Concierge Confessions

by Valerie Wilcox

  Jack came in a few minutes later and greeted me cheerfully. “Ready to rock and roll?” He grabbed a thermos off the counter. “I don’t usually get up this early, but a little caffeine for the road and I’ll be okay. How’d you sleep?”

  “Fine, fine,” I said, heading for the door. “Let’s go.”

  I hoped it was too early for Tom Lamont’s shift to start. He’d seemed surprised to see me with Jack yesterday. I could only imagine what he’d think if he saw me again this morning looking like…well, like I’d spent the night doing you know what. Awkward. I don’t know why it mattered what BellaVilla’s former guard thought, but it did. I breathed a sigh of relief when we got to the lobby and there was an empty chair at the security desk. But my clean getaway was cut short when we met Tom entering the building just as we reached the lobby’s front door. I felt like a teenager who’d been caught out after curfew.

  “Good morning!” he said cheerfully as he held the door open for us.

  “Mornin’,” Jack mumbled, ushering me through the entry with a guiding hand at my back.

  Tom followed us outside. “Good seeing you again, Kate. Be sure to tell everyone at BellaVilla hello for me.”

  “Sure,” I said, with a quick good-bye wave.

  Tom didn’t get the good-bye part. “Hey,” he said, trailing closely behind us. “That reminds me. Did Sam get back from his trip yet?”

  “No time to chat, kid,” Jack said, stepping up the pace. “We’re running late.”

  “Right, right,” Tom said, backing off. “Tell Sam to call me,” he shouted after us.

  Jack shook his head and grumbled, “And you claim that kid’s a great communicator! Why the hell doesn’t he pick up the phone and call Sam himself? Or, better yet, text the guy. Isn’t that how kids keep in touch these days?”

  “Not just kids.”

  “You text?”

  “And I tweet, too.”

  “How ’bout sexting? You into that?”

  “Hardly.”

  “No? Well, now. I’d be happy to give you a few lessons.”

  “Tempting offer, but luckily I don’t have a cell phone anymore.”

  CONFESSION #22

  If you have a job without any aggravations, you’re not a concierge.

  I asked Jack to drop me off a block from the BellaVilla complex so I could walk the rest of the way to work. I didn’t want to be seen getting out of his squad car. There were too many rumors about me floating around already. Arriving to work via police escort didn’t seem the best way to squelch further speculation. Jack said my request felt like old times. Whenever we took Erin to school, she’d have us stop a block away from the building. She claimed she needed the exercise, but we knew the score. The old clunker we drove at that time wasn’t teenager-approved. Being seen in the car—and with us—was a social faux pas to be avoided at all costs.

  “No offense,” I told Jack as I exited the car. “But you aren’t good for my reputation.”

  He laughed. “That’s what your father said back in the day.”

  “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “Dating a cop isn’t much of an improvement.”

  “If you’d date someone your own age, you wouldn’t have to deal with disapproving fathers.”

  “Are you volunteering?”

  I slammed the door shut and walked away at a rapid clip. I set myself up for that one, and predictably, Jack wouldn’t let it go. He drove alongside the curb, matching my stride.

  “Face it, Katie,” he called through the open window. “You want me.”

  I looked straight ahead, squared my shoulders, and stepped up my brisk pace to warp speed. Ignoring his taunt would have been more effective if my face hadn’t been so red. The warm feelings that had surfaced for Jack the previous night embarrassed me now in the clear light of day. The worst part was the feelings were still there. I shook my head, unwilling to admit I’d let myself fall for him again.

  The gesture was not lost on Jack. “Deny it all you want,” he said. “But your face says yes.” He laughed as he gunned the engine and sped away.

  I was out of breath when I arrived at BellaVilla, but I’d be hard-pressed to say whether it was due to the vigorous walk or the emotional confusion that had gripped me. The security guard who’d taken over Tom’s position greeted me at the door. If he registered my discomfort or battered face, he wisely didn’t comment. Ben was in his late sixties and had been retired before going back to work to make ends meet. He said he felt lucky to get hired even part-time at his age. Welcome to my world.

