Page 14 of Safari Murder Party
Short of elbowing through the crowd to find her usual spot at Dyer’s right side, Fletcher didn’t belong anywhere. Bertram and the Brians would bore her to death, joining Waylon’s entourage was a nonstarter, and she’d sooner drown herself than get sucked into an impromptu Sales stand-up.
For a fraction of a second, Fletcher imagined easily slotting into step with Jackie, discussing next quarter’s photoshoot locations and top stories. Only for a fraction of a second, though. Any longer and she would have gotten totally and utterly lost.
The manor was a maze of doorways and waxy floors and ivory walls. Massive framed canvases with vintageJet-Settercovers mapped their route. The first door they passed opened to a home theater with a full-size projection screen, velvet seats, and so many speakers that the surround sound had surround sound.
The cigar lounge could have doubled as an armory. Glass cases lined the walls, each housing antique hunting gear. Canteens and compasses and a framed canvas map of the island. Another reminder this was a boys’ club, first and foremost.
Next, there was a meditation room with a trickling fountain. Then, a room crusted from ceiling to floor in pink Himalayan saltwith strategically placed wide brass Tibetan singing bowls. Completing the trifecta was a med spa where everything smelled like bergamot and ylang-ylang.
A left by the 1973 issue spat them out in the Michelin-worthy kitchen where staff members chopped ripe mangoes and seared steaks. Bowling alley, indoor swimming pool, wine cellar. Every turned corner revealed new luxuries.
Carlotta urged them up a staircase that could be described only assweeping. And—oh, good. The taxidermied heads were back.
Each room had an associated animal mounted above its door, which felt exactly as cursed as it sounded. One by one, Carlotta doled out bronze room keys with tassels tied around the handle, like they were in a Wes Anderson movie. The first went to Other Brian, who triple-checked his pillows were polyester,notdown, since he was allergic to feathers. Then Molly, who vanished beneath the detached head of a zebra. Fletcher estimated six minutes max until Rick got jealous of someone’s much larger room and Opal put him in his place with a snide remark.
“It’s a lot to take in, huh?” Jackie appeared next to Fletcher, sinking toward the back of the group. Her in-flight skincare did the Lord’s work because her under-eyes practically glowed, despite the hours spent breathing recycled air.
Hopefully Fletcher’s restingIs my boss a maniac?face hadn’t been too obvious. She worried at the end of her braid, and then realizing the bad habit, snapped her hand back to her side. “It’s different than I expected.”
“That’s Lydell for you. So…unpredictable.” Something indiscernible glinted in Jackie’s gaze. “Anything can happen here. Who knows? There might just be a job on my staff for you at the end of this.”
“Are you—Are you serious? Jackie, that would be—”
A dream come true. The answer to keeping Fletcher in the city. Everything she ever wanted. Could it really be so easy?
Jackie beamed. “I’m sure we’ll have the chance to chat logistics this week.”
From the cloud Fletcher was floating on, she almost didn’t notice the way the crowd dwindled, room assignments being called out, until she was one of the only ones left.
Down the hall, Rick whined, “Why is hers so much bigger than mine?”
On cue, Opal responded with a dry, “I thought size didn’t matter, Richard.”
Carlotta guided them onward, leaving the bickering Sales team behind. She handed Waylon his key. “You’re here in the jaguar room, Mr.Cartwright.”
“Thank you, Carlotta,” he said. Frankly, Fletcher was surprised he had manners enough to do that.
It wasn’t until Dyer pointed down the hall and said, “Executives will be in the east wing,” that Fletcher realized she was standing there without a room key.
“Wait, sorry. Where should I sleep?” Fletcher hated the way her voice bobbed with uncertainty.
Bertram scoffed. “In the staff quarters where you belong.”
Fletcher’s spine stiffened. She balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. She refused to let the others see her rattled, even as she verged into maraca territory.
“Easy now, Bertram,” Deepti interceded with a hand on the SVP’s arm. “You know how much Dyer loves supporting charities.”
Waylon hovered in the doorway. She didn’t have to look at him to know he wore a smug, lopsided grin. Enjoying her humiliation, no doubt.
Fletcher pivoted toward Dyer. To what? Defend her?
While everyone else shared SOPs and KPIs and a hundred other three-letter acronyms, Fletcher measured success by the number of dinner reservations she planned and files she organized. But she had never been alone.
Dyer was always there, calling the shots. Giving every movement purpose. They were a team. He couldn’t do his job unless she did hers. And now Dyer didn’t acknowledge their comments at all, just fixed Fletcher with an even stare.
Ordinarily, she could interpret every minuscule motion of his facial muscles. Intrigue was a scratch of his chin. Disappointment in an arched eyebrow or a leftward gaze. A twitch in his cheek meant he wanted a reason to leave the conversation.
This expression was flat. Impassive. “Yes, of course. Not to be forgotten. Carlotta, please prepare linens for Miss Spence and have her luggage delivered to the capybara room.”
