A High-End Finish(22)
An hour later I watched from my front window as Wendell Jarvick drove into my driveway and parked his oversized luxury car halfway between the street and my garage. He was prompt, anyway. He sat in the driver’s seat and waited for several minutes before finally getting out of the car. He was almost six feet tall, and skinnier than a stick of licorice. His dark hair was coiffed—there was no other word for it—into a kind of pompadour, à la Elvis. He wore skintight plaid pants and a long-sleeved white shirt buttoned up to the collar. I imagined he fancied himself a hipster.
He glanced around again, probably wondering where the servants were hiding, then popped the trunk and pulled out six pieces of matching luggage. Then he stood and waited. I had to wonder what he would do if nobody ever showed up. Would he call me? Knock on my front door? Or just keep waiting out there?
If Wendell expected valet service, he should’ve booked the Ritz-Carlton a couple hundred miles down the road.
I inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, counting to ten. Pasting a bright smile on my face, I strolled out to the driveway with my arm extended to shake his hand. “Hello, Mr. Jarvick. Welcome back to Lighthouse Cove.”
He ignored my hand.
“I’m Shannon Hammer,” I continued, mentally gritting my teeth. “I’m your host for the next two weeks. Let me show you the way to your room.”
I turned and headed for the garage stairs.
“Wait just one minute, young lady,” he said imperiously. “Did you not notice that I have luggage?”
“Oh, I can help you with that.” I picked up two of the smaller suitcases and walked to the garage stairs.
He was already grumbling under his breath when he caught up with me on the stairs. I had a feeling his visit was not going to end well. I wasn’t the most experienced hotelier in town, but I’d always enjoyed having guests stay here. In almost all cases, I knew they went away happy. I was almost certain that Wendell would not end up on the happy list.
He would be here for only two weeks. I could put up with anything for two weeks.
“I was promised an ocean view,” he said, panting for breath as we reached the top of the stairs.
“There’s a beautiful view from inside. Let me show you.” I unlocked the door, swung it open, and preceded him into the room. I set the two suitcases down near the closet and walked over to the bay window. I pulled up the blinds to reveal a charming view of the Victorian rooftops of the neighborhood, beyond which was the wide blue ocean, a mere two blocks away. To the left were steep green hills topped by a forest of glorious redwood trees.
“Isn’t it lovely?” I said brightly.
“Why aren’t you closer to the beach?”
“It’s a short walk and very refreshing. Less than one block away is Main Street and our town square, where you’ll find loads of wonderful shops and restaurants. But I don’t have to tell you that. You come here every year, so you must love it as much as we do.”
He stared down his nose at me. “Will I be allowed any privacy at all?”
“Of course. I’ll leave you to it. If you have any questions, just give me a call. The notebook by the phone has pages and pages of things to do and places to go and any phone numbers you might need. My number is at the top of the page. There’s also a TV listing and emergency numbers, in case you need those. Enjoy your stay.”
I escaped down the stairs and back into my house. The phone was already ringing. “Hello?”
“I need the rest of my bags.”
“I’ll be happy to help you carry one of them upstairs. I’ll meet you at your car.” I quickly hung up the telephone. I didn’t want to be rude, but I also wasn’t going to carry all of his luggage upstairs for him. It wasn’t my fault he’d brought six freaking suitcases.
I met him at his car and carried one of the last two suitcases upstairs. When we reached the apartment I dropped the suitcase by the closet and smiled. “Just one last thing and I’ll let you enjoy your privacy. You’ll need to remove your car from the driveway because it’s blocking my access in and out.”
“You expect me to park on the street?” He looked horrified.
I swallowed a laugh. “The streets of Lighthouse Cove are the safest in the country. Your car will be fine.”
I knew I was on thin ice with him, but that was too bad. Not only did I need ready access to my truck, but my father often parked his RV in the driveway.
I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be receiving any stellar recommendations from Wendell Jarvick, but I didn’t think he had any right to complain. I knew my two guest suites were well-appointed, clean, and comfortable. The neighborhood was quiet and the view was unsurpassed. All we were missing was a bellman and an elevator.
? ? ?
I met Jane right on time for dinner at Bella Rossa, our favorite hole-in-the-wall Italian place on the square. It helped that it was owned by Uncle Pete, who also owned the wine bar next door and Bella Rossa Winery outside of town. He’d started out growing grapes for the local wineries, but when our very own Anderson Valley became the newest hot spot for wine tasting, Uncle Pete had bitten the bullet and built a small winery, where he started making his own wines.
The winery became so popular that he opened the wine bar on the square, next door to Bella Rossa. He had never had kids of his own, so he’d named the winery after me. In a manner of speaking, that is. Rossa was Italian for “redhead.” These days, I was the only redhead in the family, since Dad’s and Uncle Pete’s hair had turned gray and Chloe had dyed her hair blond the minute she got to Hollywood. It suited her, though, just as my red hair suited me. I was born with it and had the freckles to prove it.