Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
T he next day, Riley dragged herself into work for the early shift. The Riverside Inn was a beautiful, historic building with eighteen rooms, along with the manager’s apartment on the fourth floor where Mr. Ross lived. People came for the charm and the scenic area. She liked to think they came back in part due to the friendly staff.
Nine of the rooms were occupied right now by tourists, but that number would dwindle once the fall leaves disappeared. A few people came during the winter for snowmobiling and to see Yellowstone in the off-season, but the inn was too far away from the ski resorts to get much other cold-weather business. January and February were always dead, with March and April being only a little better.
This was always a problem because every winter Mr. Ross had to let employees go or change them to part-time. The housekeeping staff was easy enough to replace. Most were college students, home for the summer, but the chefs were a different matter. Besides breakfast service, the inn’s dining room was open for dinner on the weekends. If the inn couldn’t pay both chefs to stay through the season, they’d have to lay off one, and Riley would be stuck scrambling eggs and making pancakes two days a week.
Riley had tried to garner interest for winter retreats, but everyone told her they needed more rooms than the building had. Eventually, after she bought the place, she wanted to add another wing, but she wouldn’t be able to pay for that for a while.
The first thing she would do once she became the owner was get rid of all the furniture and décor that Mr. Ross had insisted on keeping—a style that could only be called a tribute to the 90s—and look for antiques and reproduction pieces to enhance The Riverside’s historic feel. Even though the inn was built in the 30s, it had always embraced the Victorian era.
Once she’d redecorated it, making it a beautiful place that was a destination in and of itself, she’d be able to raise the prices. That, in turn, would help pay for future rooms.
In the meantime, she’d need to convince Mr. Ross to let her do more advertising to build their clientele.
He’d been absolutely impossible lately, always putting her off when she wanted to discuss it. She would make sure he committed to some marketing today. After all, she knew where he lived.
She was finishing up graphics for social media ads when Lucas strolled into the inn. He wore jeans and a regular coat, which meant he wasn’t here on official business. He glanced around the front room that doubled for a lobby, and his eyes trained on her.
Great. Was it possible he came to talk about something normal or was she in for another lecture about last night?
He saw her, and his shoulders stiffened in determination.
Yeah, that was the look of a lecture.
As he strode up to the desk, she forced a smile and braced herself. “Have you come to make sure I’m not enjoying myself too much? Rest assured, Officer Clark, nothing illegal or even fun is happening here today.” She nodded appreciatively. “Your job is done.”
He peered around the room. “Actually, I came to see Mr. Ross.”
Curious. “Why do you want to see him?”
He didn’t answer. His gaze was still sweeping the room. In fact, he didn’t seem to be able to meet her eyes.
Had Snakehead guy pressed charges and Lucas was about to drag her off for questioning? Was that why he needed to talk to her boss? “I didn’t do anything illegal last night,” she protested. “I was an innocent bystander in all the threats of homicide.”
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 much coffee. “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 that doesn’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.”
Mr. Ross shot her another nostrils-flaring glare and motioned for the others to follow him. “I’ll take you on the tour now. We may not be able to go into all the rooms because some have guests in them, but they all have a similar setup.”
“Which ones are occupied?” Ms. Marshall asked, probably wondering if they would see the rooms Riley mentioned.
None of those were occupied, and Riley had told the truth about the air conditioning problems and the room with the bad smell. Let them wonder if she was telling the truth about the carpet stains in room ten.
Riley hadn’t looked at Lucas during her spiel. She couldn’t bring herself to. His brother had swooped in and stolen her dream, and Lucas was here acting on his behalf. Had Lucas known she planned to buy the place? She’d made that decision after they’d broken up, but Mr. Ross might have mentioned it in order to get Carson to offer more money.
As the group walked off, Lucas glanced over his shoulder at her.
She’d been expecting him to give her a triumphant look because his brother could buy whatever he wanted—or perhaps a look that said he thought her ghost stories were petty and uncalled for. Instead, he was fighting a smile.
He’d thought her response was funny.
Figured.
Nothing she did could ever rattle him. She simply didn’t matter that much to him.
“Wait,” she called to Mr. Ross. “Are you staying on as the manager?”
Mr. Ross had only said that Carson wanted to keep her on as the assistant manager, not whether he’d stay on for a while as well.
“I’m moving to Florida,” Mr. Ross replied. “Mr. Clark will be the new manager.”
Carson wasn’t retiring from football after this season. Olivia hadn’t even hinted that might be the case. Did he think he could run the inn long-distance? “Carson wants to manage it?” she asked.
“No.” Mr. Ross waved the others into the dining room. “I meant Lucas Clark.”
No.
No. No. No.
Why did the universe hate her? Which ancestor of hers had caused a curse to fall on all of his posterity, and how did Riley remove her name from the family tree?
She sank into her seat and put her head in her hands.
The Riverside Inn, with its antique charm and hand-crafted details, had been like a home to her since she’d started working here during the summers. She loved how it felt like an old English manor, a place where men in top hats and women in long gowns had lounged in the sitting room or taken tea in the dining room.
She’d dreamed of living in the owner’s quarters on the fourth floor with its sweeping views of the woods and the river. The staff here felt like family—a quirky, dysfunctional family at times, but still a family.
Now she would lose all of it, all of them.
Had Olivia known about this? She couldn’t have, could she? She couldn’t have spoken to Riley so happily last night if she knew her fiancé planned to destroy everything Riley had worked for. At the very least, Olivia would’ve apologized, warned her or something.
Carson probably hadn’t told her. It was his purchase, his investment. Not Olivia’s.
In the end, Riley supposed it wouldn’t matter. Carson had already made the deal, and Mr. Ross had accepted. The paperwork was being signed.
It looked like she less than a month and a half to find a new job and a new dream.