Мэри Эндрюс - The Newcomer

HOW ARE U? HOW’S M? her friend texted back now.

Letty glanced at Maya, who was seated on the bed, dressed in her favorite outfit du jour—a bathing suit top and pink tulle princess skirt—happily sorting through the contents of her plastic pocketbook while softly humming the Peppa Pig theme song.

I’m adjusting. Working. M is okay. Not as many nightmares. Dry bed last night.

She paused typing, wanting to know, but dreading the answer.

Any more E sightings?

No, but that detective lady came back & asked Art for your job application.

Letty’s mind raced, trying to remember the kinds of questions that had been on that long-ago perfunctory job application. Name, age, phone number, address, previous experience. All routine. And then she remembered. Social Security number. Her Social Security number would have been on that job application.

Just as she was considering all those implications, and starting to panic, Zoey texted back.

Don’t worry. Art laughed, told her it’d been nearly 6 years & he didn’t keep files that old.

“Thank God,” Letty breathed. Ava had given her a job application, which she’d promised to fill out and return. She hadn’t yet, and wouldn’t, she decided, unless her new employer made an issue of it.

So far, her arrangement with Ava was extremely casual. She suspected that was because her boss had a casual attitude toward things like unemployment insurance and Social Security deductions. For Letty, this was the ideal situation.

Not having to make decisions about what to wear was a relief, too. She had three pink Murmuring Surf polo shirts in her wardrobe rotation, a pair of jeans, and two pairs of shorts she’d picked up at the big-box store in the nearest shopping center, along with a new pair of white Keds. Today was a shorts day.

She packed two sack lunches with turkey sandwiches, grapes, and carrot sticks, then quickly straightened the room. Their unit was so tiny and otherwise grim-looking that the only way Letty could stand to return to it in the evening was knowing it was neat and tidy.

Ava was waiting for them when they got to the office. A shopping list in one hand, her purse slung over her shoulder.

“Good morning, ladies,” she sang out. “Letty, the coffee’s made. I’m headed out to run errands. We’ve got the Carlisles checking into unit two this afternoon, but those weirdos from Orlando are still taking their own sweet time about packing up and getting out. I knew it was a mistake renting to those people.”

Ava disliked what she called “short-termers”—guests who only checked in for a few days, as opposed to her long-term seasonal renters who booked rooms for weeks and months at a time. But since her motto was “heads in beds,” when she had a rare midweek unit become available she reluctantly lit up the vacancy sign out front.

“Anything I can do to hurry them along?” Letty asked, settling Maya at her table and unpacking her art supplies and Ellie.

“I told ’em checkout’s at ten sharp,” Ava said. She turned and gazed out the plate-glass front window in the direction of unit 2, one of the original, smaller postwar cottages. It was painted soft coral, with a turquoise door and window shutters. “Don’t see any signs of life over there.”

“Not surprised,” Letty said. “I heard them partying ’til late last night.”

“Don’t I know it,” Ava said. “Ruth Feldman called and woke me up at midnight to report that those people were still playing loud music and splashing around in the pool. I had to get up, get dressed, go over there, and tell ’em to shut it down. You won’t believe this, Letty.”

She looked down at Maya, who was preoccupied with drawing flowers, and lowered her voice.

“The two of them were butt naked and goin’ at it like a pair of rabbits. Right there in the shallow end of my pool. In public!” Ava’s face was pink with a mixture of outrage and embarrassment.

Letty started to giggle.

“Frolicking around like it was nothing,” Ava went on. “I’m just glad Isabelle didn’t see them.”

“What did you do?” Letty asked.

“I yelled at them to get dressed and get the hell out of my pool,” Ava said. “And then that man—I bet they aren’t even married—got out of the pool and had the balls to stand there—stark naked with his wangdoodle hanging out—and try to tell me I should calm down and mind my own business!”

Maya looked up, suddenly interested. “Miss Ava, what’s a wangdoodle?”

Letty clamped her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“It’s uh, a uh…”

“It’s a grown-up kind of toy,” Letty said. “Sort of like a float. Sweetie, why don’t you go into the supply room and get the stapler and some more Scotch tape so you can make another book?”

“Sorry,” Ava said, as Maya went in search of more supplies. “I forgot about little pitchers having big ears.”

“It’s okay,” Letty said. “What did you say then?”

Ava wrinkled her nose. “I could tell they were both high as kites, so I threatened to call the cops, and report them for public indecency. And then I told them they better clear out of my motel first thing in the morning.”

“Oh my,” Letty said.

“I hate to put his on you, hon, but with the Carlisles coming in, we’re going to need to turn that room fast today. If they’re not out of there on the dot of ten, I want you to call Joe on his cell.”

“Is that really necessary?” Letty asked. “I don’t mind knocking on their door and politely telling them it’s checkout time.”

“Absolutely not,” Ava said, her voice firm. “There’s no telling how those two dope fiends would react to you. Just call Joe. I’ll let him know what the situation is. But in the meantime, I better scoot.”

The next hour dragged by. She fielded phone calls from prospective guests asking for room availability and telemarketers, delivered additional towels to the Mitchells, and accepted what looked like a mountain of packages from UPS for Arlene Finocchia. Every fifteen minutes she got up from the reception desk to peer across the courtyard at unit 2, but there was no change in status.

At ten after ten, Oscar Jensen and Merwin Maples marched into the office. “Ava!” Oscar hollered, looking right past Letty. “Where are you?”

“Not here,” Letty said, leaning forward on the counter. “What do you need, Oscar?”

“Need to talk to Ava,” he growled. “When will she be back?”

“I’m not sure, but I can tell her you’d like to speak to her when she returns.”

“Not good enough,” Merwin said. “We’ve got a crisis brewing. The sooner we get this thing settled, the better off we’ll all be.”

“Crisis?”

“At the shuffleboard court,” Oscar said, pointing out the window. His finger shook with barely suppressed rage. “Those women!”

Letty walked around the desk and joined him at the window. The shuffleboard court was on the south side of the pool enclosure. From where she stood she was barely able to spot two figures, one in a pink sun visor, the other in a floppy white sun hat, standing at opposite ends of the court.

“Is that a problem? Are they Murmuring Surf guests?”

“Of course they’re guests. It’s those Feldman girls,” Merwin snapped. “Everyone here knows that Oscar and me play shuffleboard at ten o’clock. Everyone knows that. But for the past two days, when we get out there, those two are on our court. We’ve tried asking politely, but they refuse to acknowledge our long-standing court time.”

“Oh.” Letty’s gaze strayed to the door of unit 2. The dusty maroon Impala with the Orlando license parked in front of it hadn’t moved. The curtains were still drawn. It was well past ten o’clock.