It seemed all he was doing these days was paying through the nose for one thing or another. Stone confirmed the money transfer, then nodded to the contractor. “Done.”
“Much obliged,” Harry Darkin said. “And I think your dog approves of the café. Probably should put dog treats on the counter.”
“He gets enough of those from Oscar.” Stone glanced at Grief sprawled over tiled floor that had once been part of the hotel coat closet. It now was a trendy coffee bar with seating for a dozen, thanks to Darkin. “Thanks again. Your work is top-notch.”
“Appreciate it, Mr. Mulroney. When your boss figures out your next project, gimme a holler.” Darkin lifted his tool kit. “I appreciate the business—and a customer who pays on time.”
Chuckling, Stone walked the contractor to the lobby, scanning to be sure the Blantons weren’t around. He hated that most people here didn’t know the lodge was his, but it just made things easier to be a nobody in a backwater town. “I know there are a couple more projects planned before the year’s out.”
“We’ve all benefited from the fresh business coming to the lodge under the new ownership.”
“Not sure everyone agrees with you.”
“I’m going to guess you mean Inspector Pellet.” He bobbed his head as he locked his tool kit into the back of his dualie. “She’s … special.”
“That’s a word for it.” Stone shook Harry’s hand. “Take care.” He strode inside and past the front desk, heading to his mom’s apartment, when his phone rang. “Hello.” After the scandal, he’d learned to never answer with his name.
“Stone?”
The voice was … familiar. He slowed, waiting for the person to say more so he could put the voice with a name.
“It’s Taggart.”
Grief at his heels, Stone eyed his mom’s apartment door, then backed up and turned toward the floor-to-ceiling fireplace anchoring the waiting area. “Hey.” He hadn’t seen Cord Taggart since Balad. “How’s it goin’, man?”
“Good, good.”
“Been a while.” He slid a hand down the back of his neck, then tucked it under his arm, getting the sixth sense that this wasn’t a social call.
“Yeah, it has.”
There was a hesitation, a pitch to his voice that told Stone to take cover, brace for impact. His old buddy wanted something. As the knots in his shoulders tightened again, he squared his stance. “So, what’s going on?”
Not everyone is out to destroy you.
Night had fallen and the ambience of the courtyard was serene yet ominous in light of this phone call. He ducked into his office with Grief and shut the door, sitting on the corner of his desk in the darkened space.
“Look, I’ll be straight—I need a favor.”
Up here in the mountains, running a lodge, there wasn’t much he could do in terms of a favor, but he also wouldn’t say no to this man. “Name it.”
“Seriously? We haven’t talked in years and you’re willing—”
“I owe you. Cough it up.”
There came a breathy, nervous laugh. “With you there were always two things: cut it straight and have a plan.”
“He who fails to plan is pl—”
“‘Planning to fail.’ Yeah, yeah. I know—McArthur.”
Stone snorted. “Churchill.” Pretty sure Cord made that mistake on purpose. “So, the favor?”
“I’ve got a friend who needs a place to crash for a few days, and I hear you have an extra bed or two.” Taggart had always been one to help others.
How had Cord Taggart known he owned the lodge? Pinching the bridge of his nose, Stone worried what kind of “friend” they were bringing. But he wasn’t going to renege on his willingness to help. “Sure, no problem. When?”
“I’m about two hours out.”
