Out of This World Read Online Free PDF Page B

I’m Axel.”
    When we both looked at him blankly, he said, “Expedition leader here at Hideaway.”
    Kellan introduced himself while I chewed on the fact that I was “the boss.”
    â€œDid you know Rachel was coming up here today?” Kellan asked Axel.
    He shook his head. “Nah. When Gertrude’s attorney sent us the money she left us, he told us about her, that’s all. Said she was L.A. all the way, an artist, who’d be showing up eventually to see what’s what and then heading back to her murals in the city.”
    I didn’t catch much of what he said after “the money she left us,” and I shook my head. “Wait. So you got something in the will?” I hadn’t even seen the will; I’d only spoken to the attorney on the phone.
    â€œWell, of course,” Axel said. “I’m going to take a nice vacation. Somewhere warm, of course. I’m thinking Virgin Islands. Maybe the Caymans, depending on the surf reports, you know?”
    Did I know? No, I didn’t know. I knew nothing. In fact, I knew less than nothing.
    â€œOh, and dudette, now that you’re here,” Axel went on, “you’ve got some back wages to pay.”
    â€œBut, what if I’d never shown up?” I asked, overwhelmed.
    â€œWell, of course you were going to show up.” He smiled that smile that normally I’d consider contagious and return full force, but I couldn’t smile back right now because anxiety was gripping me.
    â€œYou’re Gert’s niece, aren’t you?” He chuckled, and the long tassels on his beanie swayed back and forth. “Probably just as organized and anal as she was, right?”
    I smiled weakly. If he only knew…“I’ve been calling”—I tried to sound as if I was in control, when I was so not—“but I couldn’t get through.”
    â€œYeah. We lost the phone a while back.”
    â€œWe?”
    â€œMarilee’s here somewhere, too. She’s the cook and housekeeper. You owe her some back wages as well.”
    This just got better and better, didn’t it?
    â€œWe just heard her shut a door upstairs,” I said.
    â€œNope. She’s out back watering her flowers. As for getting a hold of us, you can text me on my cell, though I mostly don’t have any reception up here.” He patted his pocket, found it empty, frowned, then patted another pocket.
    And yet another.
    Still came up empty, not that he looked too troubled. “I had the thing earlier,” he murmured. His tassels hit him in the face as he bent, slapping at his pants.
    â€œI also sent an e-mail,” I said.
    â€œYeah, not so good with the computer, dudette. Sorry.” Giving up on finding his cell, he turned away to grab a steaming mug off the counter.
    â€œIf there’s no phone, and no one is manning the Web site, how do potential guests make reservations?” I asked.
    He blinked, then scratched his head, as he sipped at his drink. “Dunno. Gertrude used to do that.”
    The woman had been buried for three weeks. A really bad feeling began to work its way through my system. “So no one’s been handling the business since she—”
    â€œWell, I keep meaning to find that phone…”
    Three weeks with no income, and yet the staff had been working. That seemed like unnecessary out-of-pocket expenses to me.
    My pocket.
    â€œWell,” Axel said, heading for the door, “time for my nooner.”
    I had no idea what he meant, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. “But it’s past noon,” I said, looking at the small cuckoo clock on the counter. “It’s nearly four o’clock.”
    Not seeming too concerned—and I had my doubts that he could get concerned about anything, even if his life depended on it—he shrugged. “You know what they say,” he said in that slow voice. “Better late than