I handed him the access passes Isabel provided.
He studied them.
Then looked toward his device.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Finally, he returned the passes.
“Thank you.”
I smiled.
“Is everything all right?”
He hesitated.
“Yes, ma'am.”
Then he walked away.
I frowned.
It was unusual to be checked after passing the normal access point, but not necessarily improper. Resorts sometimes verified wristbands or guest credentials in restricted areas.
I didn't think much of it.
Then, ten minutes later, another guard approached.
This one was older.
He asked to see our credentials again.
I handed them over.
He examined the passes.
Then frowned.
“Where did you obtain these?”
I looked surprised.
“At the reception desk.”
He nodded slowly.
“Who issued them?”
“I believe her name was Isabel.”
He looked toward a radio clipped to his shoulder.
Then toward me.
For a moment, he seemed uncertain.
Finally, he returned the passes.
“Thank you.”
I studied him.
“Is there a problem with the authorization?”
He hesitated.
“Management requested verification.”
I nodded.
“Has the verification been completed?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Then I'd appreciate not being interrupted repeatedly while spending time with my son.”
His face flushed.
“Understood.”
He walked away.
I watched him go.
For a moment, my professional instincts stirred.
One credential check could be routine.
Two checks within minutes, despite valid passes, suggested a problem in the resort's procedures.
Still, I didn't want to jump to conclusions.
I took a sip of sparkling water.
Then returned my attention to Noah.
He was looking toward the water.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Why do they keep asking if we can be here?”
I felt my stomach tighten.
I looked toward him.
For several seconds, I considered how to answer.
Then I smiled gently.
“Sometimes people make mistakes. They should correct them when they find out.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
Then he pointed toward the children's pool.
“Can I go back after my popsicle?”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
That was when Graham Bellamy approached.
His shoes clicked against the stone.
He stopped beside our chairs, smiling with the polished confidence of a man who believed the entire resort existed to reinforce his importance.
“Good afternoon.”
I looked up.
“Hello.”
He glanced toward Noah.
Then toward my handbag.
“I'm Graham Bellamy, director of resort operations.”
I nodded.
“Simone Carter.”
For a fraction of a second, his eyes sharpened.
Then he smiled.
“Yes. I've been informed.”
I studied him.
He continued.
“I'm afraid there's been some confusion regarding access to this section.”
I looked toward the passes.
“The reception desk confirmed our reservation.”
He nodded.