Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
R iley walked around in a fog for the next week, counting down the days until December seventh when the sale was final, and Lucas Clark strolled through the front door as her new boss.
This was what she got for not going to college to get a useful degree like accounting, engineering, or some other math job that sucked the soul from your body but paid well.
Who needed a soul when you had a hefty bank account?
But no, Riley had loved the outdoors. She’d first started working at the inn during the summer to take the guests white water rafting and kayaking. Mr. Ross had noticed her organizational skills and offered her a job as his assistant. She’d agreed, as long as she could still spend summer mornings doing the boating activities. She’d even filled in as a horseback riding guide when that group was busy. It had been a good balance of work and fun. And owning the inn would have made it all perfect.
And now, not only was that dream gone, her ex-boyfriend would be her new boss.
She vacillated between angrily determining to find a property near the river and building her own bed and breakfast to compete with The Riverside Inn and just wanting to disappear into the pantry with a sheet of brownies from the kitchen. Really, they were the best item on the menu and the reason she wasn’t five pounds thinner.
Once, in a history class, Riley had learned about a group of people who’d been forced from their homes by their enemies. The women had cleaned their houses before the invaders came to take possession of them.
That odd fact was why she remembered the story. Who made things nicer for the enemy who was taking your stuff? The natural response would be to trash everything. Give them nothing. But the women had wanted their enemies to know that they were clean, tidy people.
Riley understood that sort of pride now. She had a desperate need to fill as many rooms as possible by December seventh, when Lucas became her boss. She didn’t want Carson and Lucas to think she was running the place in the red, totally incompetent, and the inn needed the Clark brothers to step in and save the day.
Without consulting Mr. Ross, she ran social media ads with special winter rates and month-long rates so low that they competed with apartment rent. What could her boss do? If he fired her, Carson would hire her back. He’d already promised her a raise.
Her ad showed an idyllic-looking picture of the inn surrounded by snow and the phrase: The Riverside Inn is where memories are made!
And then in what was clearly a brilliant move, she decided to waive their no-pet policy for room number ten. The inn was going to have to replace the carpet there anyway, so why not rent it out to people with pets first? Who cared if a dog had an accident? The extra money they earned on the pet deposit would offset the cost of new carpet installation.
Granted, advertising the specials would eat up their marketing budget for the entire season, and they might have to hire part-time cleaning help to supplement Wendy and Mariah, the full-time housekeepers, but the important thing was that when Lucas became the manager, the inn would be decently occupied. Riley would look like a capable assistant manager.
Riley was happily surprised when she came to work the next day and found a note from Sara, the evening desk clerk, telling her that they already had some new bookings. More trickled in through the day. By the end of the week, they had so many reservations that she took down the promotion.
The inn would be almost full. No, scratch that, Riley knew that the churches in the area had some guest singers coming into town to perform in the community’s Handel’s Messiah concert. Riley called the choir leader and offered fifty percent discounts on the remaining rooms.
They’d have a full house when Lucas took over.
Success.
Riley’s first inkling that the new guests weren’t the high-caliber sort was when Pastor Curtis showed up with three bedraggled men. They all had long, unwashed hair, scraggly beards, and carried dirty backpacks. The pastor was a stark contrast to the crew. He was a tall, soft-spoken man with boyish features that made him look perpetually young.
“Welcome to Riverside Inn,” Riley chimed. Her eyes darted from the pastor to the group. Pastor Curtis frequently picked up the inn’s leftover food to deliver to a homeless shelter. Perhaps he was bringing the men along this time to say thank you in person for their support?
“I have a check-in for you,” Pastor Curtis said. “The shelter is full, and the temperature is only getting lower, so the congregation took up a collection to use your month-long rate. I really can’t thank you enough. Where do I sign?” He handed her his credit card. “One room, three guests.” He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “Since our congregation hasn’t authorized any minibar purchases, can you make sure the fridge is always empty?”
Mr. Ross was not going to be happy about this clientele. Lucas was going to be even less happy. A bunch of scary-looking men hanging around the inn all day might drive other guests away.
“I’ll need to see valid IDs.” She was probably going to hell, but at that moment, she fervently hoped the men didn’t have IDs, and she could refuse them on that basis.
“Sure thing.” The pastor motioned to the men to step up to the counter and give her their IDs. “I’m so glad there’s room at the inn, eh? That’s how I was able to raise the money from the congregation. Every Christmas when we hear the nativity story, no one wants to think of themselves as the innkeeper who turned Mary and Joseph away.”
That made Riley feel even worse about her initial thoughts. Yep, hell was definitely on her travel plans because she was still nervous about admitting these three to the inn. And she wasn’t going to look charitable when she questioned the pastor about them further.
She took the IDs: two driver’s licenses and a veteran card. The man with gray running through his black hair had served the country and risked his life to protect her freedom. Guilt for her attitude swirled in her stomach.
Riley scanned their cards and handed them the keys to their room.
The men grinned their thanks and headed up the stairs. The pastor was going to go with them, but she called him back.
When the men were out of earshot, she said, “I have to think about the safety of our guests, so I need more information about the men. Also, do you really want to be financially liable for any damage they do to the room?”
