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“CHARLOTTE! COME TO my office right now,” said Shane’s terse voice when Charlotte picked up her phone. He hung up before she could respond.
“What is it?” she asked, when she stepped through his doorway.
“Close the door behind you and sit down.”
She did as she was told, sensing that, for a change, Shane was upset but not at her.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Haven’t you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“You haven’t heard about what happened at Mistletoe Manor?”
“No...” she said. It occurred to her then that her mother, Alfredo, Brinley, and six or seven other friends from high school had left her dozens of voicemail and text messages over the past twenty-four hours, none of which she’d viewed or responded to, because she and Ensar were too enraptured in their ‘American Snow Day’—which ended up meaning not even leaving the apartment—for her to bother with other people. She’d assumed everyone was bored from being trapped inside, but now she realized that they may all have been trying to communicate something with her.
“There was a mass murder there.”
“What? A mass murder? Are you sure? At our little Mistletoe Manor?”
“Yes! Charlotte, you really need to watch the news more. Your generation makes me sick. No offense.”
“This can’t be right,” said Charlotte. “Nothing ever happens here in Windy Pines. There must be some mistake.”
“There’s no mistake,” said Shane.
“Who died? Are the people who work at Mistletoe Manor okay? What happened? How many people died?” Charlotte stood up, and then sat back down. She felt an overpowering need to call her mother.
“Do I look like Dan Rather? How should I know what happened? Google it! Most importantly,” said Shane, “this means we’re going to need to find a new place to hold our Christmas party since Mistletoe Manor is closed until further notice.”
“But the party’s on Saturday! There’s no way we can find a new venue. Should we postpone the party?” As soon as she said it, Charlotte thought of the logistical nightmare of rescheduling all the models and other performers who were due to arrive in from New York on Saturday morning, and who all had rooms booked at the hotel up on the highway for Saturday night.
“The O’Leerys want to be there, and they have plans to travel again soon. The party needs to happen on Saturday.”
“Okay,” said Charlotte.
“You’ll figure it out,” said Shane.
“The only thing I can think of is that we’ll have to have it here in the breakroom. I don’t know what I’m going to do about food, though.
“Bitsy and Bob’s personal chef can help you out. I’ll have Bitsy give you a call about it,” said Shane.
“Okay, thank you,” said Charlotte.
Shane nodded. “At least there’s still cheesecake coming,” he said. “You’re excused. Close the door after you.”