Checking Inn (6 page)

I look from him, to Maggie, to the front door and I’m not sure how to proceed.

“Do you need help?” he asks in an off-handed tone.

“No,” I say.  

Honestly, I run a sort-of successful Inn (minus the death today). 
 
I think I can manage to get one dog into a house.

Right, I can do this.  I took the course.  I read the “Bringing Out The True Potential In Your Canine” book.  Twice.  It’s all about authority.

“Maggie,” I say and feel a surge of encouragement when she turns to look at me.  “Here,” I point to the spot beside me.

The damn dog just blinks.

“Maggie,” I say in a more threatening tone.  “Here!”

She yawns and moves Detective Gable’s hand with her head, asking him to pet her.

“Right,” I say, stepping towards her while attempting to grab her collar.

She takes this as an indication that our previous game is back on and leaps away, doing a mad dash to the tree and back.  I want to scream in frustration but instead force a laugh in the Detective’s direction.  “It’s a game we play.  It’s stupid really,” I say.

Honestly, this dog is going to be the death of me.

“Looks like fun,” he says grinning from the dog to me.  “Though we really should get back to the Inn.”

“Right, of course,” I say, looking around for inspiration.  I take a deep breath and pick up a stick.  It’s my last hope.  “Maggie, what’s this?”

I wiggle the stick and she follows it with her eyes.

“Do you want the stick?” I say, and her tail wags energetically, which I take as a yes. 
 
“Okay, come get it!”

I run towards the front door and can hear her excited feet running behind me. 
 
I race up the steps, two at a time, and reach for the doorknob– turning it while putting my full force into opening the door. 
 
The door, however, doesn’t budge, and I rebound off it like a yoyo, falling into a heap on the front steps. 

Putting my hands to the ground, I gently try taking my weight off my rear end. 
 
I get a slobbery kiss on my face before Maggie takes the stick out of my hand, and runs back to the front yard.

I can hear the roaring laughter coming from Detective Gable and turn to see him bent over petting the dog. He ruffles the top of her head before coming up the walkway, up the front steps, and opening my front door.

“Here,” he commands, and Maggie joyfully prances over to him and through the doorway to sit in the front hallway, looking at him in wonderment. 

“You should probably lock this,” he says as he closes the door and walks back down the path.

My injured pride, and bottom end, choose not to reply to his advice as I get up off the floor and lock the door.

I dust off the specks of dirt from my clipboard, before coming around the passenger side of the black SUV. 

Detective Gable is already sitting behind the steering wheel, so I open my own door. 
 
I stop and stare at the interior of his car. 
 
It is
 
full
 
of junk. 
 
There are papers scattered all over the floor. Coffee cups fill every cup holder in sight. 
 
His back seat is piled with clothes and boxes of files. 
 
I can’t even bring myself to picture the trunk.

“You know, I think I’ll just walk,” I say.

“It will be easier if we go together. 
 
Don’t you think you should be there when I check in? 
 
In case the employees have any questions?” he asks, raising one of his eyebrows.

In theory, he’s right. 
 
But in actuality, I am not sure I can get into the car no matter how logical his arguments are.

“Is there a problem?” he asks, probably because I continue to hesitate.

I take a deep breath and clutch my clipboard tightly to my chest. 
 
This is the longest day of my life.

Carefully getting in so my feet don’t trample on any of the papers on the floor, I put my seatbelt on and sit up straight with my elbows tucked in.

“The department is willing to reimburse you for the room,” he says as he pulls out of the driveway.

“That’s not necessary, Detective Gable,” I say and fight to not lean to the side when the car turns.

“You should call me Ben,” he says while running a yellow light at the end of the street. 
 
“It would kind of defeat the purpose of being undercover if you are referring to me as ‘Detective’,” he points out, and I cling to the seat as we go a little too fast over a speed bump.

“Right, sure,” I say, and my hand instinctively reaches out to stop the files that he has resting on the dashboard from falling onto my lap.

“We have to instruct the employees that know what’s going on to treat me the same way they would any other guest,” he says.

“Absolutely,” I say. 
 
I’m not even sure what I’m agreeing to right now. I can’t stop looking at the drips of coffee coming out the top of one of his cups, inching their way to the cup holder ring.

“I spoke to Suzanne and she understands the importance of not talking to anyone about what she knows,” he says. 
 
“She mentioned that you know a lot about the town and keep an eye on who’s coming and going. 
 
I would like to sit down with you tomorrow and see if you can come up with a list for us to work with.”

“Great.” 
 
The drip has now gone into the cup holder.

“Would tomorrow afternoon work?” he asks.

“Sure.” 
 
It’s not just about the stickiness the coffee is going to leave in the cup holder. 
 
It’s about the car’s integrity being compromised. 
 
I mean, if a car was meant to have liquid sloshing around in it, it would be a boat.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, causing my eyes to leave the cup and look into his searching gaze.

“What? No. Nothing,” I say and sigh when we make the last turn into the Inn’s parking lot. 
 
“Oh good, we’re here.” 

My seat belt is off and I am out of the car before Ben puts it in park.

Honestly, I am having a shot of tequila when I get inside, and there is nothing anyone can say to stop me.

Ben comes around to the trunk and opens it. 
 
It’s worse than the inside. 
 
So much worse. 
 
Thank God I didn’t see it before I got in.

“You go in first and I will bring my case in,” he says. 
 
“Just in case anyone is in the reception area.”

I nod in agreement.
 
 I’m not sure my feet have ever wanted to get away from something so badly before. 
 
My blister is even telling them to hurry up.

I walk through the front door, straight to the reception desk, and collapse in the chair.

