“Travis has the new freezer working,” the distinguished older man reported, “and it’s fully stocked. Our supplier on the mainland says there should be no problem filling the orders we’ve put in for the next few weeks, and I’ve got everything that can be made ahead ready to go.” He nodded at his new assistants. “I’m confident my team and I can get you meals that will do the resort proud.”
He earned the tiniest hint of smile from Scarlet. “I’m glad to hear that. We’ll need to coordinate an extra trip to the mainland mid-week, from the looks of the order forms, but that shouldn’t be problematic. Tex?”
Tex sat up straighter. “We’re well-stocked in everything hard, but the white wine shipment came in four cases short.”
Scarlet frowned. “Four cases?”
“I counted twice,” Tex assured her.
“I’ll call and have words with the distributor,” Scarlet said, and Tex was glad that he wouldn’t be on the receiving end of that call. “We may need to pick some up on the mainland if they can’t get the replacement here by next week.”
“We’ll have a better idea of how well stock is holding up pretty quickly,” Tex agreed. “Maybe they’ll all be red wine drinkers. Incidentals are in good order, plenty of napkins and tiny umbrellas, and the fruit shipment exceeded my expectations this week.”
Scarlet continued through housekeeping, and then got a thumbs up from Lydia, the black swan shifter who managed the spa. Other than a few minor supply concerns, and Travis’ warning about overtaxing the septic system, they seemed ready for the oncoming crowd, and Scarlet seemed cautiously optimistic.
“I’m really pleased with how well you’ve all stepped up and gotten everything together,” she told them candidly, and Tex was as surprised as he was proud; Scarlet was notoriously stingy with her praise.
“We’ve got a busy few weeks ahead of us, and I know you’ll be asked to do more than usually do. It’s going to be crowded and we’re all going to be under a lot of scrutiny. I trust you can handle it, and that we will make this a pleasantly memorable event. Go make it happen.”
The meeting broke up with high energy and cheer. Breck immediately introduced himself to the new French-speaking housekeeper.
As Tex slipped out past Scarlet, she took him aside. “Gizelle wasn’t here.” It wasn’t quite an accusation.
“She’s still not good with crowds, ma’am,” Tex said apologetically.
Scarlet nodded thoughtfully. “She’s going to have a rough few weeks,” she said pityingly.
“I think we all may,” Tex said candidly, earning a dry laugh from Scarlet.
Except for the extra staff, Shifting Sands didn’t look any different. It still had that peculiar poised energy that Tex thought was due to the way the sun glittered off the tiles decks and mosaic-covered retaining walls. Photographers were already on site, taking light readings and doing test shots of the dramatic pool steps.
Gizelle was sitting behind the bar, waiting for him and polishing silverware that was already clean, her salt-and-pepper hair obscuring her face. She scrubbed at each fork with a corner of her sundress, then held it up to the light critically. “Not much of a hoard,” she said critically, when Tex found her.
“I’m not a dragon,” he reminded her gently. “I’m a bear. Bastian is the dragon.”
“Bastian doesn’t think he is a good dragon,” Gizelle said airily.
“Scarlet noticed that you weren’t at the staff meeting,” Tex told her, crouching down and taking the basket of forks that she handed him.
“Scarlet notices things,” Gizelle agreed, unconcerned. “She notices the sky with no sun.”
“There’s going to be a lot of people coming here in the next few days,” Tex warned her. They’d talked about the upcoming Mr. Shifter event several times, but he wasn’t really sure how much of it made sense to her.
As far as anyone could tell, Gizelle had spent her entire childhood as a gazelle, a captive in the zoo of a sadistic shifter collector. She didn’t know her own name, or have any memory of parents or human shape before coming to Shifting Sands. She could have been twenty-five, or fifty; the white streaking her dark hair made her look ancient, but her face was unlined and innocent. She had a tendency to flee at the slightest hint of conflict, shifting into her gazelle shape and leaping high into the air. There had been several times Tex wasn’t sure how she avoided breaking one of her fragile-looking legs as she landed.
Gizelle looked up at him, big eyes behind her wild, loose hair. “I know,” she said reluctantly. “Too many people are coming, so full of themselves, and there’s going to be photographers to avoid. But I’ll still help. Graham lets me rake sometimes, and Chef lets me wash the dishes. I broke a glass, to see how it would sound, but he told me I could still do the silverware.”
Tex ruffled her hair gently, a privilege she didn’t allow everyone. “You’ll be fine. You want to go help Graham with that raking?”
She nodded with a slow grin and stood up, padding silently away on dirty, bare feet.
As Tex was giving the basket of forks a quick sift for anything unexpected, she popped back into the bar and warned him, “Some of the people are going to be bad. Listen through your nose!”
Then she vanished again.
Chapter 3
Shifting Sands was everything the brochure promised, Laura thought, looking down at it from the entrance.