From across the room, Mr. Ross said, “What happens on your nights off, Miss Barlow?”
She was always Miss Barlow when he didn’t approve of what she was doing. Mr. Ross had walked in from the dining room and was making his way to Lucas with a smile of greeting. He was in his early sixties with neatly combed gray hair that would’ve given him a polished look if it hadn’t been for the scruff on his chin that never seemed to know whether it was becoming a beard or was just a temporary lapse in shaving. He usually wore button-down dress shirts to work, but today he’d added a suit coat and tie.
Mr. Ross held out his hand to Lucas. “How are you, Mr. Clark?”
Lucas shook it. “Fine. And yourself?”
“Good, good,” Mr. Ross said, too eager to please. “Where’s Ms. Marshall?”
Lucas glanced at his watch. “I’m a few minutes early. She’ll be here soon, I expect.”
Ms. Marshall? Who was she, and what were she and Lucas doing here?
Mr. Ross’s smile was still going full blast, showing rows of teeth that had been dimmed by a life of drinking too muchcoffee. “Did you see the inspector’s report? Not a thing wrong, just like I told you.”
The conversation didn’t make any sense. “The inn is under investigation?” Riley turned her attention to Mr. Ross. “What happens around here on my night off?”
Mr. Ross chuckled and shook his head. “Not that sort of inspector. A building inspector. Carson Clark made an offer on the place. I’m taking Lucas and his real estate agent on a tour while we discuss some details.”
“What?” Riley sputtered. All of the air squeezed from her lungs, and it took her several moments to process Mr. Ross’s words. She wanted to say, “You knew I planned on buying the inn. How could you do this to me?” But she couldn’t say those things in front of Lucas. She didn’t want him to witness her devastation.
She swallowed hard, gulping down her shock. “When were you going to tell me this?”
Mr. Ross tugged at his tie. “No point in saying anything until the deal was final.”
“It’s final?” she coughed out.
“Nearly.” Mr. Ross’s voice was upbeat and professional. “We’re still signing paperwork. Mr. Clark won’t be the official owner until December seventh.”
Mr. Ross must’ve seen the daggers she was shooting him because he added, “Mr. Clark wants you to stay on as assistant manager. Don’t worry, your job won’t change.”
That’s what he thought she was upset about? Had he forgotten that she’d talked to him about buying the inn? She was definitely going to discuss that later with him. “You said you weren’t going to sell for another year.” She was supposed to have another year.
“Cash offer,” Mr. Ross said. “I knew I wouldn’t get a better deal.”
Meaning, he did remember that she wanted to buy the inn but didn’t think she could compete with Carson’s offer.
She probably couldn’t.
The front door swung open, and a thin, middle-aged woman greeted them, all smiles and cheer. Her dark hair was cut below her chin in a sleek bob, and she moved with the professional confidence of someone who was used to being listened to. “I’ve always loved this place. I’m so glad things have worked out.” She nodded an acknowledgment to Riley but spoke to Lucas. “Carson sent me his list of questions about the property.”
“He sent it to me too.” Lucas’s gaze kept cutting over to Riley to see how she was taking the news.
She did her best to hide the anger boiling below her surface. Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths. Must not talk about killing her boss in front of a policeman.
Mr. Ross patted his pockets. “I left my keys in my room. Riley, can you give me your master key?”
Riley plastered on a smile and retrieved the key from the desk. Instead of handing it to Mr. Ross, she turned to Ms. Marshall. “Be sure to ask about the air conditioning ducts in rooms seventeen and eighteen. I think they were installed by someone who thought those rooms wanted continual winter weather.”
Mr. Ross glared at Riley, but she pretended not to see him. “The reason room four is doused with air freshener is to cover the smell of something decaying in the wall. Probably a rat. I’m sure that’s not a health hazard. Also, despite what any of the guests have claimed, the place definitely isn’t haunted.”
Ms. Marshall’s eyes widened. Mr. Ross laughed in a rigid sort of way and kept holding his hand out for the key. “She’s joking. It’s not haunted.”
“Definitely not,” Riley agreed. “The building is about a hundred years old, so of course people have died here, but thatdoesn’t mean anything. Which reminds me, don’t ask about the floor stains in number ten. It’s best just to rip the carpet out, replace it, and perhaps have a priest stop by to bless that room.”
Mr. Ross grabbed the key from Riley’s hand. “She’s a hoot, isn’t she? Really, everything is perfectly normal.”
“Exactly,” Riley said. “Old buildings just creak and moan, and sometimes people feel unseen hands trying to push them down the stairs. It’s all normal.”