Running Cold: A Novel, page 8
“Humph,” she huffed, then swiveled her head to look at Remy. “Where do you find these people?”
“Julie is our newest hire. I regret she was not trained to the Banff Springs standard.”
He looked at me, and I could tell from the glint in his eye that his disappointment was an act.
“She’s an abomination. Not just careless, mouthy too.” Mouthy? That’s a new one. “There’s really no excuse. I’m tempted to call corporate. I moved to this hotel to escape lowlifes and incompetents, not be surrounded by them.”
My ears burned holes in the sides of my head. I wanted to reach out and strangle her. I clasped my hands together to keep from lunging for her throat.
“On behalf of the entire staff, I deeply apologize,” Remy said.
The room was deathly still. Nobody breathed or moved. Lady Ceci’s tongue-lashing was humiliating, but for her to insist on degrading me in the lobby for the whole world to see was a whole other level of wicked.
As Mrs. Rousseau crossed her arms in front of her chest, I wondered if she had always been this horrible, or if the divorce made her that way. We like to think of love and hate as opposites, but in reality, they are only a hair’s breadth apart, one morphing into the other with a tiny shift of the wind. If love is energy, and energy is never created or destroyed, it’s no wonder passionate love turns to fiery hate. The law of conservation demands it.
“I don’t know where we go from here,” Ceci Rousseau said. And Remy took the bait.
“As compensation for your distress, please allow us to treat you to a day at the spa. I will handle the bookings personally.”
“That’s the least you can do,” Lady Ceci huffed.
“I’ll send someone up with a menu of services and follow up in the morning.” He pulled a business card out of his inside pocket. “Here’s my personal cell phone number—don’t hesitate to use it,” he said as he scribbled his number on the back of the card. She practically held her nose as she plucked it from his outstretched fingers.
“My room still needs cleaning. I’ll be in the bar.” She looked at me like I was her personal servant. I looked at Remy. Please no.
“Julie will make sure it’s spotless.”
Lady Ceci harrumphed and stormed toward the stairs.
“She set me up,” I said, once she was out of earshot. “I announced myself loud enough to scare the birds off the roof.”
“She goes to happy hour every day. It’s from three to five. Stays until it ends. If you want to clean when she’s not there.”
“Now you tell me.”
I thought back to all the traps she had set—socks in the bed, a bracelet under the chair, twenty-dollar bills sticking out of the pockets of pants she’d left on the floor. I didn’t know why this woman had it out for me, but if she wanted a war, she’d picked the wrong opponent.
CHAPTER 17
Izzy
“Don’t you look warm and cozy,” Suki said as we stepped out of the Calgary airport into the frigid night air. I was a Bakersfield gal and could tolerate temperatures hot enough to toast a dinner roll. But cold was a beast with an unfamiliar bite, one I was pretty sure could sever me in half.
“Where’d you get that fancy puffer?” Christa asked, eyeing the jacket I had just slipped out of my carry-on.
“And those boots?” Suki echoed as I pulled those out too.
“Begged, borrowed, and stole,” I said. Two out of the three were true. The boots were “on loan” from Costco. They had a no-questions-asked return policy, and those babies were going back first thing Monday morning. As for Jeff’s things, he wasn’t getting those back, so that was outright theft.
The rental-car depot was right across the street. Christa had booked the midsize SUV, but when the Alamo clerk asked for a driver’s license, my friend looked at me.
“What are you looking at me for?”
“I’ve never driven in the snow.”
“Me neither!”
We both looked at Suki.
“Don’t look at me—my license expired six months ago.”
I reluctantly handed over my license. I’d driven in LA traffic with two screaming toddlers in the back seat, how much more treacherous could a little ice and snow be?
The roads were crunchy and uneven, but the SUV had good traction, and once we got on the highway, the driving was easier. Suki insisted we listen to Christmas music, so we jingled all the way, past trees that scraped the sky, and under little bridges made for animals to cross the highway without getting flattened.
“Do you think we’ll see any mooses?” Suki asked.
