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“Hey, wait,” Winnie says, just as I’m at the door, finally escaping. I have to bite back a sigh as I stop and the kids headout into the night. I unlock the car for them and the lights on my SUV flash. “You’ll be in touch, right? About the extended stay?”
“About the bees, you mean?” I’m not sure why I bother saying that.
Maybe because this night desperately needs some comic relief.
“Yes, the bees.” She puts her hands on her hips. Even though she must be ten years younger than me, she gives me the same kind of look my mom throws around when she thinks I’m being difficult. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all, ma’am.”
She blows out a long breath and leans against the doorway. “Just let me know if I can stay, okay? It’s really important and I’d love to know ASAP.”
That much, I can do.
What I can’t do is indulge the insane urge to ask what the hell is really going on with her.
I don’t like dealing in mysteries.
As soon as anything suspicious shows up, I like to get to the bottom of it. That’s always been my thing, and I sure as hell don’t want to stop now.
But her life—her uniquely Winnie weirdness—that’s none of my business.
Important to remember before I start pawing at some beautiful woman’s background when she clearly wants to keep it secret. Doesn’t matter if I can’t forget how she froze up when I mentioned a husband.
And the wedding dress, which looks like it’s been ripped to pieces when I glance at it again.
What happened here?
What was supposed to happen before she was interrupted?
She doesn’t seem crazy enough for seances and magic, and she’s too shy and soft-spoken to be a theater kid.
“I told you, Winnie, I’ll let you know the minute I’ve checked the schedule.” I fight to keep the impatience from my voice. The sooner I get out of here, the better. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow. We have your details in the system.”
“Oh, my details?” She swallows, like she hadn’t expected me to say that.
“Yeah. You filled out your name, email address, and phone number on the online form.” I wonder why she squirms uncomfortably. Why is she acting like she doesn’t want me to know anything about her?
That nonsensical dress haunts my brain again.
Surely, it isn’t something criminal? But I’m at a loss, trying to imagine what.
Smuggling drugs for some shady group with a stopover at a luxury property seems like a weird way to do it.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice a breath. “That’s all private, though, right?”
“Our privacy policy was outlined on the website, yes.” I definitely don’t have time for whatever paranoia she’s suffering. “We only keep your data as long as you’re here. I promise we don’t sell it to any third parties. As soon as you’re out of here, the system automatically deletes it, unless you sign up for our rewards and offers. I won’t have your number any longer.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Oh. I wasn’t worried about—I didn’t think you were…” She trails off. Even in the dim light from the kitchen, I see her blush. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I’m—”
“It’s fine.”
Yet she looks like she wants to say more, rocking forward on her heels before slumping backward. “Sorry again. I just really need this stay.”
With the bees, apparently.
No husband, just bees.
Bizarre, but not my problem.