The Hotel Nantucket — Chapter no 24

24. Heartbreaker

Xavier Darling is out to dinner and so Grace spends the evening doing a few minor hauntings. She’s able to delight Mary Perkowski from Ohio by flickering the lights, then playing Mary’s favorite song, “Thunder Road,” spontaneously over the sound system, then by making the sheers of the canopy bed sway like the dress in the song. Next, it’s off to suite 114, where Grace peeks in on the Marsh children, who will be leaving in the morning. Today marked Louie’s last chess lesson with Rustam, and Wanda returned her Nancy Drew books to the library. (She made it all the way to number forty-five, The Spider Sapphire Mystery.) Kimber isn’t exactly an organized packer; she has been stuffing things in bags indiscriminately, a process that was interrupted by moments of her sitting on the bed with her face in her hands or writing her “memoirs” on her laptop with tears streaming down her face.

Grace has grown attached to Kimber—and Wanda and Louie, and even Doug. She can’t imagine the hotel without them, but it’s the very nature of a hotel to be impermanent. Hello, then goodbye; that’s how it goes. If people stayed forever, it would be a home.

Grace moves in close to Wanda, the only supernaturally sensitive person in the past hundred years who has wanted to understand her.

Grace kisses her cheek, leaving behind a cool damp spot.

Wanda’s eyes flutter open. “Grace?”

I’m here, sweet child, Grace thinks. Then Doug growls—he’s such a crank with her, though Grace likes knowing he’ll protect Wanda—

and Grace leaves the room.

Nighty-night.

She floats up two floors and across the hall to the owner’s suite, a place she has consciously avoided all summer long—and sure enough, it triggers her right away. Despite the fact that it’s bright and white and beachy modern now, Grace can picture her nineteen-year- old self crouched on the ground, trying to coax the damn cat, Mittens, out from under the bed. She’s thinking that a woman who would throw a silver candlestick at her own pet is a woman with a turd for a heart. Grace hears the door open. In her mind, it’s Jackson Benedict, come to sweet-talk Grace, kiss her and press her hand to his crotch, and she will, in that instant, know she’s ruined. But she will not yet know that she’s doomed.

It’s not Jackson Benedict who steps into the suite—obviously not; Jack has been dead for decades—but Xavier Darling with none other than Magda English.

Well! Grace thinks. This is something of a reprise—the owner of the hotel with the housekeeping staff. Except Magda isn’t merely “housekeeping staff”; she is, in modern parlance, a “girl boss.” No one pushes Magda around or tells her what to do, not even a man with as much money as Xavier Darling.

Xavier turns on the lights in the living area; they’re on dimmers and cast a romantic, honeyed glow. He raises the room-darkening shades on the picture window so they can see over Easton Street to Nantucket harbor and the ruby beacon of Brant Point Light.

“Champagne?” Xavier says. There’s a bottle of Pol Roger relaxing in an ice bath on the burled-walnut coffee table, and Magda says, “You know I never turn down champagne, Xavier.”

Xavier opens the bottle with a flourish. He pours two flutes, then he and Magda settle on the sofa together and raise their glasses.

“To the hotel,” Magda says. They drink.

“I bought it for you, you know,” Xavier says.

This makes Magda hoot with laughter.

“I’m serious,” Xavier says. “When you worked on my ships, I knew where to find you.”

“You were always so subtle about it,” Magda says. “Landing your helicopter on the bow or hotdogging in your cigarette boat. I’ll never forget you pulling up to the docks in that devil when I went ashore in Ischia.” She caresses his face. “You used to be so dashing.”

Xavier sighs. “I’m still pretty dashing, no? As soon as you told me you were retiring and moving to Nantucket, I did some research and found the hotel. I wanted to make it grand for you.” He sips his champagne. “Another woman might be flattered.”

“Another woman might think you were trying to control her.”

“No one can control you,” Xavier says. “Of all the women I’ve known in my life, you are the one who has haunted me.”

Ha-ha-ha! Grace thinks. Now, there’s a choice of words.

“You’re so independent. So…elusive.”

Magda puts a finger to Xavier’s lips. He takes her hand and pulls her in for a kiss. The flutes of champagne are set down. Magda and Xavier move for each other in such haste that Xavier’s knee jostles the table; his flute topples and champagne spills across the burled surface of the table and drips down onto the Persian rug, but neither

Xavier nor Magda, with her eagle eye for cleanliness, seems to notice.

