Chapter Four Fire, Flour, and Flirtation
Dex.
“She didn’t implicitly say no to the job.
" I leaned back against the wobbly dresser and glowered at the ceiling.
The radiator in the corner thumped like an old man constantly clearing his throat.
My fresh shirt sleeves were rolled to my forearms because the room had the climate control philosophy of a greenhouse despite repeated attempts to lower the thermostat.
Braxton sprawled in the chair like a cat that had found a patch of sun. He had changed into jeans and a green sweater, his hair still damp from his recent shower.
“She didn’t say yes either,” he replied mildly. “In fact, I think I heard a pretty firm no.”
“I prefer to think of it as a negotiation in progress,” I stubbornly replied.
He watched me for a beat, then smiled. “You prefer negotiations where the building materials are spreadsheets. This one uses feelings and those make you itch.”
“I am not allergic to feelings,” I muttered. I just didn’t tend to always understand them. People were emotional creatures at times and I preferred straightforward logic.
“Mm." His look said he didn't believe me. “May we stay longer than one night? I would like to observe the renovations. For research purposes.”
“Research? To see how quickly it can all go sideways?” I doubtfully questioned.
Color rose in his cheeks. “Maybe it would be nice to get to know Lucy’s family.”
A dry sound escaped me that was almost a laugh. “You really mean get to know her sister Jane.”
Braxton tilted his head, studying me. “For being such a smart fellow, you can also be a complete dimwhit.”
Since this was a normal observation of Braxton’s, I ignored it. “Dinner is soon. We had better go and see what disaster awaits us next.”
A thread of scent reached me, sharp and wrong. Not kitchen smoke. Hot, metallic, and dry.
“Do you smell that?” I asked as I frowned in concentration.
Braxton abruptly sat up. “Something is burning.”
We were in the hallway an instant later. Lucy stepped out of the kitchen with a stack of forks in one hand and annoyance in her eyes. I opened my mouth, but she lifted a palm. “If you are about to make another offer -”
“Fire,” I cut in. “Don’t you smell the smoke?”
She went still, nostrils flaring as the smell reached her. “Oh no!”
Lucy jolted into action and we ran after her.
I could see smoke coming out of a door in the hall.
Heat bled through the metal knob, searing my hand as I shoved the door open.
The room beyond glowed an ugly orange inside a dryer window.
A muffled thud, then the high, frantic chirp of a smoke alarm that had been asleep for a decade and had finally remembered its job.
Spotting a fire extinguisher.mounted on the wall, I grabbed it, yanked the pin, and leveled the nozzle.
“Kill the power,” Braxton advised.
Lucy lunged to the breaker on the back wall and slapped the switch down.
The drum in the dryer hiccuped, then stuttered to a stop.
I squeezed the handle and a dusty storm blasted forward, coating everything in a yellow chalky snow.
The room settled, the fire extinguished however the idiot smoke alarm continued bleating triumph.
“What happened?” Helen appeared in the doorway with her apron askew. Her eyes went wide at the scene. “Oh, goodness. The laundry.”
“It appears the laundry caught on fire,” I replied, lowering the extinguisher. My voice sounded too calm, even to me.
“Oh dear, your suits!” Helen clapped a hand to her chest. “I put them in so they would be ready for dinner.”
“Mom." Lucy’s voice cracked with horror. “Please tell me you didn't put their suits in the dryer.”
“I run our dry-clean-only things through the laundry all the time. They always come out fine,” Helen breezed, trying the door and tugging out a charred piece of fabric. Her face fell. “Well. That's unfortunate."
I took stock. The black smudge across the dryer window. The dangling wire behind the washer. The outlet plate that had lost a screw sometime during the Clinton administration.
“Faulty wiring would be my first guess with a lack of lint control,” I observed.
Lucy made a sound that was part groan, part prayer.
She dragged a hand through her hair, then flinched when her fingers came away coated with the dust from the fire extinguisher.
“We will pay for your suits. I mean, we will eventually pay for your suits because no doubt your suits were very expensive.”
“It’s fine." It wasn't fine, but there were worse problems than two casualties of polyester-cotton diplomacy.
Behind us, Braxton coughed into his sleeve. “There is… a lot of smoke.”
Lucy looked up at the screaming smoke alarm with the weariness of a woman who had run out of patience an hour ago. “Dex, will you please shut it off?”
I took the hint, caught the casing, and twisted the alarm free. It died with an offended chirp. Silence dropped into the room like relief.
There was a soft throat-clearing from the hall. “Is everything all right here?”
A man stood in the doorway with a municipal badge clipped to his jacket and a clipboard tucked under one arm. Middle-aged, clean-shaven, eyes that scanned a room the way mine scanned a blueprint.
Helen introduced the stranger. “This is Alex Mercer. He’s here to inspect the premises.”
His gaze tracked to the extinguisher in my hand, the mess on the floor, the dryer’s last will and testament. “I was coming by to introduce myself and schedule your permit review.”
Lucy’s throat moved in an attempt to swallow. “Of course.”
Mercer stepped inside and took in the room, observing the burnt outlet and dead dryer. His pen hovered over the clipboard. “Do you mind if I take a quick look while I am here?”
Lucy hesitated for a heartbeat, pride and practicality warring across her face. Then she squared her shoulders. “Please do.”
“Are you sure this is the time?” I tried to intercede but Mercer wasn’t having it.
“You will need a licensed electrician to evaluate your wiring.
This outlet is warm, which it shouldn't be.
The vent was likely clogged causing the fire.
Lint is a hazard. The fire extinguisher will need to be replaced and I will have to inspect the tags on the others.
" Mercer tutted to himself as he made notes.
“Expired last decade,” I supplied, reading the faded tag and fearing the rest were in the same shape.
