Margaritas at The Beach House Hotel
CHAPTER ONE
“Ready?” asked my business partner, Rhonda DelMonte Grayson, on this early April morning on the Gulf Coast of Florida.
I stopped typing on the computer and turned to her with a grin. “As ready as I ever will be.”
Wearing a yellow caftan that went with her hair, Rhonda waved me up and out of my chair with a grin that lit her face and had her dark eyes sparkling. “Then let’s get this show on the road! It’s not every day a vice president visits The Beach House Hotel.”
I rose and looped my arm through Rhonda’s, and we headed out to the front lobby to greet the latest VIP to come to our upscale hotel.
As we stepped outside to wait for our guest, the spring day greeted us with a kiss of sunny warmth. A soft breeze bobbed the colorful blossoms on the hibiscus bushes that lined the front of the hotel, softening the edges of the pink-stucco, two-story building that stood like royalty at the water’s sandy edge.
“Seems like old times, huh?” said Rhonda, grinning at me as we approached the entrance.
“I’ll say.” Five years ago, when we’d first opened the hotel, Rhonda and I had greeted our guests like this at the front steps of the hotel, welcoming them personally as much as possible. Hospitality, discretion, and service were the three things we still relied upon to maintain the hotel’s fine reputation. A warm welcome to the property was a must.
I studied her. When I’d first met Rhonda, I’d thought the large, colorful, bossy woman, who said exactly what was on her mind and had no sense of private space, was completely overwhelming. I’d thought I’d never make it through my first visit to her seaside estate—a visit made to please my daughter, Liz, who roomed at college with Rhonda’s daughter, Angela.
Now, even though my strict upbringing with my grandmother in Boston sometimes made me shudder at what came out of Rhonda’s mouth, I loved her like the sister I never had. And I’d learned her heart was as big as her irrepressible spirit.
Rhonda nudged me. “Here she comes!”
I ran a hand through my shoulder-length dark hair, flicked a speck of dust off my bright-blue suit jacket that matched my eyes, and drew a deep breath.
We headed down the front stairs of the hotel as a black limousine followed a large, black SUV through the gates of the hotel and drew up to the front circle.
As soon as the limousine came to a stop, three different people, two men and a woman, Secret Service agents, I presumed, jumped out of the SUV and assessed their surroundings before the woman went over to the limousine and stood outside the back door. One of the men faced out to the road while the other climbed the stairs to the hotel and stood guard there. Then a somber-looking man stepped out of the front of the limo and stood a moment, scanning the area. Satisfied, he stood by as the female agent outside the limo opened the back door, and Vice President Amelia Swanson prepared to climb out of the car.
A tall, striking woman in her late 40s with chestnut brown hair and blue eyes noted for missing nothing, Amelia Swanson stepped out of the limousine and smiled as she walked forward to meet us.
“Welcome to The Beach House Hotel, Madame Vice President,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m Ann Sanders, one of the hotel’s owners.”
Strong fingers gripped my hand. “Very glad to meet you and to be here.” She turned to Rhonda. “And you must be Ms. Grayson.”
“Yes. We’re honored to have you stay with us,” said Rhonda, looking as if she didn’t know whether to curtsey or not.
“Let’s go inside where we can talk privately,” Amelia said.
“Please, come in.” I took her elbow and led her up the steps. The security agent who’d stood by the door headed indoors while another followed at our heels.
Behind me, I noticed the female guard pacing outside the limousine and wondered who or what she was protecting.
We entered the hotel.
“Come this way,” said Rhonda.
She led us to the small, private dining room we used for confidential gatherings. Sound-proofed, it had housed many private discussions that never left the room.
The vice president waited for one of the agents to finish his visual sweep of the interior, and then she motioned both men to stay back before closing the door, leaving the three of us alone in the room.
“Would you like a seat?” I asked, a little confused by all that was happening.
“No, thank you,” she said, smiling. “I’ve been sitting for a while and need to stretch my legs.” She studied Rhonda and turned to me. “What I’m about to tell you can go no further. Understand?”
Rhonda and I glanced at each other and spoke together. “Yes. We do.”
“I won’t be staying here but will instead be secretly traveling to Central America to try and rescue a woman from a revolutionary group that’s been holding her prisoner. I made the reservation here at the hotel because you’re known for being discreet. Tina Marks, that fabulous actress, credits the two of you with saving her life. So, if newspaper reporters ask about my staying here, it won’t seem out of the ordinary for you to decline to give out any information. A woman running from domestic abuse will be using my reservation in my place.”
“I see …” I began, but she held up her hand to stop me.
“This woman is my sister and the wife of the president’s brother.”
I felt my breath leave me in a rush and gripped Rhonda’s arm.
“Oh my God! I read about her in the newspaper,” gasped Rhonda. “It’s a terrible story of abuse.”
“You understand how important it is that no one, not even other members of the family, know where she is or what I’m about to do on a secret mission for the government.”