Downstairs at the front desk, the phone rings…but Richie isn’t at his post. No, he’s in Lizbet’s office on his cell phone. Again? Grace thinks. This must be a response to Kimber and the children leaving.

She feels both sad and disappointed. Richie’s actions were so wholesome while he was in thrall to the romance; these calls had completely stopped.

Richie doesn’t answer the hotel phone the first time it rings, nor does he answer it when the same people call back. (Richie can see from checking the phone on Lizbet’s desk that it’s the Sparacinos in suite 316.) When the Sparacinos call back a third time, Richie abruptly finishes the call on his cell phone and picks up.

“Good evening, front desk,” he says as smoothly as a late-night DJ.

Mrs. Sparacino huffs. “There’s a couple making quite a lot of… noise in suite three seventeen. My husband has tried knocking on the wall but they don’t seem to get the hint. Would you call them, please? Ask them to be a little quieter?”

Richie assures Mrs. Sparacino that he will…but then it dawns on him that the guest in suite 317 is Xavier Darling.

Grace waits what she hopes is a sufficient amount of time for the passion to play out before returning to suite 317. Thankfully, Magda

and Xavier are now tucked neatly under the covers, snuggled in among the pillows, enjoying their afterglow.

“I realize you love your work here,” Xavier says.

“I certainly do,” Magda says. “I loved it on the ships and I enjoy it even more here on land.”

“But Magda, you have so much money. You’ve seen the latest statements? We’re well past the twenty-million mark.” He tickles her under the covers and she giggles like a girl before swatting him away. “You’ve come a long way from the night we met.”

“I won nearly a quarter million that night,” Magda says. “I put down my own hard-earned money, I placed the bets, I rolled the dice.”

“But you invested it with my people…”

“Yes, you helped me build the fortune. It’s possible that I’ve never really felt entitled to the money for that reason, although, don’t get me wrong, it’s nice knowing it’s there.”

“I’d like to see you enjoy it,” Xavier says.

Magda sits up straighter and checks her hair; strands have fallen out of her bun, and she tucks them back in. “We’re a lot alike. You have billions and you won’t stop working until you’re dead.”

“I’ll retire immediately if you agree to marry me,” Xavier says.

Magda squawks. “What kind of foolish thing is that to say?”

“I’ve been in love with you since the second I met you on that ship. I know you want to be close to Zeke and William, but it’s been nearly a year. I’m sure they only want you to be happy. Marry me, Magda. Come to London.”

Eeeeeee! Grace thinks. She’s swirling around the room like a funnel cloud. Xavier loves Magda! He’s proposing—and unlike Jack, who promised Grace every time he visited the storage closet that he

would divorce Dahlia and marry her, Xavier means it. He probably already has a ring picked out.

Xavier reaches over to his nightstand, opens the little curved drawer, and produces a box from Harry Winston.

He sits up in bed, the covers still (thankfully) smooth across his

lap, and presents the box to Magda.

“What have you done, Xavier?” she says.

“I went all in,” Xavier says. “Open it.”

Magda opens the box to reveal a movie-star engagement ring. It’s a light pink oval diamond—Grace doesn’t know carats from carrots but it’s big—in a setting of pavé diamonds and rose gold.

“Well,” Magda says.

“Try it on.”

Magda snaps the box closed. “Oh, Xavier, I can’t try it on. I’m not going to marry you. I think you’re a wonderful man and I’m very grateful for all you’ve done for me.” She stares up at the exact spot where Grace is hovering; Grace holds her gaze, even though she knows that all Magda sees is the Nantucket night sky painted on the ceiling. “I consider you a dear friend. You make me laugh; I enjoy your company and a little roll in the hay, because at my age, I’m happy I can still roll. But I don’t love you. I do love this hotel and this job and being able to keep an eye on Zeke and William. I’ve been looking at some real estate on Eel Point Road, houses with ocean views and a pool and gardens. I haven’t found the right one yet, but my plan, Xavier, is to stay here. I’m happy here.”

“You’re turning me down?” Xavier says.

Magda presses her palm to his cheek. “Yes,” she says. “I’m turning you down, sweet man, I’m sorry.”