“I hope not!” I said.
“I think the plural of moose is moose,” Christa said.
“No,” I corrected her. “The plural of moose is ‘we’re goners,’ so let’s not even think about it.”
The girls laughed at my joke, and I felt light as a feather. I spent so many of my waking hours being someone’s wife, or someone’s mother . . . it felt good to immerse myself in just being a friend.
“Don’t look now, but I think we’re in a Hallmark movie,” Christa said as we pulled off Highway 1 into the wintery wonderland of Banff. She wasn’t exaggerating. It was so small-town charming I half expected a man with perfect hair and a blue-eyed husky to knock on the window to ask for directions. Sorry to be a bother, he would say in his lilting British accent, but can you tell me where the Banff Springs Hotel is? And I would smile and flutter my eyelashes. Hop in, we’re headed there too!
“The hotel is across the bridge,” Suki said, snapping me out of my movie fantasy. Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” tumbled out of our car-stereo speakers as we rolled past chichi boutiques and hipster coffee shops adorned with twinkly lights. I didn’t deserve anything for Christmas, yet I still dared to wish for two things: one more night with Jeff and to be a better person. That these two wishes contradicted each other did not concern or even occur to me.
“There!”
I followed Suki’s pointing finger to the end of the block, where a medieval-looking castle made me wonder if I should expect to see Harry Potter or the Prince of Wales.
“That’s the hotel?” Christa gasped.
“Isn’t it cool looking?” Suki said.
“I thought it would be more . . .” For once, Christa couldn’t find words, so I helped her.
“Of this century?” I guessed.
“I think it’s amazing!” Suki gushed.
I had seen pictures of the lobby, but I was not prepared for its magnificence. The ceilings were high and domed like an amphitheater, but the exposed stone walls made it feel like a cave. The Christmas decorations were lavish but not over the top. It was homey and grand all at once, and I got a little misty as I took it all in. How my boys would love that gingerbread house, I thought. I imagined them darting under the velvet rope to lick the frosting off the walls, and I suddenly longed for them a little less.
We had a room with two double beds. Christa and Suki offered to share, and I took them up on their generosity. Despite the tragic impetus for coming, we were excited to be on our first girls’ trip, which was one girl short of being complete.
“Shall we call Julie now?” Suki said.
I already had the hotel phone in my hand. “Calling now.” The front desk clerk picked up on the first ring.
“This is the front desk. How may I help you?”
“Can you connect me with Julie Adler please?”
I heard the faint sound of typing. Then an incongruous response.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have a Julie Adler.”
“What’s wrong?” Christa asked when she saw my brows merge.
“She’s not here.”
“Try her maiden name.” Oh, right, of course.
“Sorry. We think she might be under Julie Weston?” I said into the phone.
A few more keyboard clicks, then:
“No, I’m sorry. No Julie Adler or Julie Weston.” To fill the stunned pause, she added, “This is the Banff Springs Hotel—”
“Yes, we know,” I said, a little too snappy. “Thank you.”
I hung up. Suki was already punching something into her cell phone.
“Are you calling her?” Christa asked as Suki held the phone to her ear . . . then removed it a short second later.
“It went straight to voicemail,” she said, looking down at the phone like it had betrayed her.
“I’ll text her,” I said. Jules, it’s Izzy and the girls, I read aloud as I typed.
“Tell her we’re here!” Suki enthused.
“I will. Ooh, she’s typing!” I said as three dots appeared on my phone screen.
“What did she say?”
“One sec, she’s still typing.”
The dots stopped, then restarted. Then her text came through.
“You’re with Christa and Suki?” I read aloud.
“Yup,” I said as I texted back.
Nice. Where are you guys? Julie texted.
And I couldn’t wait to tell her.
CHAPTER 18
Julie
Where are you guys? I texted. I imagined them sitting at a bar, gin and tonics at the ready, speculating why a successful businessman in a happy marriage would put a bullet in his head.
