Page 52 of No Offense

“Hello, Joanne,” he said, when he reached her. “Molly texted for me to meet her.”

“Yes, I know.” Joanne was holding a tray of something beige smeared on cucumber rounds. “She told me. She’ll be right back. She’s helping a new guest with their luggage. Fish dip?”

John shook his head. He felt another spurt of irritation at the unfairness of the situation. A librarian shouldn’t need a side hustle just to afford her rent.

Of course, if he convinced Molly to leave her live-in job at the hotel and move in to the Morettis’ apartment, that would leave Joanne and Carl Larson shorthanded. The only solution he could see was to find them a new night manager. He wondered if Deputy Swanson, the officer who’d been so blithe about his tardiness in responding to the alarm at Mrs. Tifton’s house, would care for the position. He certainly wasn’t cutting it in law enforcement. Maybe his true calling was in hospitality.

“So Molly tells me you’re going to be dancing in the mother-daughter Snappettes performance,” Joanne said, helping herself to one of her own hors d’oeuvres.

John attempted to smile.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I’m really looking forward to it,” he lied.

“So am I,” Joanne said. “I’ve already bought tickets for Carl and myself, and all of our friends, too. We can’t wait to see it. It’s going to be a hoot and a half! Are you going to wear an actual Snappette uniform?”

“The, er, costume decisions aren’t up to me, so I’m not sure. I’m certain whatever it is will be very tasteful.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Joanne said. “We all want to see you in a Snappette uniform. That’s what we’re paying for, really.”

“Wait, what are we talking about?” one of the nearby guests wanted to know.

“He’s going to be dancing for charity with the high school cheerleading squad,” Joanne said, pointing at John.

“It’s a dance team,” John corrected her.

But no one cared. Everyone on the poolside deck was staring at him appraisingly, all of the ladies smiling, the men confused.

“In adress?” one of the men asked, looking appalled, though he himself was holding a drink that contained a pink paper umbrella.

“Shirtless, I hope,” one of the ladies said, winking at John suggestively.

“Where can I get tickets?” one of the other ladies asked from the hot tub, nudging her friend.

“It’s not till next month,” Joanne said.

“I don’t care,” the guest responded with a cackle. “I’ll extend my stay, especially if there’s a chance he’ll be doing it shirtless.”

John was beginning to feel uncomfortable. “Now hold on,” he began, because he’d learned at his four-hour sexual harassment workshop that the objectification of women could also happen to men—even law enforcement officers. It was also no less harmful, even though it was occasionally reinforced by first responders themselves, like those hose draggers over at the fire station and their ridiculous yearly calendar. “Let’s—”

“John!”

Thank God Molly had finally appeared, wearing a flowy white sundress and looking as fresh and as welcome as rain after a hot day.

“Hello,” he said, forgetting Joanne and her guests and everything but Molly and her radiant smile. Then he remembered something else. “Here. I brought you these.” He handed her the flowers.

Molly gasped as she took them from him. “Daisies!” Molly cried. “They’re beautiful! And my favorite. How did you know?”

He didn’t know how he’d known. He just had. He wasn’t at all surprised to have been right.

He was surprised, however, when Joanne and all of her guests (the women, anyway) let out a collective “Awwww.” He wanted to jump into the pool, sink to the bottom of the deep end, and not come out until he’d either drowned or they’d all gone away.

“How beautiful,” Joanne said, setting down her tray of fish dip and taking the flowers from Molly. “I’ll put themin a vase for you. You and John go visit.” When Molly hesitated, Joanne waved her impossibly long, florescent-green nails at her. “Go on. I got this!”

Molly laughed and took him by the hand, leading him away from the pool and toward a thatched tiki bar beneath the outdoor stairs she’d taken last night to get to her room.

“Here, let me get you a drink,” she said. “What’ll you have?”

“Beer is fine.”