At eight I went down the hall to the linen closet and heard Gemma in the stair alcove.

Her voice was low, but the house carries sound from there.

“No, ten passengers maximum.

That’s the whole point.

If there are eleven, the insurance won’t cover it.”

I stopped with my hand on the closet door.

“Gemma,” I said.

She turned, phone still at her ear, and ended the call with her thumb.