Chapter 6

six

G rocery shopping with Izzy on Friday morning was exhausting. Her grandmother had no clue what was in store for her. They would need more than two dozen eggs and a pound of bacon to feed thirty people breakfast for the three-day weekend.

When Shelby suggested they set up an account with a food wholesaler, Izzy scoffed. "That's preposterous, Shelby. Why on earth would we purchase from a food wholesaler when we can get everything we need at the grocery store?"

"So you won't have to run to the market every day. So you will have a wider variety of choices available to you."

Izzy silenced her with a glare. "We'll be fine. I know what I'm doing. I entertain for groups of guests all the time."

After hauling ten cases of bottled water and six bags of groceries from the car into the kitchen, Shelby was drenched in sweat. Once everything was put away, she made a ham sandwich and escaped to the pool before her grandmother found more work for her to do. She devoured the sandwich, and then stretched out on a lounge chair for a nap, which she desperately needed after her sleepless night. She'd no sooner dozed off when her uncle Pritchard nudged her awake.

She shielded her eyes from the sun to look at him. She didn't remember him being so handsome. He appeared younger. His salt-and-pepper hair was longer, curling at the base of his neck, and his gray-blue eyes sparkled. Was marital bliss responsible for this transformation?

"Welcome to the team, Shelby!" he said in a cheerful tone.

Some team, Shelby thought. The group consisted of her grandmother, two housekeepers, and herself—a real team of misfits. Be nice, Shelby. Remember, he's your boss. She smiled and said, "Thanks! I'm grateful for the opportunity ."

"You look so peaceful, I hate to disturb you, but can you spare a few minutes to review this weekend's reservations?"

"Sure!" Shelby said in a feigned tone of enthusiasm.

She slipped on her cover-up, and they walked together across the terrace.

"I came over with the locksmith," Pritchard explained. "He's upstairs now installing knobs with key locks on the bedrooms."

"Cool! What reservation system are we using? I worked with several different programs in college."

"As of now, we don't have one. We are currently using Izzy's system, which will require some patient deciphering on your part. I'm meeting with a web designer this week. Unfortunately, the process will take a couple of months. Do the best you can until we get it up and running."

Shelby paused to consider this. "I'll do some research, but I'm pretty sure we won't need a website to use a reservation system."

Pritchard held the French door open for her. "That would certainly make things easier for you."

Her grandmother was seated on the sofa, absorbed in a home interior magazine, and she didn't look up when they entered the living room.

Pritchard retrieved a file folder off Izzy's desk. "I assume you have a laptop. Since Izzy doesn't have a computer, I was hoping you could use yours until I buy a desktop."

"That works. I brought my laptop with me."

He handed the file to Shelby. "I suggest starting with an Excel spreadsheet."

Shelby scrunched up her nose. "A what?"

Pritchard laughed. "Microsoft Excel is a spreadsheet editor. There's no sense in downloading Excel to your laptop if you don't already have it. I'll make getting that desktop a priority."

Shelby sat at the desk, opened the file, and flipped through the hodgepodge of reservations. One was written on a cocktail napkin and another on the back of a grocery receipt. "Sorting out this mess will take me a week."

Izzy looked up from her magazine. "Look in the top drawer. The reservations are recorded in my daytimer."

Locating the daytimer, Shelby flipped to today's date but could hardly make out her grandmother's elaborate cursive writing. "A whiteboard calendar would help. Do we have an Amazon account I can use to buy one?"

"A whiteboard is an excellent idea. We can use my personal Amazon account until I can set one up for the business." Pritchard narrowed his blue eyes. "Although, I bet Coastal Hardware carries whiteboards. And maybe computers as well."

"Seriously? You can buy a computer at a hardware store?"

"Yep. Believe it or not, Coastal Hardware sells everything."

A man dressed in overalls with a red baseball cap bearing the Carolina Locksmith logo entered the living room. "My assistant is installing your knobs. Here are the keys." He dumped a handful of brass keys on the desk. "We assigned each room a number, starting with one and counting from north to south. The numbers are etched on the keys." The man tipped his hat at Shelby and departed the room.

Shelby picked up a brass key and turned it over in her palm. "It'll be easier to keep track of these if we use colorful plastic tags or stretchy wristband rings."

"Another brilliant idea, Shelby. I'm sure they have those at Coastal Hardware too. I'll run over there now."

He left the room, and Shelby called after him, "While you're there, see if they have a board to organize the keys."

Shelby stared down at the odd assortment of reservations in the file. So much for her afternoon by the pool. She set about organizing the slips of paper into stacks, making sure the dates matched what Izzy had written in her daytimer.

She was still working at three thirty when an attractive young couple with an angelic-looking little boy entered the house through the front door.

"Hi," the woman said, flashing Shelby a wave. "We're the O'Connells. I realize we're early, but we misjudged our travel time. If our room isn't ready, we can hang out by the pool until it is."

Shelby glanced over at Izzy, who was now reading a Pat Conroy novel and seemingly oblivious to the newcomers. These were their first-ever guests. Shouldn't they celebrate with a glass of Champagne or a signature beverage?

Shelby remembered the name O'Connell. She'd assigned them to room three. The locksmith had finished upstairs and moved out to the pool house. She saw no reason to make them wait. "You're in luck. Your room is ready now."

"Excellent." Mr. O'Connell tugged his wallet out of his back pocket. "What do you need from me other than my credit card?"

Shelby's heart raced. Pritchard hadn't told her the room rates or instructed her on the check-in process. She doubted they even had one. But Shelby, who had traveled extensively with her parents, knew the drill.

She took the credit card from him. "Our systems are down right now. If it's okay with you, I'll take your credit card information and process the charge later."

"That's fine." He handed her the card, and she jotted down the number.

