“Mr. Metcalfe.”
Just shy of his door, he pivoted back, surprised to see the inspector stalking toward him. “Mrs. Pellet. Hope you like your room?—it’s the closest to the front lobby.” It was his not-so-subtle jab that he knew why she was staying as a guest.
“It’ll do, though I hope the pool closes promptly at ten p.m. as the rules state.”
“Promptly.” He held her gaze, waiting for the next challenge. Or for her to leave. The latter would be preferable.
“What of the waivers for those on the trail ride?”
“Waivers.”
She gaped. “Surely you aren’t letting people go out into the mountain on wild beasts without protecting yourself against lawsuits.”
Wild beasts? “The horses are domesticated and trained not only for rides but to RTB.”
Her gray eyes seemed to glaze over, but she drew up straight. “You didn’t answer about the waiver.”
“Inspector, what I do for insurance and safety is handled with the city licensing board. Your job?—”
“Don’t you dare tell me what my job is!” She seemed to struggle for breath.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. If I can finish my statement?” He waited for her agreement.
Those dull irises dared him to prove her wrong.
“Your job is important, and I’m grateful for the direct attention you’ve given the Bexar-Wolfe Lodge.” Too much? Maybe he was layering it on as thick as maple syrup. “I wouldn’t waste your time or mine. In the many capacities in which you serve the community, you’re responsible for overseeing the affairs of the county, including fiscal responsibilities, so I know you understand how precious each moment and dollar are.” He gave a crisp nod. “So unless you have anything else, I have work to get done.”
Not waiting for her to argue, he twisted the knob and let himself inside. Grief manifested out of nowhere and darted in as well. He closed the door and pushed himself across the room to his desk. Dropped onto the chair and buried himself in lodge invoices and statements, ignoring the plaguing question of how much penance he’d have to pay for his indiscretion with Brighton before his bill was paid in full.
Redirecting his thoughts, he trolled the websites of other family-centered lodges to see what they were doing, what worked, what didn’t. Found one in southern Virginia that had the results he wanted, the focus he desired for the Bexar.
“We’ve got a problem.”
At the sudden intrusion, Stone watched Oscar slide into the office and close the door. When had he even opened it? “Someday, you’re going to walk in here and say you’re so bored you quit.”
Oscar frowned. “That is not this day.”
“What’s going on?”
“Inspector Pellet asked to extend her visit.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he eased back in his chair. Not the best news, but not the worst either. So, what?—
“The cybersecurity retreat.”
Stone groaned. Leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands. They’d booked the whole lodge for that convention. The business of a respected corporation like that was crucial—not only would it elevate the Bexar-Wolfe on event-planners’ radars, but it’d pay the bills through the next six months.
“Without your guest,” Oscar went on, “the inspector wouldn’t have been a problem?—”
“But now we’re overbooked.”
Oscar nodded and lifted his hands. “No room at the inn.”
“And we can’t very well tell the inspector to take a flying leap.”
“As much as I’d love to …”
Stone pulled up the bookings schedule and stared at it. If Mom hadn’t come, he could’ve given Brighton run of the one-bedroom condo. There was a couch, but he couldn’t in good conscience ask her to camp out on a couch in his mom’s new home. Could they get the inspector to leave? Probably not without ticking her off more.
