Free Death in Paradise by Kate Flora Page B

also had details on room capacity, room arrangements, and comments on special needs. She also had a contact person listed at the hotel who was in charge of the arrangements. "Okay, there's the seminar stuff. Now are you happy?"
    I wasn't sure why it was supposed to make me happy. "You've spoken with the hotel about each of these things since you arrived?"
    "Of course."
    I thought about the twenty-five people left standing without tables at dinner. "And the room capacities? We've got four seminars and one hundred eighty people... so you need rooms that can hold at least fifty people."
    She rested wearily on her elbow and gave me a sideways look. "I assumed that the hotel would..."
    "Right. But after the fiasco at dinner last night, you know you can't make that assumption. You can't make any assumptions. You have to call Mrs.... uh"—I leaned forward to check the name—"Nahman... and be sure we're in big enough rooms. It's called learning from experience. It's called anticipating."
    She raised her head and thrust her chin toward the screen belligerently. "I don't know why you think you have to keep picking on me. I'm not stupid you know. I'm not a baby," she said with another flounce. "I'm a competent professional."
    I'm amazed at the number of women who are accomplished flouncers. I don't know whether it comes naturally to them, or whether there was a flouncing course in junior high school that I missed. Maybe it's just that I'm tall and flouncing works better with smaller, more compact bodies. When you're five eleven, flouncing has an epic quality, a vastness that seems incongruous. Anyway, I've never done it. But Rory was a superb flouncer. She sighed aloud and rearranged herself on the chair, tapping some more keys and taking some notes on a pad.
    The competent professional wasn't wearing a bra and her unusually dark nipples showed through the thin fabric. For that matter, much of her breast was exposed through the armholes as she moved around. Maybe I'd misjudged her. Maybe it was a nightgown. Maybe she really had put on a freshly pressed linen nightgown and earrings and bracelets and makeup and high-heeled sandals in the middle of the afternoon to take a nap. "Of course," I agreed. "So knowing that the hotel has screwed up once, you've checked on these... and?"
    "And I haven't gotten around to it yet."
    I checked my watch. "Well, you've got one hour. That's not a lot of time if they have to set up another room, post new signs...."
    She yawned. "Not everyone's going to come to these anyway. We don't need that much room."
    "You can't count on that. People have come a long way to attend this conference. They've been off playing all day. Now they're going to be feeling guilty and wanting to get back into a more serious mode. There may even be some local educators who've come for the day... we did issue an open invitation, didn't we?... which increases the numbers. And after what happened to Martina, we can't afford any more glitches. Things need to run smoothly."
    "All right, goddamn it, you've made your point. I'll take care of it. We are not all as perfect as you are, Thea. We're not used to being up to our elbows in blood and gore. Some of us are still affected by things. Did you know that? Now, why don't you get the hell out of my room and leave me alone so I can work?"
    I could hear my mother's chiding voice in my head saying, "Temper, temper," and knew if I said it it would aggravate Rory as much as it used to aggravate me. It took some willpower not to but I hadn't come here to pick a fight—even if she was being a hateful, self-centered little twit. I'd come here to do business.
    "There's also the luau," I reminded her. "If you can print out the information about that for me, I can take care of those details while you check on the conference rooms."
    Rory's reaction astounded me. "You're just like her," she yelled, shoving back her chair and jumping to her feet. "Just like Martina. Give me an assignment and