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here.”
    “Yikes.” I glanced at the clock above the sink. “It’s not even noon, and you look too young to be hitting the bottle this early.”
    “It’s not for me.” She came into the kitchen. “Wow, it smells amazing in here.” Her hair frizzed in all directions. It looked like she’d stuck her hand in a light socket.
    “I’m Jules.” I held up my hand which was green from the basil.
    She held a tablet under her arm. “I’m Whitney, Lance’s new assistant.”
    “Right, we spoke on the phone. Nice to meet you in person.”
    “You, too.” Whitney scrolled through her tablet. “You’re the caterer?”
    “That’s me.”
    “Please tell me you have everything you need.”
    I looked at Sterling. “Yep. We’re all set. Why?”
    She didn’t look up from her tablet. “Everything is a mess. Everything. I just flew in from California last night. Now they’re predicting a snowstorm. Some of the board members are scared to drive up here, and have canceled. There’s no Wi-Fi. I have no idea how I’m going to get anything done without an Internet connection.” Her voice was breathless. She looked like she’d just arrived from California. Hopefully she’d packed warmer clothes. I couldn’t imagine traipsing around the resort in her outfit—skinny jeans, a peasant blouse, and a pair of pumps without socks. She had to be freezing.
    “Don’t stress,” I tried to reassure her as I continued to chop the fragrant herbs. “Everything seems great to me.”
    Sterling walked to the sink and washed his hands. “I’m originally from California, too. Where are you from?” I could tell he was trying to get Whitney to relax.
    “The Bay Area.” Whitney slid the tablet off. “Well, at least we’ll have food.” She looked up for a minute. “There’s not any alcohol hiding somewhere in here is there?”
    I shrugged. “Not that I know of, but you’re welcome to take a look around.”
    She ran her fingers through her hair, making it look even more disheveled. “I don’t know what to do. Lance is going to kill me.”
    Grabbing a red gingham towel from a hook, I wiped my hands on it. “Lance won’t kill you. He’s all bark and no bite, trust me.”
    “But we don’t have any alcohol.” She chomped on her fingernails. “Tony never ordered it and now he’s telling me that if we use what he has stocked here, he’s going to charge me double.”
    “That doesn’t seem right.” I looked at Sterling. He gave a nod of agreement.
    Whitney opened two cabinet doors and stood on her tiptoes. “I don’t know what else to do. We can’t have a weekend retreat without any alcohol.”
    She was probably right. Not that Lance or any of his board members were prone to getting drunk—I mean, maybe they were—but a cozy weekend at a remote mountain lodge really did pair perfectly with bottles of Oregon’s Pinot Noir and spiked after-dinner coffees.
    I started to tell her as much, but was interrupted by the sound of an argument in the dining hall.
    “Whatever, Mercury!” a man’s voice bellowed.
    “That’s him.” Whitney put her finger to her lips and pointed to the hallway. She mouthed the word “Tony.” Her petite frame and short statute made her look even younger than she was.
    We couldn’t hear Mercury’s response. Tony hollered back to whatever she said with, “What? Like you’re going to find another bartender up here? Good luck with that.”
    Had she just threatened to fire him? Yikes. No alcohol and no bartender weren’t exactly a great way to start the weekend.
    Tony huffed into the kitchen. He stopped mid-stride when he spotted us. I recognized his type immediately. Ashland may be a mecca for lovers of literature, but the surrounding areas of the southernmost part of the state are known for farming, hunting, and fishing. Tony looked like he would blend in with the outdoor crowd in his faded jeans with patches on the knee and work boots. A Budweiser T-shirt stretched across his belly, which