Page 31 of Summers at the Saint
Traci Eddings hadn’t hired her to work as a sales clerk. She’d been hired as a server in the restaurant, where, if her customers had spent that kind of money on a purchase, she would have easily made a 20 percent tip. Instead, she got a lukewarm smile, which wouldn’t help pay her bills.
She moved over to where KJ was rearranging the shirts. “Do you know those people?”
“I know the son. His name’s Nash. I coached him in a summer league lacrosse camp.”
“His father just spent almost fifteen hundred dollars here. How rich are they?”
“I wouldn’t say they’re mega rich. Maybe ordinary rich. Why?”
“I can’t get over how much money you people spend on stupid shit,” Livvy told him. “Why does a golf club cost, like, a thousand bucks in here? I see golf clubs at the Goodwill for ten bucks. And why does a Saint logo on something make a twenty-dollar shirt worth a hundred and fifty?”
KJ gave her his best, most dazzling smile. “I’ll have you know that shirt is made of one hundred percent organic yarn-dyed Sea Island cotton. Hand-sewn right here in the US by artisans using patterns custom-designed for this resort.”
“You’re full of shit,” Livvy told him.
“Guilty.”
“What about you? Are you regular or mega rich? And what’s your real story?”
“Me? I’m not any kind of rich. I mean, my parents and my grandparents have money, but I’m working here, aren’t I?”
She didn’t want to admit that she’d been eavesdropping—last night or just now. And she wouldn’t point out that he’d neatly evaded her question.
“Working in here is boring as hell,” she complained.
“But it beats waiting tables, doesn’t it?”
“Not really. At least I’m not standing twiddling my thumbs between customers. When I’m working at the Verandah, I’m moving. The shift goes fast, I’m making decent tips, and I’m not bored out of my gourd. I mean, what do you even do in here all day long?”
KJ whipped out his phone and showed her his gaming apps, two screen-loads of them.
Livvy rolled her eyes. “Dude. Get a life.”
CHAPTER 19
Traci worked through the morning, eating lunch at her desk. Shortly after one, she got a call on her desk phone from an old high school classmate whom she occasionally ran into around town. They were friendly, but hardly best friends.
“Traci? It’s Hannah Styles. Is this a good time?”
“Um, sure. What’s up?”
Hannah lowered her voice to a whisper. “I could get fired for this, but I thought you should know that I’m pretty sure your brother-in- law is up to something sneaky.”
Traci pushed her salad aside and felt a cold chill move down her spine. “Like what?”
“I’m not sure. All I know is, Ric called my boss late yesterday and asked him to go out to the Saint to meet with your father-in-law.”
Traci knew Hannah worked as a legal secretary for a local lawyer. “Are you still working for Reeves Corbett? But he’s not the family’s lawyer. Andy Plankenhorn’s firm handles our legal work. He has for years.”
“That’s what I remembered,” Hannah said. “I worked for Andy when I first got out of college, until I went on maternity leave.”
Traci tapped the pen against her chin. “And you have no idea what this is about?”
“Reeves asked me to find him a videographer to go out there with him. So I gave him the name of the woman who shot my little sister’s wedding last summer.”
“Who’s the videographer? Do you think she’d talk to me?”
There was a long pause at the other end of the call. “Uh, you know what a small town this is. I wouldn’t want it to get back to my boss that I talked to you. It’s kind of a breach of confidentiality. I could get fired, you know?”