“Not even the president?” Rhonda asked, wide-eyed.
“Definitely not him, though he knows, of course, that I’m pretending to be here and where I’m going,” Amelia explained. “The president thinks my sister’s recuperating in total privacy at their home in Vermont while her husband is in a rehab program in California. See why this is so important?”
I nodded silently, wondering what would happen if we failed. Lives were being placed in our hands. I recalled that Amelia’s sister had met her husband on the campaign trail a couple of years ago. Their wedding had been the romantic story of the year. What on earth had happened?
“We’re gonna take good care of your sister. What happened to her shouldn’t happen to any woman. Right, Annie?” said Rhonda, elbowing me.
“Absolutely. I understand what a difficult situation this must be for everyone, but we’ll do everything you ask. We’ve seen many people come and go at the hotel, heard many stories, and helped many people in various positions. We routinely have VIPs here at the hotel who need discretion,” I assured the vice president. “Our staff is trained to protect privacy.”
Amelia let out a long breath. “Okay, then. I’ve announced I’m taking a private vacation. My sister, Lindsay Thaxton, and I look enough alike to be twins, which is why people might not question my ‘supposed’ presence here. You have her placed in the private home here, correct?” she asked, looking at me.
“Yes. She’ll be staying in the guesthouse on the property as you requested.”
“My trip shouldn’t last more than a week. During that time, Lindsay will decide if she wants to continue staying here or find another place to hide until things calm down. The president isn’t happy about the situation, but there’s no way I could let Lindsay remain vulnerable to that brute of a husband of hers. Now that she’s filed for divorce, she still needs protection.”
Amelia Swanson’s history was much like her sister’s. Married to a wealthy man who’d mistreated her, Amelia made her escape and began a foundation for abused women. A reputation for speaking out and holding steady helped her build a political career. Nearing fifty and single, she was known as a formidable woman who didn’t take bullshit from anyone, not even Edward Thaxton, the president of the United States.
“Is there anything special we should do for your sister … you … while she’s here?” I asked.
“A young woman I trust from past Secret Service experience will be staying with Lindsay in the house. She can be a confidential source of communication for you. Both of you come with me, and I’ll introduce you to them.”
“Would it be better if we met them at the house to avoid drawing attention to your sister or her companion?” I asked.
The vice president settled her blue-eyed gaze on me. “Good idea. As you can imagine, Lindsay’s a little skittish anyway.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll see that she’s well taken care of,” said Rhonda. “I’ve read the stories about it all, and I promise no frickin’ rat bastard will ever treat her like that again.”
Amelia’s eyes widened, and then she laughed. “I like you two as much as everyone said I would.”
Rhonda and I accompanied Amelia back to the limousine. She and the agents smoothly disappeared inside, leaving us with two other guards—the man and woman we’d seen now walked beside the limo as it began to roll along the front circle and over to the guesthouse.
Originally a caretaker’s cottage that I’d transformed into a small but comfortable home, the house had served as a private retreat for my husband, Vaughn, and me for a time before we moved off the hotel property. Then it was turned over to the hotel as a unique, private accommodation for VIP guests. Nestled and nearly hidden among the greenery in a corner of the property, it was the perfect place for Lindsay Thaxton to hide.
We met the limousine in the guesthouse driveway and waited while the Secret Service did a quick check around the area before signaling me to open the door to the house.
I unlocked the door and stood aside as one of the bodyguards checked the interior. At a thumbs-up sign from him, the vice president stepped out of the car and turned to help her sister.
Lindsay Thaxton emerged and stared at her surroundings. So thin that she seemed a fragile china doll, she looked like a much more vulnerable version of her older sister. They shared brown hair, blue eyes, and facial features, but there the similarity ended. Lindsay’s hunched shoulders, the way she glanced around nervously, and the trembling of her lips presented a much different woman from her take-charge, confident sister.
After they’d entered the house and surveyed each room, Lindsay gave a slight nod of approval. “This is lovely. I’ll be comfortable here.”
As Lindsay stepped out to the lanai with Rhonda, I caught hold of the vice president’s arm. “We’ll have to tell a few others on the hotel staff and in our families about Lindsay. Rhonda and I are slowly introducing our daughters, Liz Bowen and Angela Smythe, to our business in the hopes they will someday assume duties here. We want them to know what’s going on, along with Bernhard Bruner, our general manager. And, both our husbands are trustworthy. It would be awkward if they didn’t know. Especially because of the time we’ll commit to keeping Lindsay safe.”
The vice president’s smile was a little sheepish. “Oh, yes. I should have told you. We’ve done background checks on your families and all the staff here. It will, however, be up to you and Rhonda to control the information and help keep my sister secure. Failure is unacceptable.”
Her steady gaze unnerved me, but I dutifully bobbed my head.
Rhonda and I had had to deal with a lot of challenges. Indeed, we could meet this one. Couldn’t we?
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