Grace leaves the suite and spirits back up to the fourth-floor storage closet. If only she’d had the courage and self-assurance to say those words a hundred years earlier—I’m turning you down, Mr.

Benedict, I’m sorry—she would have gone on to live a full life. But those words hadn’t been available to Grace in 1922. She feels proud now, not only of Magda but of womankind. There’s been progress made this century.

Grace chuckles. She suspects Wanda will be turning down men left and right.

Lizbet has arranged for Yolanda to take Xavier up to Great Point on Thursday. In Lizbet’s opinion, Great Point is the ultimate Nantucket destination, and Yolanda’s classic Bronco is as cool a vehicle as exists on this island. Lizbet asked Beatriz to prepare a picnic of chilled lobster rolls, yellow tomato gazpacho, corn salad, and some of Mario’s church-picnic eggs in a proper hamper with a bottle or two of Domaines Ott, Xavier’s favorite rosé. Lizbet wonders if Xavier will ask her to go along, since he barely knows Yolanda. She would love to say yes, she has been yearning to stretch out on the sand all summer, but of course she has to stay at the hotel and make sure things run smoothly. Maybe he’ll invite Edie to go—they seemed to hit it off—or his old friend Magda. (Lizbet can’t really spare Magda today or any day, though she’ll have to if Xavier asks.) The only person Lizbet does not want to see go on a day trip with Xavier is Alessandra. The way she threw herself at him in the break room was embarrassing.

Lizbet gets to work early, but apparently not early enough, because when she walks into her office, there’s a note on the desk from Xavier. He’s gone.

“What?” Lizbet shouts. The note says simply: Had to leave the island unexpectedly. So sorry. XD She bursts out to the desk, but no one is there. It’s seven o’clock.

Richie is spending his last morning with Kimber and the kids before they leave on the ferry. Edie and Alessandra won’t arrive for another fifteen minutes, and neither will Adam and Zeke. The only person in the lobby is Louie. He’s at his usual place at the chessboard by the front window, playing against himself. Even at this early hour, he’s dressed in his little polo shirt with his blond hair combed and parted.

Lizbet approaches. Louie has been in the lobby every day since June 6—an eighty-one-day streak—and Lizbet hasn’t found the time to play him in chess even once. She feels bad about this, but she can’t dwell on it now.

“Louie?” she says. “Did you see an older gentleman with silver hair here in the lobby earlier?”

Louie blinks behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “You mean Mr.

Darling?”

“Yes,” Lizbet says. “You saw him?”

Louie moves a pawn. “I beat him in sixteen moves.” He shrugs.

“He wasn’t bad.”

“You played chess with him? This morning?”

“A while ago,” Louie says. “Then his driver came in, and Mr.

Darling asked the driver to take our picture because he said I’m going to be famous someday. Then he left.”

He left.

Lizbet calls Xavier from her office.

“Xavier?” she says. “Is everything okay?” She’s afraid something went wrong and Xavier is too much of a gentleman to tell her. Was the bed uncomfortable? Did he get frustrated with the automatic shades? Was he visited by the ghost? (Lizbet and Xavier have never discussed the ghost; she was too embarrassed to address it, though certainly he saw references to the ghost on their TravelTattler reviews.) “Everything’s fine.” Xavier’s voice sounds staticky and far away.

She’s on the speakerphone in his car, or maybe he’s already in the air. “I have to fly home to tend to a business matter. I’m afraid it couldn’t be helped, though God knows, I tried.”

A business matter? Doesn’t he have people for this? He’s been on Nantucket for less than twenty-four hours!

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Xavier.” If he hasn’t actually boarded his plane, Lizbet might be able to lure him back. “I had a beach trip planned for you, a journey up to Great Point. We prepared a picnic.”

“Sorry to miss it,” Xavier says. “I’d like to say I’ll do it next time, but I’m not sure there will be a next time.”

Lizbet nearly drops the phone. What does he mean, he’s not sure there’ll be a next time? “Did something go wrong? Did something… happen?” She wonders if maybe Richie rubbed him the wrong way (impossible; Richie is an ace) or if maybe he found out about Doug the dog (wouldn’t he have said something?).

“It’s nothing to do with you or the hotel, don’t worry.” Xavier clears his throat. “You’ve done an outstanding job with everything. I’m proud of you, Lizbet.”

Lizbet is struck dumb. He got her name right. She would count this as a victory, but something in his tone sounds so…final.

