Finding Reese (Tremont Lodge Series Book 1) Page 7

  I avoid the beeline for the bar in favor of jumping in the pool. It’s been a scorching hot day, and my muscles are sore from all the cleaning. “Want to swim now?” I ask Tinley and Bree.

  “Are you kidding? I do not do swimsuits, ever,” says Bree.

  “Why not? You look great.” Bree answers by whistling cuckoo, cuckoo.

  “I’m going to talk to Murphy first,” says Tinley. “He’s been texting me all week, and I blew him off because of this damn eye.” She points to her eye which is concealed under new makeup and another, larger pair of designer sunglasses.

  I pull off my swimsuit cover-up and deposit it on my chair before jumping into the deep end of the pool without another thought except to make sure my bikini straps are tied well enough to prevent a pool peep show. It’s pretty crowded already. I wasn’t the only one who had this idea tonight. Trying to swim laps is out of the question, so instead I grab hold of the edge of the pool and do exercises like the ones I used to do with Grandma during her water aerobics days.

  “Care for a drink?” I look up from the flip flops next to my hands on the pool deck and see Finn bending over with a drink in hand. I smile.

  “It depends. What am I drinking?”

  “Lemonade, of course…with a splash of vodka. I thought I’d get you drunk tonight.”

  “Ha. Well, good luck with that because I’m a one drink kind of girl.”

  “I figured I’d have to make you chug it to see any return on my investment.” Finn sits down, takes off his shoes, and dangles his feet in the pool. “You know, you’re lucky you’re already in the pool since I owe you a push after that little prank you pulled the other night.”

  “Uh, sorry about that. Sometimes my manners are less than stellar. Did you just get here?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I had to play some songs for the future bride and groom at their wedding rehearsal. They picked some music they want me to play during the reception dinner, and I guess they had doubts about my ability to play.”

  “Did you win them over?” Finn’s foot brushes against my arm.

  “You could say I did.” I take a sip of the lemonade vodka, make a face as it burns my throat, and dive back in the water. Finn watches me as I swim across the pool. I know it because I can feel his gaze with every stroke, and the faster I swim the more my heart races to keep up with the feelings that clutch panic within my chest. I get out of the pool when I’m closest to my cover-up, but I’m dripping wet.

  “Need this?” I feel my chest tighten. Lawson is sitting in the chair holding my cover-up and a towel. I grab for the towel.

  “I’ll take that.”

  “Whoa, slow down, Reese. You’re going way too fast for me. I want to enjoy this show.”

  “Give me my cover-up,” I say.

  “I think I should at least get a thank you for waiting all this time for you to get back here and take this towel off my hands.”

  “Give…me…my…cover-up.” I can feel my cheeks radiating heat, I’m so mad right now. I reach for the cover-up, but Lawson pulls his hand back and out of my reach, sending me stumbling over the chair and into his lap—in a bikini.

  “That’s more like it. You feel good wet,” he says.

  “You bastard,” I say, ready to slap him across the face but trying with all my might to restrain myself.

  “Give her what she wants, Lawson.” I turn around and see Finn standing behind me with another towel in his hand. I snatch the second towel and scramble off Lawson’s lap.

  “You think you have dibs on this one, Finn? Really? Isn’t she a little out of your league?” He turns to look at me. “I mean, she can do so much better than a high school dropout living on welfare, don’t you think?”

  “Why don’t you let her decide what she wants?” High school dropout? Has Finn been lying to me with the whole story about growing up near here and pursuing his passion for music after college? Of course he has. Everyone lies to me. He just wants what every other guy wants, what Lawson wants.

  “I want to be alone,” I say, walking away and leaving both of them to watch me walk away with my cover-up still in Lawson’s hands.

  We get one day a week off from our assigned job at the lodge. My day off is Saturday which is perfect for my bio rhythms which are used to Saturday being my sleep-in day, since I always had school during the week and church with my grandparents on Sunday mornings. It’s nice to wake up and have the room to myself and not have to compete with Tinley for the shower or air to breathe for that matter. She’s really growing on me despite our differences, but I’m so used to being inside my own head, that it’s nice to have a little time to go back inside. And today I have a singular mission—learn more about Tremont Lodge and its history sixteen years ago—because maybe I’ll get some new clue that will help me figure out what happened to my parents.

  I choose my clothing carefully because today I need to look like a guest. I’m going to pay a little visit to the lodge library, and I don’t need Helen or Tinley or any of the other college staff ratting me out. I put on a pair of khaki shorts and a yellow polo shirt. Tinley would just die if she saw me wearing this. I put my hair up in a high bun on top of my head and add a pair of fake designer reading glasses to complete the scholarly look.

  Today the lodge is extra busy with guests checking in for a weekend stay, and weeklong guests checking out. There are a lot of garment bags hanging on the luggage racks that seem to be holding suits or dresses. I wonder if there are guests checking in early for the wedding. There are already at least a hundred white folding chairs set up on the far side of the lawn, equal amounts on either side of a grass aisle that may later be covered with a runner and rose petals that lead to the white gazebo. The gazebo has nearly been turned into a greenhouse there are so many flowers lining its outer and inner walls. I wonder what it would be like to get married. I wonder what my parents thought the day they were married. Did they have doubts? Did they believe in happily ever after—once?

