Free Crown Jewel by Fern Michaels Page A

under the portico. One of the valets was lounging against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Ricky slapped it out of his hand, and said, “You’re fired!” Inside, he looked for the concierge, who was busy talking to one of the bellmen. Neither man looked at Ricky; they just continued talking. He waited, his eyes on his Tag watch. Finally, the concierge acknowledged him. “Oh, Mr. Lam. It’s nice to see you again. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
    â€œNot half as sorry as I am. You’re fired. That goes for you, too,” he said to the bellman.
    Within forty-five minutes Ricky had fired half the staff and called a meeting of all personnel. “Somebody damn well better have an answer for me,” he thundered, as his fist hit the polished teakwood table.
    They all started to babble at once. The one name that was repeated over and over was Roxy. “Roxy took care of that. Roxy was in charge of that. Roxy made the rounds. Roxy did this and that and everything else in between.” Roxy, Roxy, Roxy .
    â€œThere was no one to tell us what to do,” one of the desk clerks said timidly.
    â€œWhat the hell is this?” Ricky said, upending a box that was big enough to hold three loaves of bread. When no one responded, he said, “They’re complaints! Pick them up and correct whatever is wrong. Now! Consider this, you’re all on notice. If you want to keep your jobs, hop to it. Otherwise, leave now!”
    Ricky stormed out of the conference room and headed for Roxy’s office. He took one step inside and backed out again. He found himself blinking at the wide array of plants, knickknacks from grateful guests, pictures of Roxy with satisfied guests, pictures of Roxy with politicians. There were no pictures of Philly anywhere to be seen. There was, however, a picture of Reba on Roxy’s desk.
    It was a working office, with a computer, printer, fax, telephone console, and wall-to-wall, antique white filing cabinets. White wicker furniture with colorful cushions matched draperies on the louvered windows that looked out onto the lush landscaping that was ragged at best. Obviously everyone was asleep at the switch. He cursed ripely.
    Did my brother run the resort, or did my brother’s wife?
    Ted Lymen poked his head in the door. “You got them on the run, boss. I think I just saw Brad Pitt out there heading for the golf carts. You might want to welcome him before he heads home and does some verbal damage. I took it upon myself to throw out the dead flowers in the lobby. I called the florist and told them I was you. I gave them ten minutes to get their asses out here. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to find the head gardener and kick some ass.”
    â€œGo for it. If they look at you crossways, fire them. Hell, I know how to mow lawns.”
    â€œGotcha!”
    Ricky sat down in Roxy’s chair. It was too small for his tall frame. Directly in his line of vision was a bulletin board with an oversize calendar in the middle. He stared at the different notations. If she had done everything that was penciled in, she must have been one busy lady. What had Philly done?
    A quiet knock sounded on Roxy’s door. “Come in,” he called.
    â€œMr. Lam, I’m Donna Pascal, Roxy’s assistant. Isn’t she coming back? She said she would call me, but I haven’t heard from her. I know she’s in mourning but…” She knuckled her wet eyes. “I tried to keep up, but it got away from me. Roxy was the authority figure here, the glue that held it all together. All she had to do was look at someone. She never had to say a word. Now, that’s not to say she was mean or anything. She was fair, generous, and she cared about the employees. She never missed anyone’s birthday, and she always gave a present. She made a point of going to all the weddings and family funerals, that kind of thing. Oftentimes she worked till midnight and