By the time she opens her mouth to speak—to say, Thank you for giving me the opportunity, I look forward to next year when we actually know what we’re doing, most of our staff is returning—she hears a beeping noise. Xavier has hung up.

It was Edie who checked in the Marsh family back on June 6, and because Alessandra has taken lunch, it’s Edie who checks them out.

Edie thinks back to the moment Kimber, Wanda, and Louie first walked in—Kimber with her peacock-dyed hair, Wanda and Louie in their little glasses—and then the surprise of Doug! If they’d checked in today instead of on day one, when Edie was so desperate to win the thousand-dollar bonus, would she have been as accommodating? Would she have booked them for eleven weeks without a credit card? Would she have upgraded them to a suite and allowed a dog? It’s a moot point now. Edie can say—and the whole staff would agree—that they’re happy to have had the Marsh family among them for the summer. The hotel will feel incomplete with them gone.

She presents Kimber with the final bill. “Your last night’s stay is on us and last night’s room service as well. We’re really going to miss you.”

Kimber waves a hand in front of her face. “Stop, you’ll make me cry.”

“I want to thank you,” Edie says, “for mentioning me in the TravelTattler review.”

“What are you talking about?” Kimber says. “I didn’t write a TravelTattler review.”

“You didn’t?” Edie says. “I thought for sure…”

Kimber glances over at Wanda, and Edie gasps. “Did Wanda write it?”

Kimber grins. “No, it was me. You’re one of a kind, Edie Robbins.”

Richie comes down the hall with the luggage trolley. “Zeke is taking Doug out the side entrance.” He looks at Edie. “And my stuff is packed up as well.”

“Great,” Edie says. “My mom says you can move in anytime.” One of the other things that’s changing with the Marshes’ departure is that Richie is coming to live with Edie and Love until the hotel closes for the season. Kimber confessed to Edie that Richie had been living in his car before he moved into suite 114. When Edie told her mother this, Love offered Richie their spare bedroom for a very reasonable rent.

Lizbet appears from the back office as Kimber scans the list of charges. “This all looks good.” She pays the balance in cash, then throws in an extra thousand dollars. “To split among the staff,” she says. Her eyes glass over with tears. “Getting away this summer with the kids was the best decision I’ve made in my life. Thank you.” She takes Richie’s hand. “If we end up getting married, you’re all invited.”

“Come back and see us again,” Lizbet says. She gives Kimber a hug and then, as they planned, Edie brings out two gifts from the back: Nancy Drew mysteries number forty-six through forty-eight for Wanda and the lobby chess set for Louie. Edie gives each of the children a tight squeeze; Louie squirms and Wanda starts to weep,

saying, “I don’t want to leave. What about Grace? She’ll be lonely without me.”

Kimber ushers Wanda to the door. “Let’s go take a picture of Adam and Zeke, honey.” She gives Lizbet and Edie a weary smile.

“It’s going to be a long ride home.”

“Be safe!” Edie says. She waves as the Marsh family steps out of the lobby into the sun, then turns to Lizbet. “This is the worst part of the job.”

“By far,” Lizbet says, running a finger under each eye. “You know I wanted to kill you when you told me you’d rented them a room without a functioning credit card. And then that you’d upgraded them to a suite for eleven weeks. And then that they had a pit bull. But that was the right call in the end, for so many reasons.”

“Because Wanda wrote an article about the ghost,” Edie says.

“Which increased occupancy.”

“More than doubled it.”

“And Louie entertained people with his chess,” Edie says. “So many people mentioned it in their TravelTattler reviews.”

“And Richie was happy and had a place to stay,” Lizbet says. “If he hadn’t met Kimber, he might have quit, and I would have been stuck. He’s such a team player. I haven’t had to worry about billing; he’s taken care of all the financials so that I could focus on the guests and the staff.”

“It all worked out the way it was supposed to,” Edie says.

“But you couldn’t have predicted any of those circumstances. You made a decision based on your understanding of what hospitality means—saying yes rather than no.” Lizbet leans in. “Next year, I want you to be our front-desk manager.”

Edie perks up. “You do?” she says. “What about Alessandra?”

Lizbet shakes her head. “I doubt she’ll come back next year. But if she does…she’ll just have to deal.”