You’ll never guess, Izzy wrote. I had just gotten off my shift and was riding the elevator down to my room. I was starving and not really in the mood for a guessing game, but I played along.
Finney’s? Finney’s was our go-to for a casual dinner after work. If I wasn’t doing a twilight run, I would sometimes join them on the patio for crunchy pot stickers and spicy tuna rolls.
Nope. Guess again.
Ding. The elevator opened. I presumed they were out to eat. It was dinnertime—where else would they be?
BJ’s? As I started toward my room, my stomach growled at the thought of BJ’s spicy buffalo wings smothered in creamy blue cheese dip. I had missed breakfast because of a too-long workout that morning and was looking forward to sitting down for my staff meal just as soon as I showered and changed.
Ping. Izzy’s reply popped up on my phone just as I reached my door.
Nope. We’re HERE!
I didn’t know where she meant by here, so I texted:
What do you mean here? I pressed my key to the keypad and stepped into my room. And as I kicked off my shoes, the response came in all caps.
THE BANFF SPRINGS HOTEL.
My key slipped from my hand as the blood drained from my face. She couldn’t be serious . . . could she?
More dots appeared on the screen. I held my breath as I waited for her to say she was just kidding.
We were worried about you so we came!
Nope, not kidding.
More dots, and then: Did you have dinner yet? We’re starving!
I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. I should have been overjoyed. My friends had gone to considerable effort and expense to make sure I was OK. But I didn’t want them to see me like this, living in a room the size of a coat closet, working as a maid.
I had to reply. But what to say? I’d told them I was in my happy place, enjoying some rest, relaxation, and healing. I couldn’t tell them my so-called happy place was making other people’s beds and scrubbing toilets. Ugh. Why did I have to send that selfie?
OMG! What a wonderful surprise! I typed. Luckily a text didn’t require any acting skills, because this surprise was not wonderful, and I wasn’t much of an actor.
What’s your room number? We’ll come get you.
My heart sped up in my chest. There was no way I would let them see my tiny staff quarters, not when they were in a well-appointed guest room . . . one likely cleaned by me.
I’ll come to you, I texted. Just need to take a quick shower.
As I shampooed my hair, I practiced different versions of how I would explain my situation to them: The truth is, I’m broke . . . our financial situation is complicated . . . I took this job because I couldn’t face you . . .
I dried off and pulled on my jeans and a sweater. I hadn’t brought any going out clothes, given that I hadn’t planned, nor could I afford, to go out. I didn’t take the time to put on makeup or blow-dry my hair. If I was going to tell my friends I was down and out, I might as well look the part. Plus I was starving and didn’t want to keep them, or my stomach, waiting.
Izzy and the girls were in the east wing, four floors above me. I had been too busy trying to learn my new job to think about the reason I’d had to take it. I imagined once I told them all my money was gone, they would be ravenous to help me figure out what had happened to it, because who doesn’t love a good mystery? Especially one about the downfall of the local celebrity couple.
The door to their room was propped open, but I still knocked.
“Hello?” I said, peeking through the crack. “Anybody home?”
“Juuuuulieeeee!” Izzy bellowed as she opened the door and swallowed me in a hug. I was relieved to see that all three women were dressed down in anticipation of a quiet night. They told me how wonderful I looked. I thanked them all for coming, then led them down to the secret sitting room behind the door disguised as a bookcase (which they thought was so cool) so we could talk in relative privacy.
“OK, tell us everything!” Suki said after I’d returned from the Rundle Bar next door with a round of drinks that Johnny the bartender had given me for free. I’d also ordered a selection of appetizers. The Sidecar didn’t have table service, but Johnny would bring the food when it was ready. I’d flashed my work ID and told him to charge it to my account, but he said not to worry, everything was on the house, compliments of the manager. I hadn’t told Remy my friends were here, but I was too grateful to wonder how he knew.
“Not much to tell,” I said. For someone who was going to confess, I wasn’t off to a very good start—bringing them drinks I was getting for free, insisting on treating when all I’d have to pay was the tip. They’d come all this way. I didn’t want to bum their trip with my sob story.