Mrs. O'Connell fanned her face. "It's boiling outside and I'm parched. Any chance I could get a bottled water?"

"There are cups in the rooms. You can get water from the tap," Izzy snapped, her eyes remaining glued to her book.

Shelby smiled apologetically at the woman. "Sorry. I'll grab a bottled water for you from the kitchen." She handed Mr. O'Connell his room key and walked him to the foyer. "You're number three at the top of the stairs."

Shelby was heading down the hallway to the kitchen for the bottled water when Mr. O'Connell called out to her. "Hey! Can someone help us with our luggage?"

Shelby did an about-face. "Coming."

Mr. O'Connell didn't want someone to help him with their luggage. He intended for someone to carry their suitcases for him. In the absence of a bellman, that someone was Shelby. It took multiple trips to haul their ten-plus bags up the stairs to the second floor. Why do three people need so much stuff for a three-night stay? Especially when one of those people is a little boy who wears tiny clothes.

Neither of the O'Connells offered a thank you, let alone a tip.

Mrs. O'Connell gave the haggard Shelby an exasperated look. "Can I have that bottled water now?"

"There's a cup in the bathroom. Use the tap," Shelby said and fled the room.

As she descended the stairs, she saw the line of guests in the hallway waiting to check in. Pritchard, who had returned from the hardware store, jumped in to assist her, and for the next two hours, they wrote down credit card numbers and helped guests to their rooms.

Pritchard read down the list of names for today's reservations. "Everyone has arrived except . . ." He squinted. "This can't be right. Blossom with no last name."

"That's all the information she gave me," Izzy said from the sofa.

"I remember the reservation," Shelby said. "She booked a room in the garden house for the entire summer."

"Sounds like a prank to me. We'll see if she shows up," Pritchard said as he crossed the room and loomed over Izzy. "What happened to the bellman I sent over here earlier in the week?"

Izzy inserted a bookmark and closed the novel. "I decided not to hire him."

Pritchard's blue eyes bugged out. "You what? Silas wasn't here for an interview. I hired him. He wanted to introduce himself and talk to you about his hours."

Izzy stood to face her son. "You should've told me, Pritchard. I'm not a mind reader."

Pritchard pulled out his phone. "All right. I'll call him and explain." He glanced over at Shelby, eyeing her cover-up. "Why don't you go change, and we'll have a much-needed organizational meeting in the kitchen."

"Yes, sir," Shelby said and beelined it out of the room to the caretaker's cottage.

She hadn't showered since leaving Texas more than twenty-four hours ago, and she took her time organizing her products in the bathroom. After a long hot shower, she tied her damp hair into a ponytail and dressed in white shorts and a gray Texas A&M T-shirt.

Returning to the main house, she followed the muffled voices down the hall to the kitchen. Pritchard and Izzy were seated at the table together. He was scribbling on a notepad, and Izzy wore a bored expression, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched him.

Pritchard appeared relieved to see Shelby. "There you are. I need to cut this short. One of my clients is in a jam and needs my help."

"I understand," Shelby said, wondering which of the country music stars he repped needed his attention.

"I apologize for our rocky start today." He cut his eyes at Izzy. "Izzy gave me the impression she had things under control."

Izzy stuck her tongue out at him. "I wasn't supposed to lose the will contest, thank you very much."

Pritchard chuckled at his mother's childish gesture. "Shelby, as the reservations manager, your job is to organize reservations and make room assignments. I bought everything you need, including a computer, at Coastal Hardware. If you create a list of potential reservation systems, we'll pick the one that makes the most sense."

Shelby gave him a curt nod. "I can do that."

"You'll also be responsible for assisting guests during arrival and departure."

Shelby's muscles still ached from assisting the O'Connells with their luggage. "You mentioned hiring a bellman?"

"I got ahold of Silas, and he's agreed to start tomorrow. He's more than a bellman. He'll be in charge of general maintenance and help with security issues. If the guests have any altercations, he'll intervene. Hopefully, there won't be many." Pritchard shifted his gaze to Izzy. "Mother, you're in charge of breakfast. Do you think you can handle that?" he asked in a snarky tone.

Izzy's face became indignant. "Indeed. You're the one who said I set the bar high when it comes to entertaining. The dining room is already set for tomorrow morning."

"I don't believe it," Pritchard said, pushing back from the table.

The threesome passed in single file through the butler's pantry to the dining room. Pritchard gawked at the table, which Izzy had set with her finest china, crystal, and linens. "Only twelve people will fit at the table. What do you plan on doing with the other twenty?"

Izzy furrowed her brow. She clearly hadn't thought of this. "I guess they'll have to eat in shifts."

Pritchard fingered a linen placemat. "Are you planning to reset this elaborate table after every shift? You won't have enough china. All this stuff has to be washed by hand."

Izzy planted her hands on her hips. "Then what do you suggest, genius?"

"Set up a buffet. Put your chafing dishes to use." Pritchard entered the butler's pantry and returned with a stack of glass dessert plates. "These smaller plates will prevent the guests from eating so much." He deposited the plates on the buffet and opened the middle drawer, removing a package of pink paper placemats. Use disposable goods like these. You can still make it look homey."

Izzy glared down her nose at him. "I don't do homey, son."

"You know what I mean, Mother. I trust you to make it elegant. Coincidentally, I've opened an account with Waterside Wholesale Food Distributors. The representative will contact you early next week. From now on, we'll order all our food from them. And they deliver, saving you from constantly running to the store."

"That's a marvelous idea, Pritchard," Izzy said, despite having dismissed Shelby's earlier suggestion about the wholesale distributor.

While her uncle and grandmother discussed breakfast food items, Shelby slipped out of the dining room onto the terrace. They were the blind leading the blind on a train wreck in the making.