He nodded in that assuring pastor way. “I’ve known each of them for nearly a year. We’re giving you the most stable and reliable of the group who use the shelter. They had jobs during the summer but won’t make enough to pay rent through the winter since work has dried up. In fact, if you have any odd jobs at the inn, I know they’d appreciate it if you considered them.”
And with those parting words, the pastor left.
Okay, hopefully he was right, and the men weren’t any sort of threat. They’d look better after they took a shower, although still not quite like normal guests. What would Lucas say when he saw them?
Riley pulled out her phone and called Delancey. “Hey, remember how bad you felt when you found out the way my date with Nick ended? Remember how you promised to make it up to me?”
“Um, I don’t think I actually used those words, but yeah, I’ll try to find another guy who?—”
“I need you to come to the inn after work and give three homeless guys haircuts.”
There was a pause, then Delancey said, “Did you just say homeless guys are at the inn?”
“Yes. And can you give them haircuts for free because you’re a kind and generous person who clearly has more charity than I do? I’m just worried about them hurting the inn’s reputation.”
Another pause. “Okay.”
“They also need a shave.”
“That’s not something hairstylists really do.”
“Then stop at a store and buy them an electric razor. I’ll pay for it.”
Delancey sighed but fortunately agreed.
The next person who checked in was Mrs. Bachinger. She was a local who was having renovations on her house and figured it would take a month. Riley would have considered this booking a win if Mrs. Bachinger hadn’t been the gossipy sort who liked to insert herself into other people’s business.
She was so going to tell everyone about the homeless men. And not in a good, Isn’t it nice that they’re helping the less fortunate way. She was going to tell people in a way that led to canceled reservations. She also nitpicked Riley about her bill, insisting she get the same month-long rate if her project finished a few days early or lasted longer.
Riley agreed, even though technically the special was for a month and wasn’t supposed to be prorated. She hoped that by making this concession, Mrs. Bachinger would feel more charitable towards the inn once she found out who else was staying there.
The next group consisted of six men who checked into three rooms under the reservation name The Polar Bear Health Club . She didn’t ask what that was because the men were the middle-aged, a little too jovial sort, and she’d learned from experience that those guests liked to hit on her. She didn’t want them to think they were on a first-name basis and could call her to their room for some pretend reason in order to flirt with her.
As the group tromped up the stairs, one of them said loudly to the others, “I can hardly wait to get naked!”
Yep, she’d been right not to ask.
The last check-in for the day was Mrs. Nickle, an elderly woman from Arizona, for the month-long rate. Her gray hair was cut into a pageboy, and oversized tortoiseshell glasses gave her eyes an owlish look. She dragged two big suitcases behind her with a carry-on precariously balanced on top of one. A purse large enough to be classified as a backpack was slung over her shoulder.
Arizona was beautiful in the winter, a state people usually fled to in order to avoid the snow. Riley’s curiosity got the best of her. “What brings you to Lark Springs for a month?”
Mrs. Nickle pulled off mittens that looked like they belonged on an Arctic expedition. “I’m a writer, and I’m setting my next mystery novel in a small town in Montana. This was the perfect place to come to absorb the atmosphere while I write.”
Riley took the woman’s driver’s license. “That’s dedication to the craft.”
The woman waved her hand as though fluttering away the words. “Actually, it’s writer’s block. Being here will force me to write because there’s nothing else to do around here.”
Riley tried not to feel insulted by that statement. The inn wasn’t quite so remote and desolate as all that. Lark Springs was only a twenty-minute drive away. “I hope you get a lot written.”
“If I don’t, I may have to extend my stay to two months.” The woman leaned closer. “You don’t mind if I ask you questions about the area, the weather, and where good places to kill someone are, do you?”
“Ask me anything you like.”
Mrs. Nickle took back her license with a laugh. “I bet I’m the strangest guest you’ve had all week.”
“You’re not even the strangest guest I’ve had today.” Riley probably shouldn’t have admitted to that. She laughed nervously and tried to backtrack. It would be just her luck if The Riverside Inn was memorialized in a best-selling novel as some place where a trio of homeless guys roamed the hallways along with a group of middle-aged men who considered themselves polar bear furries.
After the woman headed to her room, Riley stared out of the picture window into the falling snow for several minutes. This was what she got for being prideful enough to want to fill the rooms and prove to Lucas what a good assistant manager she was.
She took a deep fortifying breath and told herself that the worst was over. Most of the people who’d booked the special rates had already checked in. Only one more special-rate person was coming to the inn three days from now. The choir singers would show up on December seventh, and they would no doubt be respectable guests. Everyone else would be the normal sort of tourist.
Riley brought up the reservation for the last low-rate guest. Mrs. Lewis. There was a note on her account saying she was visiting friends in Lark Springs for the holidays and needed a place that accepted pets. Sara had given her permission to bring her dwarf wallaby.
Hold on, a wallaby? That was like a small kangaroo, wasn’t it? Who owned a pet dwarf wallaby?
Riley shut her eyes. It was probably fine. No one had ever mentioned that they were allergic to wallabies, so perhaps that animal was better than a customer who brought their dog. The woman was only going to be here until Christmas. Most likely, no one would even see the wallaby. It wasn’t as though people took their pet kangaroos out for walks in the snow.
Still, Riley put her face down on her desk in a gesture of defeat. She really should have gone to college and become an accountant. Accountants never had to worry about people bringing wallabies to the workplace.