“We know you’re in hell,” Izzy said. “We want you to know we’re here for you no matter what.” And there was my opening. All I had to do was walk through.
“Thanks, Izzy.” I thought back to what I’d rehearsed in the shower. Five little words: The truth is, I’m broke.
“We love you,” Christa said. I opened my mouth to speak.
“You’re amazing and beautiful, and we feel lucky to call you our friend,” Suki added. And then I couldn’t do it. They wouldn’t feel lucky to know me if they knew what I was.
Any reasonable person would have swallowed their pride and confessed all. But reasonable had never been my thing. There is nothing reasonable about chasing Olympic gold . . . or getting up at four a.m. to train in subzero temperatures . . . or thinking you can have it all—a triumphant career in sports, a beautiful home in a great neighborhood, a great big love. Daring to be unreasonable had gotten me everything I wanted. The thought of revealing that every single one of those things had been taken from me was positively mortifying. So, as per usual, I did the most unreasonable thing possible: I lied.
“Coming here has been really good for me.”
My big ego had once been an asset. Fear of humiliation is a powerful motivator, even more powerful than hope. It’s what got me up that hill when my body was screaming for me to stop, and ultimately, up on that podium. But now my massive ego was a problem. It refused to let me tell my friends how far I had fallen.
All you have to do is get through this weekend, my ego coaxed. You’re doing it for Jeff, it insisted. So no one will know he left you penniless.
The food arrived—crispy nachos, garlicky bruschetta, ahi tacos, grilled mushroom caps stuffed with crab, poutine with feathery cheese curds. It was more than I’d ordered, and the bartender winked at me as he served it to assure me I wouldn’t be paying for any of it. I dug into the poutine despite the niggling knot in my stomach that was about to grow tighter.
“Oh, by the way,” Izzy said. “We tried to call your room, but they didn’t have you under Adler or Weston.”
“We know you’re famous here in Canada,” Suki said.
“Of course you want to be incognito,” Christa added. “Given what happened.” And I foolishly thought all I had to do was nod and smile.
“What name are you staying under?” Izzy asked. And panic prickled down my arms.
They were all staring at me. It would be weird if I didn’t tell them—they were my friends. I only knew the name of one guest, so I blurted it out without thinking.
“Ceci Rousseau.”
CHAPTER 19
Remy
It was my turn to go skiing.
I hadn’t had a day off since I’d returned from California, and I was itching to get back on the slopes. It was not snowing, but the sky was swollen with clouds. Mountain weather was unpredictable. A gray sky could bring flurries or a full-blown blizzard. I would have preferred a sunny day for my first outing in over a week, but I’d skied in all kinds of weather. I would not be deterred.
I took the shuttle to the mountain and clicked into my skis at the base. I didn’t have to wait in lift lines, the staff knew me and always let me cut in front. As I got on the chairlift between two snowboarders wearing headphones to shut out the world, I took a moment to breathe in what was happening in mine.
It had been a triumphant week. I knew when I saw Julie at Jeff’s funeral that she would come back to Banff. This was her home. Jeff was the only reason she had gone to California. Now that he was gone, there was nothing keeping her there, and everything beckoning her back here—the mountains, the memories, me.
I hadn’t expected her to ask for a job, but it wasn’t a total surprise either. Julie was never one to sit around doing nothing. She liked to be—needed to be—busy. She wasn’t spoiled like Ceci Rousseau, who had unwittingly done me a service with her tirade. It was not very often I got to play the hero, especially to the Julie Weston.
I didn’t take it personally that Julie hadn’t stopped by my office, even though I’d left a note on her desk asking her to. Her husband had been dead for only two weeks. She probably didn’t want to seem overly eager. It would have been easy to engineer an “accidental” run-in in the back-of-house. Thanks to my employee spies throughout the hotel, I knew where she was pretty much every moment of every day. But I didn’t want to crowd her. I’d made that mistake once before. I told myself to be patient, we had plenty of time. Good things come . . .