The hotel feels empty in the aftermath of the Marshes’ departure and Edie has to remind herself that they still have a full hotel. She calls Magda to let her know that suite 114 has checked out and is ready for a deep clean; fortunately, they built in a buffer night. No one will check into that room until Saturday.

Just then, Mr. Ianucci from room 307 steps in from the family pool in just his bathing suit with a hydrangea-blue towel draped over his shoulders like a cape. He lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head.

“I hate to bother you,” he says.

Edie would beg to differ on this point. Mr. Ianucci seems to relish being high maintenance. Edie was the one who made the reservation with his secretary right after the ghost story broke. The secretary begged for a two-night stay when Lizbet had instituted a three-night minimum due to high demand. Fine, Edie granted a two- night stay. Yesterday he asked for a reservation at the bar at American Seasons less than an hour before he wanted to dine. Who does that? But Edie handled it. This morning, he showed up in the lobby in his pajama bottoms and a Hanes undershirt and typed on his laptop and drank coffee and ate two of Beatriz’s almond croissants even though a sign encouraged the guests to take only one. He then asked Edie if she could arrange for a surfing lesson for later that morning and Edie smiled and said, “I’ll try,” though what she meant was A little notice would have been nice. However, Zeke

was still friends with everyone at the surf school, so he arranged for a private lesson with Liam, the best instructor. Fine, great, Mr.

Ianucci was so happy—not happy enough to tip either Edie or Zeke, but that’s not why they do the job. Then Mr. Ianucci called down to the desk to say that the water temperature on the south shore was only 72 degrees. “That’s a bit chilly for me,” he said. “I’m going to stick to the pool.”

Edie called to cancel the surfing lesson with her apologies but feared that the next time she asked for a last-minute favor, she would be turned down.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Ianucci?” Edie says now.

“The nice lady from the kitchen brought out the lemonade and the cookies,” he says.

Edie’s eyes widen. Lemonade and cookies? Is it three o’clock already?

“But the children at the pool snatched up the cookies before I could even get out of my chaise. Could I possibly get some more cookies?”

Edie will have to request another special favor, this time from Beatriz. “No problem. I’ll ask the kitchen for another batch right away.”

Mr. Ianucci holds up prayer hands, but does he actually say “Thank you”? He does not; he slips back through the pool door.

Edie calls the kitchen to ask for more cookies, and when she hangs up, Lizbet steps out of her office. “I’m going home early, Edie.

This whole thing with Xavier…and the Marshes leaving…I’m schlumped. I need to recharge my batteries for tomorrow.”

Tomorrow is the last Friday of the month, which means a new Hotel Confidential Instagram post. “No problem,” Edie says. “I’ve got things covered here.”

Lizbet’s brow wrinkles. “Where’s Alessandra?”

“At lunch,” Edie says breezily, as if Alessandra hasn’t been gone for over two hours.

A few minutes later, Beatriz appears with another platter of cookies. She shakes her head at Edie in mock disgust—asking for extra cookies is no bueno because Beatriz is prepping for evening service at the Blue Bar—and Edie says, “You’re going to make one guest in particular very happy.”

“It better be Shelly Carpenter,” Beatriz says, and Edie laughs, but when she steps out onto the patio of the family pool and sees Mr.

Ianucci under an umbrella with his laptop out, she thinks, Is Mr.

Ianucci actually Shelly Carpenter? He has asked for a lot of special favors, starting with the two-night stay, which means he’ll be checking out by eleven a.m. the following day, conveniently one hour before the post comes out.

“Here you go, Mr. Ianucci,” Edie says, offering him the cookies.

She’s so hungry she could eat the entire platter herself. The fresh- from-the-oven cookies are studded with milk chocolate chips, white chocolate chips, and toffee bits; they’re crisp at the edges but soft in the center.

“What service!” Mr. Ianucci says, helping himself to two. Again, not quite a “thank you,” Edie thinks. She wants to peek at whatever Mr. Ianucci is writing on his laptop. Is Shelly Carpenter really Bob Ianucci? A man?

Oh, Edie hopes not. That would be such a disappointment.

Edie steps back into the lobby to see a woman heading for the front desk like a blond bullet. She looks at Edie, then at Alessandra’s

unmanned computer.

“Where is she?” the woman hisses.

“I’m sorry?” Edie says. “Where is who?” Though Edie fears she

knows.