  Looking over my shoulder like I’m doing something illegal, I turn the handle that opens the double French doors that lead into the library. Seeing the elegant room again is almost as breathtaking as my first visit. I was teased in school for being a bookworm. It wasn’t like bullying because I had friends, too, but wherever I went there was likely to be a book in my hands. Grandpa once told me that with a book I am never alone. I need all the friends I can get.

  The library is empty this morning. I suppose it gets the most use in the winter when there’s a roaring fire in the fireplace. I can imagine children sprawled out on the floor playing games, adults sitting at the tables scattered around the room putting together a puzzle, and a young couple getting cozy in an oversized chair in front of the large windows watching the snow falling. Not so much today, though. The sparse warm months in Michigan are not to be spent inside.

  The first thing I do is scan the books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves. My plan is to start at the bottom and work my way up, using the attached ladder to view the books on the shelves closest to the ceiling. There are lots of the classics: The Count of Monte Cristo, Pride and Prejudice, Grapes of Wrath. Non-fiction books on topics like Michigan history, hunting in the Midwest, and the Great Lakes also dominate the shelves. I pull out a book on Michigan history and check the index for Tremont Lodge but find nothing. There is a section of Harlequin romances and spy thrillers which are reached from the first step of the ladder. I’m growing frustrated. When you don’t even know what you are looking for, how can you possibly find it? I slide the ladder to the side of the room farthest from the windows and start my search again from the bottom. Then I see it—a little placard with the words Tremont Lodge above the first shelf. The writing is so small it would be easy to miss. I’m thinking the entire organization of this library is in need of a makeover. There are five or six books on this particular shelf. I pull them all out and sit on the nearest couch, a large claw-footed piece of furniture with large buttons sewn into the cushions that might not prove to be the
most comfortable choice. I kick off my shoes and open the first book. There are lots of pictures of Tremont Lodge in black and white. Seeing women and men skiing in the 1920s is fascinating. To imagine that women actually wore skirts over their knickers at one time smarts of the worst possible kind of fashion disaster with painful consequences for those poor women. Tremont Lodge was built in 1920 by Leonard Oakley, an oil baron from New York who was looking for a retreat for his family. Tremont City was about the only sign of life at the base of the mountain at the time with local hunters and fishermen populating the town. I can only imagine how harsh the winters must have been for those early people. The book says Mr. Oakley brought in all sorts of heavy equipment to clear out trees up the mountain to make room for his lodge and one ski hill. The locals had protested by lying down in front of the machines making a human barricade. A court order by a judge from a neighboring town had ordered the imprisonment of anyone else who stopped Mr. Oakley’s construction plans. He saw the benefits having a ski resort in the area could bring for the community. Of course, he was right, as the area is a popular travel destination to this day. I can’t help but wonder if Tremont Lodge will someday pass to Lawson as the current Mr. Oakley has no children of his own.

  The next book is a look at famous guests who have stayed at Tremont Lodge over the years. Frank Sinatra performed a free concert in the Winter Haven restaurant in the lodge in 1947, and Marilyn Monroe allegedly spent a night with her husband Joe DiMaggio in a room on the ninth floor right before they divorced. The most recent celebrity encounter mentioned in the book is an incognito visit in the 90s by Julia Roberts and a mystery man. There’s a picture of her with her characteristic curly hair tied back and tucked under a large floppy hat sitting at the pool. If I ever had curly hair, I’d want to look just like her. I’m admiring the 90s fashions of the other hotel guests at the pool when I feel like déjà vu is smacking me upside the head. It seems too good to be true. I can’t believe this is happening again. In the background of the picture with Julia Roberts, is a baby, sitting in the lap of his mother looking toward the pool. I wonder if I’m just imagining things, but I know I am not…because in the pool where the mother and baby are looking is a little girl, about five, splashing around in the water. I am splashing in the water, and my mother and Blake are watching. It doesn’t make any sense. We all look so happy. What could change that would make my parents abandon us at Tremont Lodge? And where is my father? With that woman from the picture I saw at the mountain? The opening of the door startles me back to reality. I slam the book shut like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.

  “Excuse me. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” says the man. “Just reading the morning paper. Mind if I sit down?”

  “Uh, sure, no problem. You’re not a bother at all.” The man smiles. He looks familiar, but I’m not sure…

  “My name’s Ted,” he says. “Lovely place here, this Tremont Lodge, isn’t it?”

  “Y…yes,” I stammer. Mr. Oakley is standing but a few feet away from me, his summer employee who is not supposed to be here right now.

  “What were you reading? You looked to be enthralled with whatever it is you found.” He smiles again, and I see a twinkle in his eye.

  “The history of the lodge,” I say.

  “Ah, yes, it is a pretty fantastic place,” he says. I might not ever have this opportunity again, so I take a deep breath and continue.