The pens are neatly lined up, just as I left them, and I lower my head to the desk in relief.

The shrill ring of the desk’s bell makes me jump a few moments later, and I look up to see Ben’s face.

“Checking in,” he says, turning my business cards, obviously pretending to read them.

I reach up to straighten them and hand him a new guest registration form attached to a clipboard. 

“Thank you for choosing the Summerside Inn. 
 
If you could just fill out the form below,” I say, handing him a black ball point pen.

Ben smiles and signs the form, before putting the pen back in one of the jars.  My eyes narrow slightly as I remove the pen and put it back in the jar I picked it up from.  His eyes take in the labels on the jars where I have sorted them depending on the color of ink.

“So, is there a meal schedule or do we fly by the seat of our pants?”  I can hear the teasing tone in his voice. Like I would ever let my pants fly.

“There is a detailed agenda in your room,” I reply.  Honestly, I know that some people think I’m a little…
particular
, but I have to be.  Otherwise nothing would get done and everything would fall apart. 

I watch as his face becomes more serious when Mr. Patterson comes through the front door muttering about something.  He hands the form back to me with his messy writing scrawled all over it.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”  Coming round the large walnut reception desk I bend to pick up his suitcase. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, grabbing my arm.

The firm grip sends warm shivers up my body but I quickly ignore them.  Honestly, I’m all over the place today.  “I’m carrying your luggage to your room.”

“I think I can manage,” he says, politely refusing my assistance.

“It is the Inn’s policy to show guests to their rooms, as well as carry their luggage,” I argue.

“So, you can do it for the other guests,” he argues.  “That’s too heavy for you to carry.”

The argument makes me bristle with anger and I reach down and heave the suitcase off the ground.  Honestly, he may have been able to tell my dog what to do, but if he thinks he is going to boss me around while he’s here…

“You are supposed to be just like any other guest,” I lower my voice so Mr. Patterson won’t hear me.  “People will think it’s odd if I don’t carry it for you.”

Ben looks around the room before frowning, “What people?”

Okay, so there isn’t anyone around right now, but you never know what could happen.  I mean, did I expect to have a dead body in my Inn this morning or be helping an undercover detective solve the crime while he stays at the Inn?  No.  But I’m adapting.  Honestly, some people are so inflexible.

The bag is heavy, but I manage it, and I don’t appreciate his lack of confidence in my abilities.  Policy is policy, and I am nothing if not a stickler for the rules.          

“See?” I say with a forced smile on my face.  “Now if you will just follow me.”

I give it my best effort to not strain my walk from the heavy load in my hands, but I can feel my balance is slightly off.  Ignoring Ben’s observance of my struggle, I lead him out of the reception area.

“The library is across the hall, and through those double doors is the morning room and dining room,” I say, pointing to the large French doors that are closed while the staff prepare for dinner.  “The lounge’s entrance is tucked behind the staircase, which has access to the back porch and gardens.”

I stop at the oak staircase to make sure he has had a moment to process where everything is, though my arm holding the suitcase screams in protest, willing me to continue up the staircase.  What does he have in this thing, bricks?

I watch as Ben observes the hand carved woodwork on the walls, which cost us a small fortune to restore.  The practical, yet inviting fabrics on the arm chairs in the hallway were my personal choice and I admire the soft rose-patterned fabric.

Ben finally turns to look at me and I see the impressed look on his face.

“I didn’t really have time to appreciate it earlier, but you did a great job restoring this place.  I used to drive past it sometimes on my way into the city.  I’m just amazed you got someone to agree to do it,” he says.

“You just have to know how to ask nicely,” I say, “and it only took three years to accomplish.  In fact, I had a ten year plan for it, so I’m actually ahead of schedule.”

“I’m sure you can be very persuasive,” he says, looking at me from the corner of his eye.    

“Hard work, dedication, and a little persistent nagging,” I lightly joke.

The low rumble of his laugh makes me aware that I have somehow become relaxed in his presence and I quickly straighten my back.  It’s not very professional to stand in the hall like this.

Seeming to notice my withdrawal, Ben indicates the stairs.  “Ladies first.”

I start up the stairs, lugging the heavy suitcase at my side, but my hand encounters a nail head sticking out on the banister rail and I suddenly stop.  Making a mental note to get the Mr. Patterson to fix it, I start up the stairs again, but, momentarily distracted, I forget the heavy weight of the suitcase.  The edge of the bag catches on the step’s edge, and the force causes me to fall forwards.  Before my face hits the step, though, I’m suddenly halted by a strong arm wrapped around my middle.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to stop suddenly on stairs,” Ben lightly admonishes.  The feel of his iron hard body against my back is reassuring, and for a guy that is so disheveled he smells like fresh soap.         

“There’s a nail head sticking out on the banister,” I explain, my eyes seeking out the dark silver mark.

“Hmm...” Ben nods, looking at where my fingers are touching the banister.  “In any case, I better take my suitcase the rest of the way.  I don’t want you accidently falling again and crushing my stuff,” he jokes.

I’m not laughing as I lift my chin in the air and stride up the stairs.  Crushing his stuff… if anything broke it would have been 
my
 neck from his rock collection in that case.

“This is your room,” I say, stopping outside the first door on the right.  Obviously he knows where the room is, but I’ve come this far with the pretense and it seems only right to finish it properly.  “Your agenda is on the side table and dinner is in a few hours.”  I extend my hand to give Ben the key, his fingers grazing my outstretched palm.

“Thank you, Ms. Foster.  You’ve been a very gracious guide,” he says.  His touch is doing irregular things to my pulse.  Which is silly.  Obviously I’m not thinking straight today.