“The little Jolene!” the woman says.

Jolene? Edie thinks, and she relaxes a bit. She thought the woman was looking for Alessandra.

“Her!” the blonde says, holding up her phone. She starts scrolling through photos: Alessandra in someone’s kitchen, Alessandra on a bathroom scale, Alessandra lying across a very nice king-size bed that Edie suspects is not her bed at Adam and Raoul’s house. “She sent these to my husband and told him she’d forward them to me if he didn’t pay her fifty thousand dollars.”

Despite her empty stomach, Edie feels like she might vomit.

“She’s blackmailing him!” the woman says. “Where is she?”

“At lunch,” Edie whispers. What’s that saying? It takes a thief to catch a thief. Alessandra is a blackmailer just like Graydon! She’s a hypocrite! She had sex with this woman’s husband and took pictures of herself in their home (they aren’t nudes, thank God).

It’s now a quarter past three; Alessandra left for lunch two and a half hours ago. Of course Alessandra would make an exit right before she had to face the music.

“Let me call her cell,” Edie says. “What’s your name?”

“Heidi Bick. She knows who I am.”

Edie dials Alessandra’s number, her eyes stinging with tears. She and Alessandra became friends. They bonded. Not only because Alessandra stood up to Graydon and got Edie’s money back, but also because Alessandra is smart and funny, and she’s the only person who understands the ins and outs of Edie’s days. Graydon told Edie she gave people too much credit, and that’s something Edie now cherishes about herself. But she was wrong this time. So, so wrong.

The call goes to voice mail. Edie looks at Heidi Bick in frustration.

“She’s not answering.”

“She slept with my husband,” Heidi says. “She lived in my house.”

Edie closes her eyes. She thinks about how, in nature, insects and reptiles that are brightly colored or flagrantly marked are the most venomous. Alessandra had all the signs—the attention- grabbing hair, the eye crystals, the upside-down name tag. She lured in vulnerable people, trapped them, exploited them.

“And then!” Heidi says. “The pièce de résistance! She robbed my neighbor Lyric and planted her things in my house so I would think Michael was having an affair with Lyric!”

Good God, Edie thinks.

Heidi narrows her eyes. “It was so damn clever that if I weren’t appalled, I might be impressed.” She reels back. “But I’m appalled.

She’s a despicable human being.” Heidi holds up the phone. “This is blackmail. Fifty grand? It’s extortion. I’m pressing charges.”

The door to the family pool opens and Mr. Ianucci steps in.

“Pressing charges?” he says. “Sounds like things are getting hot in here.”

Edie whips out her fake smile like a gun from a holster. “Can I help you, Mr. Ianucci?”

“Seems I’ve lost my room key,” he says. “Can you make me another?”

Please, Edie thinks. You mean, Can you please make me another?

“Happy to!” she says in her fake cheerful voice. Mr. Ianucci won’t know it’s fake, but Alessandra would because it’s a desk thing. Edie doesn’t want to be angry at Alessandra; she doesn’t want the accusations to be true. She burgled the neighbor’s house and planted the neighbor’s belongings!

Edie turns to the back counter to make Mr. Ianucci a new key for room 307 and sees a manila envelope with Edie scrawled across the front in Alessandra’s handwriting.

Suddenly Edie feels like she’s living in a Nancy Drew mystery.

Where did this come from? It’s obviously been there since Alessandra went to lunch and Edie hasn’t noticed it, though Alessandra knew Edie would notice it eventually.

Does this mean Alessandra isn’t coming back from lunch…at all?

Edie is crushed by the thought; she wonders how she can feel so angry and simultaneously so dejected.

Edie hands Mr. Ianucci his key card, and only once he has slapped off in his flip-flops (again without a thank-you) does Edie turn back to Heidi Bick. “Alessandra is gone for the day.”

“You’re covering for her.”

“I’m not covering for her, believe me,” Edie says. “I think what she did is appalling…ghastly.” She tries to come up with some other

strong SAT words. “Odious. I’ll make sure she contacts you to apologize.”

“I don’t want her to contact me!” Heidi says. “I didn’t come here for a big dramatic Real Housewives moment. I sent her a text saying I knew what she’d done and that I was calling the police.” Heidi slips her phone into her bag. “Then I decided that texting was cowardly, so I came down here. And the closer I got, the more pissed off I became.” Heidi takes a breath and looks at Edie with imploring eyes.

