No Offense - Meg Cabot Page 0,64

there, he also queried the Morettis about the availability of an apartment for the new children’s librarian. It was ridiculous for Molly to have to work two jobs just to afford to live in Little Bridge, and the Morettis were known as being conscientious landlords, who kept reasonably priced, if fairly small, apartments.

“Molly’s very quiet,” he assured them, though in actual fact he’d found Molly to be quite loud when expressing her opinions, which she did quite often. “And she works for the city, so her income is steady.”

This piqued Mrs. Moretti’s interest. She said they happened to have a tenant they were kicking out of one of their one-bedroom apartments at the end of the month. “Rent never on time, and the parties!” She shook her head in disgust.

“Why didn’t you call me?” John asked. Excessive noise without a permit was considered a breach of the peace in Little Bridge.

Mrs. Moretti shrugged. “Call you every night? What would be the point? Anyway, he’s leaving now. We can take your girlfriend.”

John felt himself blushing. “She’s not my girlfriend. Like I said, she’s the new children’s librarian, and since the hurricane, as you know, affordable housing has been very—”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Moretti laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “We know. She’s not your girlfriend, but you’re bringing her flowers. We understand very much.”

John, still blushing, had them wrap the daisies in plain brown paper—he didn’t want the bouquet to look too over the top—and left after thanking the Morettis profusely. By the time he arrived at the Lazy Parrot it was happy hour, and the guests who’d already checked in were lounging around the pool with margaritas and cocktail plates.

“Hey, sexy policeman,” one of the lady guests said to him as he walked by, looking for Molly, who hadn’t been at the front desk. “Are those flowers for me?”

“No,” John said flatly. “And I’m with the sheriff’s department, not the police. These flowers are for Molly Montgomery. Have you seen her?”

“Oh, John!”

He saw a woman wearing a florescent-green beach cover-up with matching flip-flops waving to him from across the pool and realized it was Joanne Larson, one of the Lazy Parrot’s owners. He approached her, grateful to be getting away from the woman who’d called him a sexy policeman.

“Hello, Joanne,” he said, when he reached her. “Molly texted for me to meet her.”

“Yes, I know.” Joanne was holding a tray of something beige smeared on cucumber rounds. “She told me. She’ll be right back. She’s helping a new guest with their luggage. Fish dip?”

John shook his head. He felt another spurt of irritation at the unfairness of the situation. A librarian shouldn’t need a side hustle just to afford her rent.

Of course, if he convinced Molly to leave her live-in job at the hotel and move in to the Morettis’ apartment, that would leave Joanne and Carl Larson shorthanded. The only solution he could see was to find them a new night manager. He wondered if Deputy Swanson, the officer who’d been so blithe about his tardiness in responding to the alarm at Mrs. Tifton’s house, would care for the position. He certainly wasn’t cutting it in law enforcement. Maybe his true calling was in hospitality.

“So Molly tells me you’re going to be dancing in the mother-daughter Snappettes performance,” Joanne said, helping herself to one of her own hors d’oeuvres.

John attempted to smile.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I’m really looking forward to it,” he lied.

“So am I,” Joanne said. “I’ve already bought tickets for Carl and myself, and all of our friends, too. We can’t wait to see it. It’s going to be a hoot and a half! Are you going to wear an actual Snappette uniform?”

“The, er, costume decisions aren’t up to me, so I’m not sure. I’m certain whatever it is will be very tasteful.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Joanne said. “We all want to see you in a Snappette uniform. That’s what we’re paying for, really.”

“Wait, what are we talking about?” one of the nearby guests wanted to know.

“He’s going to be dancing for charity with the high school cheerleading squad,” Joanne said, pointing at John.

“It’s a dance team,” John corrected her.

But no one cared. Everyone on the poolside deck was staring at him appraisingly, all of the ladies smiling, the men confused.

“In a dress?” one of the men asked, looking appalled, though he himself was holding a drink that contained a pink paper umbrella.

“Shirtless, I hope,” one of the ladies said, winking at John suggestively.

“Where can I get