  “Hi, Ben,” I said when I caught my breath. “How was your shift?” He was a big man who seemed betrayed by his aging body. Despite the air conditioning, sweat dripped off the fleshy folds that framed his round, ruddy face.

  He mopped his brow with a handkerchief that he pulled from his regulation blazer. “Quiet night.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “We like quiet.”

  Ben chuckled as he gathered up his lunchbox and thermos. “Not as much as we like having you back. Bill Matthews, in particular.” Ben handed me a handwritten note. “He said to give this to you when you got here.”

  I wondered why Billy would take the time to write a message the old-fashioned way when e-mail was so much faster. No expense had been spared for the state-of-the-art security cameras and computers at BellaVilla. Nevertheless, it was possible to get around our password system if you knew what you were doing—or if you were Peter and had administrator access. Billy must have intended his note for my eyes only. But when I read the two-sentence missive, I didn’t understand why.

  Kate,

  Call me today when you get a chance. I need to talk to you about something important.

  Bill

  I had no opportunity to call him during my shift. It was one of those days when everything went wrong in rapid succession. First up was a resident on the tenth floor who reported a water leak. I sent Moze to check out the problem and he came back after a few minutes with the bad news. Someone had left a kitchen faucet running in a unit on the fourteenth floor before leaving town. The resident had been gone for a month and the water eventually soaked through to several of the units below. Except for the person who reported the problem, none of the other residents in the affected units were home. I had to track down each of them and explain the situation. Not a pleasant task.

  My calls to the residents were interrupted when I had to contact the elevator repairman. One of the elevators inexplicably stopped between floors with two guests trapped inside. They called the concierge desk on the cab’s emergency phone and I quickly relayed the problem to the Otis Elevator Company. Unfortunately, one of the guests had a severe panic attack while waiting for rescue. I could see her on the security camera and determined that medical assistance was warranted. The medics arrived shortly before the repairman and had to make do with assisting her via the intercom system. By the time the repairman got the elevator working again, the medics had calmed the woman down. Still, they took her to the hospital as a precaution.

  BellaVilla’s parking garage was a secure facility. Not that day. A half-dozen vehicles were targets of a smash-and-grab operation that caused a major uproar. Never mind murder—damage to a Lexus or Mercedes? Now we’re talking real tragedy. My role was limited to consoling the victims and advising them to report the break-ins to the police, but the effort was time-consuming, mostly because I was convenient. Concierge is another name for scapegoat. When you can’t yell at management about the lack of security, yell at the concierge.

  When Peter eventually showed up, the day’s furor had died down considerably. I felt rather proud of the way I’d handled the emergencies while still managing to keep up with the usual routine. Peter didn’t see it that way. “I’ve had several disturbing calls today,” he said, frowning.

  “Not to worry. Everything is under control now.”

  His nervous twitch signaled his disbelief loud and clear. “I’ll be the judge of that.”


  “Suit yourself,” I said, pointedly checking my watch. “But my job here is done.” I winced as soon as the words flew out of my mouth. Considering how iffy he regarded my continued employment, I could have chosen a better expression.

  “Speaking of which,” Peter said. “Where have you been the last two days?”

  Lying doesn’t come easily to me and the excuse I’d concocted was a whopper. Billy had accepted it readily enough, but Peter’s question suggested he wasn’t convinced. It was too late in the game to come clean now so I pushed on with the charade. “Didn’t Bill Matthews tell you? I’ve been at the Cascade Charity Auction.”

  His beady eyes lingered on my damaged face. “Rough crowd?”

  “Rough flooring. I caught my heel and fell.” I’d latched on to this explanation whenever asked about my battered look. No one ever questioned me further. They’d seen me in high heels. Not exactly steady as she goes.

  “Be that as it may, I should have been consulted first.”

