Dakota Blues Box Set by Lynne M Spreen

Author:Lynne M Spreen [Spreen, Lynne M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Silver Life Press
Published: 2020-03-21T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

TRAFFIC WAS LIGHT AS Karen left Savannah, deep in thought as to her next move. She would pawn the earrings and bank the cash. Savannah was nothing more than a memory now, a fading image in the rearview mirror, but it had clarified Karen’s intentions. If she’d been focused before, she was now a heat-seeking missile. She knew what she had to do.

The CRS ladies would be a challenge. With their retiree mind-set, she’d have a hard time getting anything done, short of pulling down her shades and turning into a hermit. They’d never go for that. In the month she’d been at the campground, they’d refused to believe her when she said she needed peace and quiet. Oh, they acted like they were on board, but then something would always happen, and they’d be pounding on her door, demanding her presence at this party or that outing.

The ladies were good friends, but they were impossible when it came to her work. And for the long term, the app was critical, because if she couldn’t figure out how to work smarter, she’d never get further than where she was, right now. She drove southward, deep in thought.

An hour later, nausea had been replaced by hunger. At the next off-ramp, she followed a sign that indicated hotels and restaurants at a place called Jekyll Island.

The lone roadway onto the island narrowed down to a bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway. Down below, yachts and pleasure craft stood at anchor, and pennants flew from the spires of a grand old building. She drove past tidal grasslands and mossy oaks toward a historic area. Grand Victorian homes adorned with slate roofs and gables, and shaded by stately magnolia trees, lined the drive to the Jekyll Island Hotel. A driveway, shaded by massive live oaks draped with silvery moss, curved around to the front of the hotel, a three-story gingerbread-style mansion. Karen handed her keys to the valet and ascended a flight of steps. A veranda, decorated with hanging baskets of ferns, led to the lobby. Lush with leather wingback chairs, a marble fireplace, and a hand-carved cherrywood staircase, it spoke of a lavish life in days gone by.

The hostess led her to a table in the center of the dining room, which was adorned with crystal chandeliers and white linen tablecloths. A massive fireplace anchored the far end of the room, and candlelight flickered in the center of each table. “Welcome to the Jekyll Island Club.” She handed Karen a menu and wine list and departed.

Outside the window, a pair of Adirondack chairs posed under a willow tree on a lawn that sloped gently down to the banks of the Intracoastal. Boats, both leisure and working, passed each other heading north and south. A sigh escaped Karen’s lips, and in spite of the prices, she ordered cheese crepes and a mimosa.

The hostess came back and handed Karen a brochure. “You may want to look around a bit. There’s quite a lot to do.”

Karen unfolded the map.

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