moment. Her work at Steward’s Hotels was more behind the scenes, but she knew the desk clerks kept cheerful conversation going for the more chatty guests. Good customer service and all that.
He signed the registry and handed back the pen. “My client is confidential, but I’m here to track down the path of one of his ancestors. He believes his uncle was here in the years between the two world wars.”
“I’ll ask my aunt about the older books when the event is over.” If she hadn’t been standing in front of a guest, she would have taken out her phone and made a note. “Do you need to get your bags?”
“My brother will bring them in when he gets back.”
“If you’ll follow me.” She hiked up the plush blue carpet of the grand staircase with Dr. Upshaw right behind her. His woodsy scent was a complete contrast to her preferred refined cologne, but it suited him well. “There’s a welcome packet on the bed with information on breakfast, dinner, and drinks. Staff is available until ten at night or if there’s an emergency. Here we are.”
She unlocked the door and stood aside so he could enter, then handed him his key. “Can I help you with anything else?”
“Not right now, thank you.” He took a look around the room and ran his hand over the smooth surface of the replica Queen Anne desk. “Nice.”
“Press zero on the phone if you need anything.” She closed the door behind her and paused, her hand still on the knob. She had noticed way too much about that man to be comfortable.
Didn’t matter. Nothing would get done if she daydreamed about a pretty face.
She headed to the third floor and pounded on Brandi’s door. When no one answered, she peeked inside. Mid-morning light drifted in from the slats covering the window and covered her cousin in stripes. She lay on her stomach, still in her black skirt and dark top, her arms and legs splayed across the mattress.
Of course. Why do any work when good ol’ Wendy will fill in the empty time slots. “Brandi!”
“Go away,” came the muffled response.
Wendy marched to the blinds and hoisted them up. “What are you doing in bed? Grandma’s friends are going to be arriving soon and there’s still a lot to do.”
Her cousin raised her blonde head and narrowed her unusual eyes. It galled Wendy that she still managed to look pretty, even covered with pillow creases. “I’ve been working since we got back. I needed a break.”