“Listen, I realize half of this mess is my husband’s fault. I just want her to leave my family alone.”

“I understand,” Edie says. “I’ll give her that message.”

Heidi Bick reaches across the desk and grasps Edie’s wrist.

“Thank you. Lizbet has a real treasure in you.”

“I didn’t realize you knew Lizbet,” Edie says. The plot thickens.

“We’re friends,” Heidi says. “I considered calling her first and getting the little Jolene fired, but Lizbet has enough going on and it’s hard to find help, and I’m determined to fight my own battles.”

Edie’s spirit flags with “it’s hard to find help” because, as incensed as Edie is, she doesn’t want to see Alessandra fired. What will they do if Alessandra doesn’t come back? The quick fix would be to put Edie’s mother, Love, on the day desk—and sorry, but that’s not an option. (And yet, how will Edie ever be able to express her opposition to this arrangement to either Lizbet or her mother?) “I understand.”

Heidi backs up toward the door. “Tell her to go ruin someone else’s life!”

The instant Heidi Bick disappears, Edie rips open the envelope.

Inside is a note—Edie, I’m sorry. This is rightfully yours—and a stack of hundred-dollar bills. Edie counts it: four thousand dollars.

Alessandra’s bonuses.

As soon as Edie’s shift is over and Richie shows up—he wants to talk about how nice Edie and Love’s home is and how grateful, yada- yada, but Edie cuts him off; she doesn’t have time—she hops on one of the hotel bikes and books it over to Hooper Farm Road, where Adam, Raoul, and Alessandra live. Edie rehearses what she’s going to say in her head. She’s going to air her anger first: How could you, you’re a hypocrite, I believed in you! Once that’s out, she’ll grant Alessandra forgiveness. But when Edie pulls into the driveway, she finds Raoul and Alessandra loading Alessandra’s Louis Vuitton duffels into the trunk of Raoul’s car, and Edie forgets the anger part.

“Wait!” she says, skidding to a stop.

Raoul and Alessandra both turn to stare, but neither one of them says a word. Finally, Raoul checks his watch. “I need to get to work.

I’m already late and we all know I’ll hear it from Adam.” He looks at Alessandra. “Am I taking you to the boat?”

“I talked to Mrs. Bick,” Edie says. “It’s fine, you don’t have to leave, she isn’t going to say anything to Lizbet, she just wants you to…back off.”

Raoul’s expression remains impassive and Edie wonders if she’s creating a big, dramatic Real Housewives moment, but even if she is, Raoul won’t tell anyone. He’s a vault.

Alessandra nods at Raoul. “You go to work. I’ll stay and talk to

Edie.”

“Your boat…” Raoul says.

“I’ll change it,” Alessandra says.

Alessandra leaves her duffels on the front porch and leads Edie inside, which is its own kind of jackpot because who doesn’t want to see the place where her coworkers live, especially when it’s 23 Hooper Farm Road. According to Edie’s mother, this house has been the rental for a colorful cast of Nantucket characters over the years.

For a number of summers, servers from the Blue Bistro lived here, and after that, a group of pilots for Cape Air, and after that, girls who worked on a high-end landscaping crew, one of whom was dating the bassist for the Dropkick Murphys.

But if Edie is expecting holes punched in the walls by jealous boyfriends or scorch marks from a fondue party gone bad, she’s disappointed. The living room is dominated by Raoul’s workout equipment, the kitchen has a peeling linoleum floor, and there’s a short, dim hallway that must lead to the bedrooms. Alessandra takes Edie out the back door to a secluded yard, where the kitchen table sits atop a lawn that has just been cut (probably by Raoul). There are white fairy lights strung through the overarching branches of a big shade tree.

Alessandra takes a seat at the table and Edie sits next to her, thinking, I’m going to have to beg her to stay, and how twisted is that?

“You blackmailed that woman’s husband!” Edie says. She’s proud of herself for not completely buckling.

“I did,” Alessandra says. “In my defense—and, honestly, Edie, there is no defense for what I did—Michael told me he and his wife were taking time apart, so I thought it was open season.” She shakes her head. “I figured out he was lying pretty much right away but that was his sin, not mine. And then, when his wife was about to arrive for the summer, I had…bargaining power, and I cashed in on it.”

