“Nine-one-one?” Esther’s voice on the other end of the line was partly asleep and partly pissed off. “At seven-fifteen on a Saturday?”
“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t been up since five-thirty.” Stacey had been, trying to arrange her body into strange animal-named positions that her limbs didn’t seem to like. She hadn’t been able to sleep well after Fisher’s final text last night.
“I haven’t,” Esther said, though the words carried the hint of a lie. “I hired a weekend manager, remember?”
Stacey had not remembered that. “Sorry,” she said. “I have a little…situation I need help with.”
Shifting came through the line, almost like Esther was moving blankets and sheets to the side. Perhaps she really was still in bed. “The help of the whole Beach Club?”
I’ve always had a huge thing for redhe
