Chapter 13 #2
Dorothy slowly began to back away from the creature, which stood stock still in the middle of the floor. Maybe it thought they couldn’t see it if it didn’t move. She wondered what was going through its mind.
“Yes, try to scare it,” she said.
Warren shrugged. “Okay.”
He darted forward, shaking the dish towel at the creature. “Yah!” he yelled loudly, waving the towel like a Spanish matador facing a bull.
Laughter bubbled up in Dorothy’s throat as she watched him. It was the silliest thing she’d seen in a long time.
The possum took one look at Warren and collapsed to the floor. There it lay with its tongue hanging out, eyes closed, looking very dead.
“Oh no, did it just have a heart attack?” Dorothy asked, rushing forward but stopping well away from the creature. What could she do if it had become ill? It wasn’t as if she knew anything about veterinary medicine!
“I don’t know,” Warren said, looking horrified. “I didn’t want to hurt it! I just wanted to shoo it outside.”
They stared at the creature, which lay motionless on the floor for what felt like a very long time, neither of them doing anything.
Eventually, Dorothy stepped closer to Warren and nudged him in the ribs. “You should go and see if it’s really dead.”
He stared at her. “Me? Why me?”
She nodded. “You have the towel. I’m not touching it.”
“I don’t want to touch it either,” he complained. “Can’t I just get the broom and sweep it out?”
“That’s a good idea,” Dorothy agreed, and she went to fetch the broom from the corner of the kitchen. “Here you go.”
Warren sighed and took the broom from her. “Okay. Here we go.”
He took a step closer to the creature. Dorothy stepped with him.
She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She wanted to know if the poor thing had really expired so easily. Had it been sick? Or maybe it was elderly. Gosh, she felt terrible.
Holding the broom by the handle, Warren dipped the bristles down toward the creature. He gave it a nudge. It didn’t move. He did it again, this time with a little more force.
Still the creature remained motionless.
“I think it’s definitely?—”
With a scraping of claws on the wooden floor, the creature rose up and, with a growl, turned and sprinted for the doorway. Its claws scrabbled on the wood as it sought purchase, darting out of the doorway and disappearing into the wilderness beyond.
They both yelled in surprise, then turned to one another, of one mind.
“Forget the coffee. Let’s just get out of here,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed with a nod. “Let’s just go.”
So, they set off for the hotel, with Warren carrying the carpetbag. They talked, and Warren made her laugh again and again with his stories about Tim.
“So, it was really you who slid that first poem under my door?” she asked as they walked through the trees.
Warren nodded. “Yes. You said you like opera, but that’s better heard than read, so I thought poetry was the next best thing.”
“It’s a strange way to court someone, don’t you think?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Is it? I’ve never courted anyone before.”
She frowned at him. “Never?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been busy with my studies and moving out west … There was no space for such things. Anyway, I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Nor I like you,” she agreed.
“It was a good thing we met through correspondence at work,” Warren said. “I’m so much more comfortable on paper than I am in person.”
She smiled and kissed his cheek. “I like you just fine in person.”
He turned quickly as she was about to move away, brushing his lips over hers. “I like you just fine too,” he whispered, and they shared a tender kiss until the rain started to come down a little harder.
“We’d better run,” Warren said, taking Dorothy by the hand and leading her past the dock and up the steps to the terrace.
Because of the inclement weather, no one but them was out and about. They ran for the doors that led to the restaurant and threw them open, stepping inside hurriedly.
They moved through the restaurant, trailing wet footprints, then reluctantly parted and went to their rooms.
Once she was dry and dressed in a burgundy skirt, white blouse, and a black jacket, she left her room. Knocking on Warren’s door, she was surprised and disappointed to find that there was no answer. Perhaps he had gone to the reception or was looking for Michael.
“I don’t need a reservation!” a man said as Dorothy arrived downstairs.
Hang on, I know that voice.
It took her a moment to recognize Jude Devlin standing at the counter, looking strangely out of place. Perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t where she expected to see him. He was a New York creature, not something one would ever find in Pine Hill if it could be helped.
“Now, surely there’s a suite for me,” Mr. Devlin insisted. He glared at Agnes, who was desperately checking the board behind the desk. There were still keys on the hooks. The problem was that the hotel didn’t have many suites, at least not of the kind that Mr. Devlin was asking for.
Dorothy was about to step in and help Agnes, when Barnes came rushing into the room.
“I’ve secured you the finest room they have available, Mr. Devlin,” he cried.
Dorothy wondered where he’d come from.
He was so focused on Mr. Devlin that he didn’t see her, which was probably a good thing.
She needed to find Mac. There could only be one reason for Devlin to be here.
Only one reason why he and Peter Harding would split up.
They needed Mac to sign over his rights to the company quite desperately, it seemed, but why?
What was happening now? Why did they need him out of the way so soon?
Backing out of reception, Dorothy knew that she had to find Mac—fast. She hurried to his office and banged on the door. There was no answer, and the door was locked.
Where was he? Desperate, she went to see if Mac was in the restaurant.
He wasn’t, but Foster was. He looked up at her when she came in.
Not wanting to look like she was trying to find someone, she went to the sideboard and poured herself a little bit of coffee.
With sugar and cream added, it was cold enough to swallow quickly.
Then she hurried from the restaurant and went back to reception.
“Hi, Agnes, any idea where Mac is?” she asked.
“Oh sure, he’s out with Michael and Warren. They left a couple of minutes ago with the sheriff,” Agnes said.
“With Sheriff Rafferty?” Dorothy asked. “Why?”
Agnes shrugged. “I think it has something to do with Brett.”
Dorothy sighed. She hurried to her room and fetched her oilskin coat. Then, donning it as she ran, she left the hotel and headed into town. What had Brett done now?