She hadn’t slept much, but what sleep she had managed to get, had been the deep and dreamless kind that came at the end of a day that had used up every last reserve a person had. Linda had woken at five, made herself a cup of coffee in the quiet kitchen of Heart House, and written a small note for Sophia and Jake telling them to come over to the hotel for breakfast when they woke up. Then she’d walked the short path through the side garden to the hotel’s staff entrance.
The kids would not be up before seven. That gave Linda an hour and a half to start putting her shoulder to the work.
Uncle George’s office was at the back of the hotel, behind the kitchen and beside the small accounting room Martin used. Linda found the lights, switched one on, and stood for a moment, looking at the room.
Nothing had changed in all the years she’d been alive. The antique oak desk that predated the hotel. The two well-worn leather armchairs by the window. The framed photographs along the wall, the original opening of Hearts Hotel, her grandfather Heart in a white apron standing beside the old front desk, U
ncle George at thirty-five at the door of the newly expanded lobby, Linda’s father in his army uniform on leave the year before he was killed.
The sight of her father’s photograph caused a lump in Linda’s throat in a way she had not expected. She crossed to it, touched the corner of the frame lightly, and let herself look at the young man who had been her father for the first seven years of her life. He was so handsome, and her older brother bore a striking resemblance to him.
She smiled and then turned toward the desk to get to work. Linda settled into Uncle George’s old desk chair and began. Uncle George’s desk was well organized and tidy, just like it always was. That is one of the reasons Linda had always just thought that he had everything under control. He was one of the most organized people she knew. Right down to labeling everything he could stick a label on. But it seemed that such levels of organization and tidiness did not necessarily mean he was on top of his affairs. Instead, it was the tidiness of a man who had been quietly drowning and had taken to organizing his drowning into neat stacks. Linda saw it in the first ten minutes.
Three folders of unpaid invoices were arranged by date, with the oldest from 12 months ago. A separate folder labeled in Uncle George’s handwriting:Things to attend to when funds allow.A small stack of supplier letters tied with a rubber band. A printout of the previous quarter’s bookings with hand-markednotations beside each one indicating which guests Uncle George had quietly turned away because he didn’t have the rooms.
Linda’s chest tightened with each new piece of paper. She read for the better part of an hour as the morning gradually lifted outside the window. Slowly, she was beginning to put together the shape of what Maggie had told her at the hospital. The hotel was not just struggling. The hotel was sinking, and her uncle had been bailing it with a teaspoon for three years. The only reason it was still even limping along was thanks to Tom and Maggie.
Linda rubbed her temples, wondering just how much he owed them, and made a mental note to ask Martin if he was keeping track of that when he was back.
She reached the lower-right desk drawer and was surprised to find it locked.
Linda sat back in the chair, frowning. The other three drawers had opened easily. Only this one had a small brass keyhole and would not budge. She tried to wiggle the drawer open and then forcefully yank it. But it didn’t budge.
“What the heck is in here?” Linda muttered, looking around for something to try to pick the lock with. “You have a safe for valuable and confidential stuff. So why is this drawer locked?” She picked up the platinum letter opener and eyed it. “Do people actually still send snail mail?”
Linda was about to try to pick the lock when a voice from the doorway jolted her, making her drop the letter opener that clattered to the floor.
“Miss Linda?” Rosa appeared in the doorway of the office.
Rosa had a silver tray in her hands.
“Hello, Rosa,” Linda said warmly, her mouth watering as the aroma of the food drifted towards her.
“I brought you some breakfast,” Rosa said, crossing to the desk and setting the tray down beside Linda.
On the tray was a French press of coffee, a small jug of cream, two warm croissants, a dish of butter, some shredded cheese, and fresh strawberry preserves.
“This looks delicious, thank you, Rosa.” Linda sighed happily. She hadn’t even realized how hungry she was until the aroma of the food hit her.
“You are welcome, Miss Linda,” Rosa said with a pleased smile. “I will make breakfast for the children when they come over. I have already asked the chef to make their favorite pancakes.”
“They’ll love that,” Linda said. “Thank you, Rosa. I was so lost in everything here, I didn’t even realize the time.”
Rosa nodded and turned to go, but a thought struck Linda, stopping her.
“Rosa, before you go. Do you happen to know where my uncle keeps the key for that bottom drawer?” Linda pointed to the one in question.
Rosa turned to glance at the desk, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
“I’m not sure,” Rosa answered. “But if there is a key, it will be on that big bunch he keeps. I think it is upstairs in his apartment. I can fetch the bunch for you.”
“If you could, I would be grateful.” Linda’s eyes landed on the locked drawer once again. “I wonder what’s in here that he wouldn’t put in the safe?”
“Something that Mr. Martin, Miss Maggie, or Mr. Tom couldn’t get, maybe?” Rosa offered an answer. “They all have access to Mr. George’s safe, so if he has a locked drawer, I would assume that was the reason.”
“That makes sense,” Linda said, her head tilted slightly as she looked at the lock. “Is this lock new? Do you know, Rosa?” She ran a finger over it. “It looks bright and shiny, and I don’t remember this desk having drawer locks.”
“It could be,” Rosa nodded. “Let me go get the bunch of keys for you. You will need them anyway while Mr. George is incapacitated.”