  I breathed a relieved sigh. This tête–à–tête concerned nothing more than a bruised ego. “It was a last-minute thing,” I explained. “Danielle Livingston called Bill and requested my help.”

  “So he said.”

  I looked at my watch again. “If there’s nothing more, I need to get going.” I nodded to Fiona, the newly hired concierge who’d arrived for the three o’clock shift. She wasn’t much older than Carla, but she’d worked as concierge before at a boutique hotel. A freckle-faced redhead with an Irish accent, Fiona looked more like me than my own daughter. We bonded immediately. After Marcus’s death, Peter transferred Carla to the other tower and assigned Fiona to this tower. It was a great arrangement as far as I was concerned. “Fiona’s here now,” I said, retrieving my handbag from the desk. Peter didn’t take the hint.

  “Have you talked to Bill today?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Peter lowered his voice. “Have you heard about what happened?”

  The concierge is usually the first to hear any scuttlebutt, but I hadn’t had time to chat with anyone that day. I hadn’t seen Sam at all and Moze was too busy dealing with the water leak to stop by the desk for a gabfest. “I’ve been a little preoccupied today. What’s up?”

  Peter never confided in me about anything, but there was a conspiratorial gleam in his eye as he pulled me aside. Once out of Fiona’s earshot, he said, “Bill Matthews has been fired.”

  “What?” This didn’t make any sense. Billy’s uncle owned the property management company that serviced BellaVilla. If any job was safe, I’d have thought it was Billy’s.

  “It’s true,” Peter said, smiling. “And what’s more, the HOA board is considering another management company to take over operations here.”

  He seemed pleased by the news, which gave me an uneasy feeling in my gut. “Was it because of the murders?”

  Peter nodded. “Of course, but Bill didn’t help matters.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t do his job. A facility manager involves a lot more than showing up once in a while to make sure the building is still standing.”

  I knew what was coming next and Peter didn’t disappoint.

  “I was a facility manager at a luxury condominium ten times bigger than this. I know what it takes to run a successful operation. I should’ve had Bill’s job in the first place.”

  “Now’s your chance,” I said. “Have they posted the position yet?”

  Peter’s twitch started up again. “Not yet,” he said, frowning. “But I’m a shoo-in when they do.”

  Somehow I managed not to gag. “Well, good luck,” I said. It wasn’t the sincerest response on record, but it was all I could muster. I could just imagine Moze and Sam’s reaction. Peter as BellaVilla’s facility manager? Please. I didn’t know what this development meant for my job, but I wasn’t about to ask. “I’ve really got to leave now. I have an appointment.” Truth stretching was becoming second nature.

  “Don’t forget our meeting on Friday,” Peter reminded me.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, hurrying to the door.

  Jack had offered to pick me up after work, but I’d nixed the idea. “I can afford a taxi,” I’d told him. I was anxious to get home and clean up the mess without him hovering nearby. Even though he waited in the car while I showered and dressed that morning, it was unnerving having him around. He still didn’t think it was safe for me to return on my own, but I insisted I’d be all right. He’d already had the jimmied lock repaired and I knew how to bolt myself in.

  I also had a gun. I checked on it this morning while Jack waited for me outside. Despite the break-in, my Colt .45 was still hidden where I’d stashed it. I neglected to mention this fact to Jack. It would have alarmed him unnecessarily, especially since I’m a terrible shot. He’d spent many hours on the shooting range with me over the years, but I was a hopeless case. “You shouldn’t get anywhere near a weapon,” he’d said at the time. I was sure his assessment hadn’t changed. Neither had my skill, but I felt safer with the Colt nearby.

  Once outside the lobby, it dawned on me that I hadn’t arranged for a taxi pickup. Peter’s uncharacteristic confidence sharing had caught me so off guard that I’d forgotten to make the call. Since I hadn’t replaced my cell phone yet, I had no choice but to go back inside and use the desk phone. When I saw that Peter was still in the lobby, I hesitated. He was talking to Fiona. Lecturing her would be more accurate. I’d warned her about him, but no words could adequately describe his puffed-up view of himself or his ultra-micromanaging style.

