Breakfast at the Beach House Hotel by Judith Keim

Author:Judith Keim [Keim, Judith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Women's Fiction, Romance, Contemporary Women, Hotel in Florida, beach read
Publisher: Wild Quail Publishing
Published: 2015-05-27T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The day after the small, private funeral for Sal, Rhonda drove Angela to the airport so she could attend the last of her classes and prepare for exams.

The pace of business at the hotel kept the rest of us focused forward instead of lingering on the sadness of Sal’s death. Dealing with all kinds of people became a fascinating and sometimes tiresome task. Some of our guests were easy to please; others were not. And each had a story to tell.

Wilkins Jones, a free-lance writer, called wanting to do an article on the hotel for the holiday travel section of the New York Times.

Rhonda and I greeted him as he got out of a rental car. I was surprised by his appearance. He was not the sophisticated man I’d thought he’d be. His suit was rumpled, and he appeared oblivious to the brown stain on his white shirt where his belly extended. The young, tall, blond, curvaceous woman at his side wiggled and giggled and batted her eyes at him in a very unspouse-like fashion. Hands on his hips, he ignored her as he surveyed the façade of the hotel.

“Senator Snyder wasn’t kidding when he told me about your place. It’s beautiful! Let’s see inside.” He turned to Rhonda. “I hope you have your special cinnamon rolls on the menu for tomorrow. I’ve heard all about Breakfast at The Beach House Hotel.”

Rhonda’s face flushed with pleasure. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. They’ll be warm from the oven whenever you want them.” The popularity of the sweet rolls had already prompted a New York publisher to request the recipe for a new cookbook they were doing.

“This is definitely my kind of place,” Wilkins Jones said enthusiastically. He bounded up the front stairs on feet surprisingly light for his girth. Trying to keep pace with him, the blonde teetered dangerously on four-inch heels. I glanced at Rhonda. We waited until they were well inside before letting out our laughter.

That afternoon, Wilkins Jones’ companion lay out beside the pool, wearing the smallest bikini I’d ever seen. Every male eye around the pool remained glued to her figure. In contrast, the overweight writer was a sight of another kind in his Speedo suit. I shook my head, surprised he didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed to be seen like that.

Some time later, Wilkins called the office, urgently requesting homemade cookies be brought to his room. I put together a plate of them and carried them upstairs. Before I could knock on the door, it opened. Wilkins, wrapped in one of the hotel’s thick terry robes, beamed at me. “Ah! Just what I wanted.”

“Who’s there?” came a feminine voice from another room.

“Nobody!” Wilkins placed a warning finger on his lips. “I don’t want her to see me snacking. You know how these young people are—they never eat!”

I grinned and turned away.

Not long afterward, a loud shriek came from upstairs. My heart pounded with alarm. I dropped my paperwork at the reception desk in the front hall and dashed up the stairway.

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