  “Have you been here before?” I ask, playing along with his I’m not the boss ruse.

  “Sure. My family has been coming here since I was young.”

  “And now you come with your family?” I ask.

  “Something like that,” he says. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious how the Tremont has changed over the years. I was here—once—with my family, too, when I was about five, 1998, actually.” The smile on Mr. Oakley’s face disappears, and he stuffs the newspaper back in his briefcase.

  “Nice to see you, miss. Please enjoy your day. I just remembered that I may have left my wallet in my room.” Mr. Oakley leaves the library without another word, the bulge of his wallet easily visible from his back pocket. What happened at Tremont Lodge in 1998? And did it have anything to do with my abandonment? Did something bad happen to my parents? Maybe they didn’t leave me here after all.

  My stomach growls, reminding me that I skipped breakfast. I put the books back on the shelf and decide to grab a sandwich in the deli in the lodge since I’m still dressed as a nerdy guest. Murphy is working in the gift shop as I pass by. I wave. He waves back but doesn’t seem to register who I am. The guests at the counter in the deli are debating the merits of a ham vs. turkey sandwich like their lives depend upon making the right decision. Just pick a damn sandwich. I grab a tuna sandwich and butt in front of them in line. They don’t even notice.

  “Hey, Reese!” I hear Murphy calling me from the gift shop as I pass back by with my sandwich.

  “Shh, don’t blow my cover,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. You look, uh, smart,” he grins.

  “I am smart,” I say.

  “I mean, you look different. What are you doing in the lodge?”

  “It’s my day off, and I wanted to visit the library.”

  “Oh, that smart thing again.” I punch him in the arm.

  “So, anyway, Tinley and I are working at that wedding reception tonight, and we could use some extra help.”

  “Why are you guys working the wedding? You’re not catering staff.”

  “I know, but they are short-handed. Supposedly there’s never been such a big wedding at the lodge before, and there aren’t enough people to serve guests. Didn’t you get the text from Lawson?”

  “Lawson?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Oakley’s nephew…”

  “I know who he is…” I shoot back.

  “Okay, well, he sent out a text to everyone today on behalf of his uncle that they would pay overtime to anyone willing to work the wedding reception tonight. Didn’t you get the text?”

  “It’s my day off,” I say. “I break from technology on my day off.”

  “Okay, whatever then.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that Tinley agreed to work at this wedding, too?”

  “Yeah, she’s the one that asked me to work with her. We were going to go on a date.” He puffs up his chest like a mating bird wanting me to be impressed he scored a real date with Tinley and not just a hookup.

  “Oh no, this can’t be good,” I say.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind, Murphy. I’ll see you at the reception.” I leave him looking confused as I rush out of the gift shop and out of the lodge. Tinley’s got to be up to no good going to that wedding when she knows full well who will be there, too. Now I have to spend my night off making sure she stays out of trouble. Just great.

  Chapter 9:

  The ballroom in the south wing of Tremont Lodge is aflutter with activity by the time Tinley and I arrive. We are wearing black pants with white shirts and a black jacket, provided to us from a storage room at the dormitory where Helen was helping Jerry, the director of the catering service, to pass out uniforms to the new recruits. I’m very proud of you working on your day off, she’d said to me. Pride has nothing to do with it, I’d wanted to say back, but I’d politely smiled and said thank you. It was when Tinley was similarly complimented that I about blew a gasket. Tinley had admitted to me that she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t make a scene, and no amount of begging and pleading had changed her mind. That girl drives me insane. Hopefully, between Murphy and me we can contain her, though if Murphy knew what had happened with Dean, he’d be like a bull in a china shop, so that is one person I won’t be divulging her secret to. It is truly amazing what one’s libido is willing to do for a member of the opposite sex.

  “Hey, sexy,” says Murphy, grabbing Tinley’s butt. “Oh, hey, smartypants,” he says to me. I roll my eyes. We walk to the center of the dance floor where Jerry is giving inst
ructions to everyone. Tinley and I are assigned to carry plates. Me—fish dinners. Tinley—smothered chicken. Murphy is given water-pouring duty. That seems like a poor choice. The guy’s not exactly Mr. Finesse, but he does like to drink. I laugh at my own joke, and everyone stops to stare. “Oops, sorry.” When we are dismissed, I grab Tinley’s hand and try one more time. “Promise me you won’t make a scene. This is not about Dean or Harrison. This is about the bride and the groom. Don’t go getting yourself fired. You don’t want to go home, remember?”

  “Sure, whatever, Reese. Mr. Oakley won’t fire me. He and my dad have been friends for years. Accidents do happen, you know?” I just shake my head and bite my cheek because there is no sense getting into Tinley’s thick skull tonight. “Hey! Look who’s here. See, Reese, you’ll have other things to distract you with tonight.” I turn toward the door and see Finn walking toward us with his guitar in hand. His butterfly tattoo looks like it is waving at me as he walks. I feel warm and doubt it’s because of this stuffy uniform. Finn was not part of my summer plan.