Edie blinks. “And then you planted stuff from the neighbors’ house?”

Alessandra sighs. “I did. At that point, it was like a game. I took her eye shadow, her shoes…that was probably good enough. I knew Michael would never realize that his wife wore Bobbi Brown and the neighbor wore Chanel or that his wife wore a size eight and the neighbor a size six. But then I found a positive pregnancy test in their bathroom trash, so I threw that gasoline on the fire.”

“Gah!”

Alessandra touches Edie’s arm. “This is why I didn’t want us to be friends. I’m a horrible person. I’m ruined and rotten straight through.”

Now it makes sense. Edie should not be friends with Alessandra.

She should not look up to her at all. But even now, at this low moment, Alessandra has effortless style. Her hair is back in a ponytail, her makeup from that morning has faded, the eye crystals have fallen off, but even so, she looks chic in a pair of faded jeans, an old Dave Matthews T-shirt (the Shoreline Amphitheater, 2000, before Edie was even born), and the one gold bangle Edie knows

will never come off, the Cartier love bracelet. Someone had once cared enough about Alessandra to give her that.

“Then I started sleeping with guests at the hotel in exchange for them mentioning me in their reviews.” Alessandra leans forward and slaps her palms on the table. “That’s how I won the four grand. I prostituted myself for it. I was trying to get the money and I only stopped because…”

“Because you realized someone else should have a chance to win the money?”

Alessandra scoffs. “No! I stopped because of that douchebag with the Corvette Stingray in three ten—remember him?”

“Ugh,” Edie says. “Yes.”

“He took me to dinner at Topper’s,” Alessandra says. “Talked all about himself, but whatever, I wasn’t there for the conversation.

Then when we got back to the hotel, he shoved me onto the bed, ripped up my dress, and pinned me down. He would have raped me if I hadn’t thrown him off.”

“Oh my God,” Edie says. “I can’t believe you threw him off you.

That dude was all muscle.”

“As bad as that experience was, it was also a wake-up call. I stopped targeting men and just focused on doing my job.” She pauses. “But then when Xavier showed up, I thought, He’s wealthy and single, why not go after him?”

“Ew,” Edie says. “He’s, like, seventy years old.”

“Didn’t matter, he wasn’t interested in me. So I texted Michael those photos I’d been saving in case of emergency.” She gives Edie a direct gaze. “I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again. I knew you’d been on the other side of that, and I did it anyway.”

“Yeah,” Edie whispers.

“I didn’t have parents like yours growing up,” Alessandra says.

“Parents who led by example and showed me how to do things correctly. I didn’t grow up in a nurturing community where everyone called me ‘Sweet Alessandra’ and had my back. I mean, that’s no excuse, I know right from wrong and I consistently choose wrong.

Heidi Bick should press charges, she should want to see me fired—”

“She’s not doing any of that,” Edie says. “As long as you stay away from them.”

“I will,” Alessandra says. She gives Edie a weary smile.

“Sometimes I wish men weren’t so predictable.”

It’s this statement more than anything else that illustrates their age difference, Edie thinks. Men are predictable to Alessandra, but to Edie, they’re still a mystery.

“I want you to stay,” Edie says. “I’m upset about what you did, but I can’t bear to think of finishing up the season without you. Who would I complain to about Mr. Ianucci?”

“Ianucci,” Alessandra says. “I’m telling you, that guy’s a cop.”

Edie grins. “I thought he was Shelly Carpenter.”

“The post comes out tomorrow.”

“Another reason why you have to stay,” Edie says. “You have to.”

“Okay,” Alessandra says. Her eyes mist up. “Thank you for…I don’t know, showing up here, being tough but cool.” The corners of her mouth lift a bit. “I raised you well.”

Edie pulls the manila envelope out of her backpack. “I’m giving you your money back, by the way.”

“No!” Alessandra says. “I cheated. It’s yours.”

“You’re great on the desk,” Edie says. “It’s yours.”

“I’m not taking it back, Edie. I don’t deserve it.”

Edie pulls the cash out and riffles the bills. “How about we split it,

then?”

Alessandra releases a breath. “Fine.”

Fine. Edie counts out two thousand dollars and slides it toward her friend. She thinks about her little spy club with Zeke and wonders if she has any obligation to tell him about this.

She decides not. It’s a desk thing.