Josie closed the door, he set the giant document against the wall, and they both took a seat. “Are you sure they’re bedbugs?”
“They look like the ones we had in our inn in Tennessee. But we don’t use the word ‘bedbugs.’ To avoid panic, we call them jelly beans. Michelle found them, and I checked them.”
“Show me.”
They took the circular staircase to a second-floor room. There Josie pointed to the side of the bare mattress. “See those flat, tan ovals? We call them exoskeletons—dead bedbugs. No telling how many other rooms are infested.”
This couldn’t happen. “What do we do?”
Josie drew a deep breath and let it out in an audible sigh. “Michigan has vague laws about infestations in hotels, but we need to notify the guests.”
“Of course.”
“Then post notices on all the doors. Call one guest from each room. Contact the Department of Health and call an exterminator. Some of them have dogs who can sniff out the, uh, jelly beans.” She shook her head, sorrow in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Caleb. You’ve worked so hard, trying to make the hotel succeed.”
It would’ve been better if he’d never agreed to try to revive this failing old inn, because losing hope somehow seemed worse than never having it.
Josie already knew their books, and she could probably see where this was headed, so he had to ask. “Will this shut us down for good?”
She lowered her gaze to the desk. “My late husband, Wes, and I barely made it after this happened to us.”
Her words shot straight through his heart. So did his limited choices.
Caleb could give up, go back to LA and Derek’s band. Hit the road with him again, which would kill any chance he had with Ariel.
But he couldn’t go back. This inn and his staff had become his responsibility. He’d have to finance Island House Inn himself until it could turn a profit. But not forever.
“I saw in your bookwork that the inn doesn’t have any debt. I’m sure the bank would give you a loan.”
Caleb puffed out a breath. “That seems like an easy solution, but Granddad always said that if his great-grandfather hadn’t borrowed money against this place, he wouldn’t have lost it during the Depression. Granddad will never agree to a loan, and honestly, neither would I.”
“I also saw that you’ve already contributed a hefty amount of money toward upgrading the inn.” She softened her voice. “That’s noble, Caleb, and I respect you for it. But you can’t prop it up forever.”
She had a point. “Go ahead and print some signs for the doors. I need to relieve Sarah for her break.”
“First I’ll notify the County Health Department.”
“It’s July fourth. Nobody will answer.”
“They’ll have someone on call.”
And after Sarah’s break, Caleb would go to Granddad’s suite and tell him the news. For now, he headed toward the reception desk and found Sarah trying to calm a man who wore rumpled jeans and a black “Sotally Tober” hat and held a small crying boy.
“Look at this.” The man pointed to a zigzagged line of bites on the boy’s arm. “Bedbugs did this.”
Caleb approached them and checked the boy’s arm. He glanced at Sarah. Surely she’d seen bedbug—jelly bean—bites before.
She gave one subtle nod.
Great. He held out his hand to the man. “I’m Caleb Kennedy, hotel manager and grandson of the owner.”
“Pete Rockwell.” The man looked at Caleb’s hand and stepped back. “Uh, no offense, but no thanks.”
Right. Caleb lowered his hand. “I learned of our problem just a minute ago. Did you see evidence of bugs in your room?”
“What evidence do you want besides this?” He held up the boy’s arm.
O-kay. “My staff is taking measures to prevent spreading and to notify the public. Can I do anything to help you now?” With the man’s focus on his son’s chewed-up arm, Caleb caught Sarah’s gaze and mouthedLike what?
