Chapter 4
Jennalee managed in the next few hours to view a string of Sutherlands who looked decidedly unpromising, all with male children, preppy and scrubbed. One boy had noticed her as he stumbled from the car, but he appeared no more than fifteen. Still, Jennalee was drawn and uncrossed her legs when he dropped to tie a shoe which remained untied as he looked up her skirt and stumbled again. “For God’s sake, Kendall,” the father yelled, “tie your shoe!”
“Jennalee!” She let her father call several times before she went inside, where he asked her to show a Sutherland family to rooms fifty and fifty-one. “At the foot of the hill,” he told the man. “Very nice, very quiet.”
“And you’ve put the extra bed into the double.”
Gerald checked his register. “Ah, I don’t see that on the reservation.”
“Well, you do see three boys here, don’t you?” bellowed the man. “We’re not having them sleep together. My wife specified an extra bed in the double room.”
Phyllis Sutherland stood with her young sons, the smallest holding her hand while his free hand clutched his crotch. “Stop that,” Phyllis said, jerking the boy’s arm. He seemed puzzled until she added, “Stop holding yourself.”
The father—Noel Sutherland, he had announced as he initially strode to the desk—observed this apparently familiar ritual without comment. “You did ask for the bed,” he told his wife, who nodded. The older boys, who Jennalee guessed ten or eleven, remained at attention, avoiding their father’s broad gaze.
“There, you see,” Noel Sutherland said to Gerald.
“Jennalee, tell Wesley to put a rollaway bed in number fifty-one right away.”
“Fine,” Jennalee said.
He’ll probably pee his pants if I talk to him, she was about to add when Noel Sutherland’s right arm swept a wide arc and caught the smallest boy with a strong backhand. “She said to stop it!” he roared and Jennalee waited for the cry, surprised when the boy did no more than suck in a breath as a red welt rose on his cheek. “Lead the way,” Noel said and Jennalee started out, Sutherlands behind her like a string of ducklings.
Fifty and fifty-one were the first two rooms in Building Eight at the far edge of the compound. Malvern Gardens had eleven tile-roofed buildings on its eight acres: seven two-levels, two single-story, the main building, and what they called The Hall which contained the Oak Room, ballroom-sized, and the smaller Pine and Spruce Rooms. The main building, an imposing two-story with a cathedral-ceiling lobby, housed two suites and four rooms plus the office, supply room, kitchen, and the Preece’s living quarters. Jennalee hated that, too. She’d whined about it on first sight, asking to have a room at the furthest edge of the place, something Gerald Preece managed only to sputter about. Jane Preece had quietly told her daughter no and they’d taken up as planned in the apartment-sized quarters formerly occupied by Ralph and Dorothy Burkett. Jane worked a gradual redecoration while tending many other tasks, replacing ancient overstuffed furniture with pieces from the Pacific Heights house. Some of these, she had subsequently decided, looked out of place but they seemed to reassure Gerald, so she overlooked the culture clash that slapped her each time she made the transition from the Spanish-style lobby to the contemporary living area.
“Here you go,” Jennalee said, handing Noel Sutherland the key cards. She’d done no more than open the door and stand back.
“What time is the continental breakfast?” he asked as his family hurried inside.
Jennalee had no idea. “Seven,” she said.
“Until when?”
“Ten.”
He looked down at her tiny skirt before disappearing inside.
Back in the lobby Jennalee found clusters of Sutherlands hugging and squealing. She tried to sidestep them, planning to get her sunglasses from her room and hike up to the bluff, but her father spied her. “Jennalee, good. Show Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland to sixteen.”
“I have to get my sunglasses.”
“That can wait.” He handed her the key card.
She forced a long sigh. “The sun is blinding!” she wailed as she spun and walked away, key card in hand. Everett and Aldora Sutherland hurried to catch up. Across the compound she waited for them at the unlocked door. “Here you go,” she said, pushing the key into the elderly gentlemen’s hand.
“Thank you, young lady,” he said and she caught a wave of aged breath.
“No problem.” She squinted as she walked away. She was devising a plan to get her sunglasses without being seen when she heard the distinctive roar of motorcycles and ran toward the courtyard, hoping some biker gang was crashing this potentially mind-numbing weekend.