Chapter 18

eighteen

T he sound of car doors slamming and loud voices in the courtyard woke Isabelle during the night. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It was nearly three in the morning. The guests grew quiet again, presumably having gone to bed. But a few minutes later, the sound of music pierced the silence.

Throwing on her robe, Isabelle stuffed her feet into her slippers, grabbed her cell phone, and strode across the courtyard to the main house. When she discovered the front door locked, she returned to the cottage and spent ten minutes searching for her house key. In all the years she'd lived here, she'd only locked their doors when they traveled.

Locating her key in the bottom of her purse, she returned to the house and let herself in. A pungent skunk odor greeted her in the foyer. Someone was smoking something in her home. And it didn't smell like cigarettes. Starting up the stairs, she gasped and stumbled when she saw naked men and women chasing each other in the second-floor hallway. Steadying herself, she bolted down the stairs and out into the night.

She should call someone. Where was the bellman with the tattoos when she needed him? Shelby was of no use. She needed a man. She clicked on Pritchard's number.

Her son answered in a groggy voice on the third ring. "What's wrong, Mother?"

"Those people are having an orgy in my house!"

"Wait a minute. Slow down. What people are you talking about?"

"The bachelorette party staying here this weekend. I admit I'm to blame for booking the reservation without asking questions. But I never wanted to turn my home into a brothel. This is all on you, Pritchard. You and your father."

"Why is this my fault? Never mind. Forget I asked that. I'm not having this argument with you at three in the morning. What makes you think the guests are having an orgy?"

"Because I went over to ask them to turn down the music and saw them with my own eyes. Those women brought men home with them from town. And they are currently running around naked in the upstairs of my house."

"Why didn't you call Silas?" Pritchard asked.

"Because I don't have his number," Isabelle snapped.

"All right," Pritchard said with a reluctant sigh. "I'll call him. Sit tight. One of us will be there in a few minutes."

Less than five minutes passed before a beat-up white pickup truck came speeding up the driveway with Silas behind the wheel. Isabelle was so intent on watching Silas get out of his truck that she didn't hear Shelby approach from behind.

"What's going on, Izzy?"

Isabelle's hand flew to her chest, grasping at her robe. "Jiminy Cricket, child! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry. Why are you awake?"

Isabelle gestured at the house. "Who can sleep with all that racket going on?"

"I know, right? It's obnoxious. I called Silas to come deal with them."

Isabelle eyed her granddaughter's nightclothes—flannel pajama bottoms and a flimsy tank top that revealed her nipples. "You should put on a robe."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Shelby glared at her. "I don't own a robe."

"You're welcome to borrow one of mine." Isabelle turned to Silas. "I went inside to ask them to turn off the music. They're having an orgy in there, and they're smoking something too. Probably heroin or meth."

Shelby rolled her eyes. "I doubt they're smoking heroin or meth, Izzy. It's probably just weed."

" Just weed! They shouldn't be smoking anything in my house." Isabelle took Silas by the elbow and marched him up to the front door. "Tell those hussies to put on some clothes and get rid of those vile men."

"Yes, ma'am," Silas said and disappeared inside the house. A minute later, the music died, and a stream of disheveled men filed out.

Silas brought up the rear. "I threatened to call the police. You shouldn't have any more trouble out of them tonight." He gestured at the men, who were now packed like sardines in his truck. "I know a couple of the local boys. I'm going to drive them home."

Shelby smacked Silas on the back. "You're a good man, Silas. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Yes, thank you, Silas," Isabelle added, suddenly grateful for the man with the tattoos. "Plan on spending the night tomorrow. I'll pay you overtime, of course."

Isabelle returned to the cottage, but she couldn't fall back asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the naked men and women playing chase in her upstairs hallway. She'd never seen such toned bodies. People worked out to the extreme these days, and she wondered if having such tight muscles prevented them from relaxing.

At dawn, she dressed and dragged herself over to the kitchen. Preparing for breakfast was considerably easier with the foods provided by the wholesale distributor. She heated the items, arranged them on a pretty tray, and displayed them on her buffet. Around eight o'clock, sleepy guests from the pool and garden houses started making their way over. They grumbled about the overnight commotion and threatened not to pay their bill if it happened again tonight. Isabelle was at a loss for what to say. She didn't blame them. If she'd been in their shoes, she would have already checked out.

Isabelle was sipping coffee at the table while Pearl and Hilda cleaned up when an attractive young woman entered the kitchen through the back door.

"Good morning!" the young woman said in a cheerful voice. "I'm Jenna Blevens, the organizer for the bachelorette weekend. The girls would like their breakfast served out by the pool."

"Breakfast ends at ten." Isabelle gestured at the wall clock. "It's now quarter past."

Jenna appeared taken aback. "That's unfortunate since there's nowhere nearby to get food. I'm not asking you to go to any trouble, but would you mind if I prepared something light for them? Maybe some muffins and juice."

"We have leftovers." Pearl presented Jenna with an assortment of breakfast pastries covered in plastic wrap. "I'll get you some orange juice."

Jenna took the tray. "Thank you. These are perfect."

As she removed two pitchers of orange juice from the refrigerator, Pearl asked Jenna, "Are the girls out of their rooms yet? We want to start cleaning as soon as possible."

"Everyone is out by the pool." Jenna glanced skeptically at the ceiling. "I'm sure it's fine."

Isabelle worried the condition of those rooms would be anything but fine.

Pearl headed upstairs to start cleaning while Hilda helped Jenna carry the juice and pastries to the pool.

Alone in the kitchen, Isabelle got up from the table and walked over to the percolator. As she filled her cup, she looked out the window at the girls stretched out in the lounge chairs. They all wore dark glasses and sun hats. Most were in blue bathing suits, except the bride, whose white bikini was so tiny that she might as well have been naked. She watched in horror as Jenna popped the cork on two bottles of Champagne, adding the golden liquid to the pitchers of orange juice.

Shameful, Isabelle thought. Those girls partied all night, and here they are, drinking again before noon .

Pearl had just returned to the kitchen when Hilda came flying back down the stairs. She spoke to Hilda in such rapid Portuguese Isabelle couldn't make out a word.

Hilda pulled Pearl in for a hug, stroking her back and whispering for her to calm down.

Isabelle planted her hands on her hip. "For the love of Pete, what's she saying? Did she find a dead body upstairs?"

Pearl looked at Isabelle from over Hilda's shoulder. "No, Mrs. St. Clair. No need for you to worry. It's nothing we can't handle."

Isabelle didn't want to know anymore. She'd had enough for one day. "I'll be in the cottage if you need me."