  “Hey, Kate. Need a ride?” Sam stopped the town car next to the curb where I stood.

  “Aren’t you on duty?” The town car was strictly for resident use only, but Sam often played loose with the rules.

  “I have to take the rig in for some servicing. I can drop you off anywhere you want on the way.”

  “Great,” I said, climbing into the backseat. The town car was a top of the line luxury vehicle with tinted windows and all the extras. It even smelled rich. BellaVilla residents expected no less. I felt like a movie star as I settled into the comfy dark leather seat. I was tempted to raid the minibar, but that would be one broken rule too many.

  I gave Sam directions to my home in Woodinville and then asked if I could borrow his cell phone. My conversation with Peter had put Billy’s brief note into perspective. I figured he wanted to tell me about his firing before the official statement came out. Bad news in the corporate world was often delivered in a generic e-mail to all employees. The standard announcement from management usually went something like: “It is with regret that we announce the departure of so and so. We appreciate his service and wish him well in his new endeavors.” Billy apparently felt close enough to me that he wanted to deliver the news personally.

  He answered his phone on the first ring and I quickly apologized for taking so long to get back to him.

  “No worries,” he said. “Glad to have you back on duty. Real glad!” He spent a few minutes relating the difficulties he’d had while holding down the fort.

  “Some days are like that,” I said. “But I have to admit concierge work suits me well. I like it as much as engineering.”

  He brought up the charity event that Danielle told him had been a big success, thanks to my help. I made no comment except for a few “Uh-huhs” here and there. I’d done enough fibbing for the day.

  I figured he’d eventually dispense with the pleasantries and get around to the real purpose of our conversation. A few moments later he said, “I suppose you’ve heard the news about me by now.”

  “Yes, I’m so sorry.”

  Awkward pause. “Sorry?”

  “I’ve been down that same road. It’s a painful setback, but things usually have a way of working out for the best.”

  Another long pause. “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, you know—your firing.”

  He burst out laughing. “That’s a real k
nee-slapper.”

  People react to shocking news in different ways. I hadn’t figured Billy for the hysterical type, but his inappropriate laughter said otherwise. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I don’t know where you got the idea I’d been fired, but the truth is I’ve been promoted. My uncle is retiring and I’m now the new CEO of our property management company.”

  “That’s fantastic! Congratulations, Bill.”

  “Thanks. Now, here’s what I really wanted to talk to you about. How would you like to take over as facility manager at BellaVilla? Your engineering background would make you a perfect fit for the job.”

  The BellaVilla Bulletin

  Dear Residents,

  As you may have noticed, we now have a new concierge on duty at the front desk. Fiona O’Toole is a former concierge at one of the finest hotels in Seattle and comes to us highly recommended. It was my pleasure to interview her and offer her the opportunity to serve you. She is an outstanding addition to our concierge staff. Please take a moment to stop by the desk, introduce yourself, and welcome Fiona to BellaVilla.

  Peter Westerfield, Lead Concierge

  MEMO

  To: Concierge Staff

  From: Peter Westerfield

  Subject: New Staff Member

  I have selected Ms. Fiona O’Toole as our new concierge. You are to accord her every courtesy and assistance possible as she begins work at BellaVilla. Fiona has extensive experience as concierge, so I fully expect her transition period to be short-lived. In fact, I am confident that you can learn a lot from her, particularly regarding effective customer service, which has been sorely lacking of late.

  CONFESSION #23

  If work is your identity, then a person with no job is invisible.

  Billy ended the call by asking me to think about the offer and get back to him as soon as possible. I didn’t know what to think. I was sincere when I told him that concierge work suited me. Despite everything that had happened—the difficulties with Carla, the residents who demanded the moon and all its cheese, Peter’s inflated ego, and even the fallout from the murders—I liked my new career. A lot.