“Replace them." Mercer didn't blink. “Your smoke alarm isn't working.”
Lucy nodded wearily.
Mercer’s brow lifted. “Who performed the demolition in the other room here?”
“My husband. He found the most beautiful molding,” Helen chirped.
“The tiles came down unexpectedly,” Lucy added quickly.
“Unexpectedly,” Mercer repeated, not smiling. “Is there a permit for demolition in place?”
“We have the purchase and the business license,” Helen offered, as if permits and enthusiasm were cousins. “Kitty made the website. It is very modern.”
Mercer’s pen didn't move. “Demolition permit?”
Lucy’s jaw tightened. “It was on my list for today.”
Mercer glanced at me, then back to her. “And are you currently open to the public?”
“We are softly open,” Helen declared. “Just family for dinner.”
“Just family,” Mercer echoed, eyes landing on me and Braxton.
“We are distant cousins,” Braxton volunteered, a fraction too brightly. “We came to look at the property, didn’t we, Dex?”
“Absolutely,” I dryly stated.
Mercer eyed us with suspicion. He wrote something on his clipboard that I suspected wasn't helpful. “I am going to need to walk the accessible areas. Given the fire, I would advise we handle the basic safety review now.”
The words landed like a weight on Lucy’s shoulders, but she nodded.
We moved as a small procession through the house as Mercer picked apart a multitude of sins and recorded them for posterity. Railings on the basement steps were needed, a wheelchair accessible entry required due to bylaws, regular inspections of the heating, and a complete cleaning of everything.
We paused in the reception room. The plaster molding, revealed from its decades of hiding, was a beauty to behold at odds with the fake wooden paneling and shag rug. Mercer’s gaze softened despite himself. "That's good work you uncovered. Whoever did this originally knew their craft.”
“Thank you,” Helen glowed.
His pen clicked again. “The temporary debris containment isn't adequate. You will need to cordon that area with proper stanchions. Install temporary signage. And those outlets without plates shouldn't be exposed.”
“We have plates in a box. Somewhere,” Lucy muttered.
The foyer. Mercer’s attention went straight to the front door hardware, the egress width, the mat that bunched and threatened ankles.
“Remove that runner. It is a trip hazard. You will need an illuminated exit sign above that door and an emergency light in case of failure. Smoke detectors on each level, interconnected and carbon monoxide detectors.”
“It’s in progress,” Lucy answered, breath tight.
“They just bought the place. Surely you can understand that they need a little time to get everything done?” Braxton interjected.
Mercer gave us an irritated look. “I’m aware. I’m also able to give out fines for non-compliance.”
“The Bennet’s were simply a little eager to get started. They fully intend to comply with all of the requirements the town has,” I smoothly stated. This was a negotiation. I handled negotiations all the time. “Why don’t we step over here and discuss it?”
“Dex, I can handle it,” Lucy bit out.
“There is nothing to discuss. If I were to finalize an inspection today, you would fail. Spectacularly." Mercer didn't gloat but he didn’t soften the hard truth either. “However, I am not here for your final. Consider this a preliminary safety walk-through.”
We reached the kitchen and found Jane icing a tray of cooling cookies, the air sweet with sugar and spice. Braxton’s face lit and he drifted toward them like a moth with good taste. “Do you need a hand?”
Jane startled, then pinked. “With the cookies?”
“With anything,” he murmured with a smile. “They smell extraordinary.”
“They are not on the menu,” Jane whispered like a confession. “We are not technically open.”
Mercer cleared his throat. “Food service operations require inspection prior to opening to the public. I will need to see your ServSafe or equivalent certifications. Grease trap documentation. Fire suppression must be in place for the stove.”
Jane’s smile wobbled, then steadied. “Of course.”
I mentally tallied the numbers in my head and wondered what funding the Bennet’s had managed to put together for the inn.
“I am going to post a notice of non-compliance for the public areas. No events open to the public and no advertised service. Private family meals are fine. Fix these items and call the town office to schedule another walk through,” Mercer told us.
Helen’s mouth opened but Lucy touched her elbow and shook her head once in warning. Surprisingly her mother obeyed the command. “Thank you. We will be ready.”
Mercer’s gaze held Lucy’s for a beat. He nodded, slid a yellow notice from a sleeve on his clipboard, and affixed it to the kitchen door with firm fingers. “Good evening. I will see myself out.”
Helen broke the silence first.
“Well,” she announced with valiant brightness. “At least he liked the molding.”
Lucy stared at the notice, jaw set. “We are going to fix everything on the list he gave us.”
“It’s going to take a minor miracle,” I observed which earned me a glare from Lucy.
“We have a lot of work to do,” Lucy mentioned, looking at the copy of the list Mercer had handed to her.
Braxton straightened as if reporting for duty. “Tell us what you need us to do.”
“Excuse me?” I frowned at Braxton. We weren’t here to help. We were here to get Lucy to abandon this lunacy.
Helen beamed, undeterred by bureaucracy, soot, or common sense. “First let’s have dinner. We can divide up what needs to be done afterward.”
I watched Lucy for her reaction. She tipped her chin and met my gaze. Pride and mortification and something like gratitude flickered there, quick and complicated. “Thank you for putting out the fire.”
“You’re welcome,” I answered automatically.
Her eyes dipped, once, to my sleeves. I realized I had rolled them higher without noticing and that my forearms were still dusted faintly from the fire extinguisher. A flush came and went in her cheeks. She looked away quickly, as if the sight had startled her.
Helen looped an arm through mine and through Braxton’s with the confidence of a cruise director who had decided on everyone’s evening plans. “Come along, gentlemen. We eat, we plan, and then we string some Christmas lights.”
Lucy brushed past, close enough that I could smell the apricot of her shampoo.
“Lights,” I echoed in slight disbelief.