by Leslie Caine
“Angie, my sister, spotted them together at The Nines last Saturday night.”
Much as I wanted to deny the accuracy of Mikara’s information, it could very well be true; there’d been some sparks between Wendell and Audrey when I’d last seen them, at an inn meeting on Friday afternoon; Steve and I had gone back to Crestview immediately afterward. During the remodel, we had full use of any of the eight mostly completed guest bedrooms, which we’d designed ourselves. That allowed us to make the ninety-minute commute to Crestview only when we so chose, which generally meant on weekends, so that I could be with Hildi, my adorable black cat, who was happier at home.
Truth be told, I disliked Wendell Barton. He’d struck me as a blowhard. I’d yet to find a Snowcap resident who had a single nice thing to say about the man. Then again, from the sound of things, Mikara hadn’t found any residents to say anything nice about me, either, so maybe this town was snooty about all nonnatives.
“In another week or two, Wendell’s going to have Ms. Domestic Bliss in his sweaty palm,” Mikara continued, “and next thing you know, he’ll flatten that gazebo you just built out back and erect a half dozen condos in its place.”
“If you’re so negative about Snowcap Inn’s future, why did you take this job?”
“I’m a pragmatist. The inn is paying me really well. Especially compared to the pittance I used to make at the art gallery.”
I heard the back door open, followed by the stomping of snowboots on the mat and the rumbling tones of Steve’s voice. I couldn’t help but smile. All this beauty that surrounded us—the blanket of pure white snow, the glittering stars, the red sashes and green boughs on all the storefronts, the charming cabins, town homes, and quaint shops in Snowcap Village—was only encouraging my lovesickness.
The two men entered the kitchen. Henry, soon to be the former owner of this large estate, was a tall, lanky man in his mid-forties who looked like he’d stepped out of an L.L. Bean ad. He’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, although he’d apparently traded that spoon for a camper’s spork. Aside from his current duties as mayor, he hadn’t held an actual job in his life. He’d invested his father’s sizable fortune well and spent his time pursuing women and the great outdoors.
Steve’s face lit up when our eyes met (which made my day), and Henry smiled broadly at the sight of Mikara. “You’ve got perfect timing, Mikki, as usual,” he said. “Just in time for you to butter up your sister.” Henry waggled his thumb in the direction of the back door. “Angie’s here now, doing the inspection on the new gazebo.”
“Wait,” I said to Mikara, instantly anxious. “Your sister is the building inspector?”
“It’s a small town,” she replied with a shrug.
“But you just told me she doesn’t want the inn to open!”
“She’ll be reasonable, though, won’t she, Mikki?” Henry asked.
“Sure. She won’t cause trouble … as long as you don’t have any violations. She’ll be a total stickler for detail. Don’t go expecting her to cut you any slack, is all I’m saying.”
Henry stared at her. “But …the city codes are chock-full of minutiae that could be used to nitpick us indefinitely! You’re her sister. She’ll show some family loyalty, surely … right?”
“If that’s why you hired me, Henry, you misjudged my sister by a mile!”
Henry massaged his forehead in a silent confirmation that he did hire Mikara for political reasons. “Good thing it’s just the gazebo, then. We can tear it down if we have to. But she passed the inn’s plumbing and electric work two weeks ago.”
Sullivan grimaced. “If Angie already inspected the plumbing, why was she taking tap water samples last Friday?”
“She does some contract work for the health inspectors, too,” Mikara replied.
Henry paled a little at this news, but seemed to visibly steel himself a moment later. “So, Mikki, you wanted to make this a live-in position, right? Did you pick out a bedroom yet?”
“Not yet. Why? Does my bedroom have to be located in the basement?”
He laughed heartily and winked in Sullivan’s and my direction. “Such a kidder. No. Just not the master bedroom.”
“Ah, yes,” she said with a sigh. “I remember that room well.”
Henry winced slightly at the remark, and I had to mask my own reaction. Had Henry actually hired his former lover to manage their love-nest-cum-B&B? No chance of trouble there!
“I’m sure you plan on charging hundreds a night for that room,” Mikara added.
“Absolutely. It’s a huge space. Erin, Steve, and Audrey Munroe are using the third-floor bedrooms until we open on Christmas Eve. Gilbert and Sullivan Designs is refurbishing this place from top to bottom, literally.”
I gave Sullivan a quick grin, which he answered with a wink; we were actually Sullivan and Gilbert Designs, but clients inevitably got it wrong.
“The bedrooms just need Christmas decorations and whatnot,” Henry continued, “then they’re all set to be rented out. So … I was hoping you’d consider moving into my old office on the main floor.”
“Fine. That makes sense,” Mikara said with a grim nod. “You don’t want to confuse the paying guests by having them mingle upstairs with the hired help.”
He clicked his tongue. “Come on! You’re not the hired help. You’re the manager. I need you to lead the troops. My contract only gives me control of the daily operations of this joint for another ten months. As of next October first, I’m entrusting the operations and procedures of the Snowcap Inn entirely to you. I wouldn’t have sold if I hadn’t always pictured you here, managing the inn.”
Although I personally found his minispeech quite persuasive—so much so that my mind’s eye was already envisioning a lovely transformation from home office to Mikara’s bedroom—she glared at him and put her hands on her narrow hips. “You should never have sold this place, even so.”
“We’ve been through this before,” he snapped. “I’m a sworn bachelor. It was nuts, my having this huge place all to myself. Especially when I’d just as soon be backpacking across Europe. Besides, the Snowcap Ski Resort is never going away. This town has got to accept that fact …learn how to maintain its community ties even while embracing the seasonal tourist trade.”
“So you sold to Wendell Barton and a couple of in-name-only partners.”
“They’re hardly puppets, Mikki. Audrey Munroe and Chiffon Walters each own thirty percent of the inn now.”
“But Chiffon’s just a mindless bimbo who happened to record a couple of hit pop songs some five years ago. And promptly bought a luxury condo next to Wendell’s mountain. She’s no match for Barton!”
“That’s not true! Chiffon’s got a great head on her shoulders. Barton’s powerless unless she or Audrey sides with him. And I trust both of them implicitly.” He added pointedly, “I set things up that way specifically so Barton could never tear down this house and put a hundred condos in its place.”
“Better get ready for the bulldozer, then,” Mikara said with a snort. “Your Ms. Munroe and Mr. Barton are the new hot couple. Or as hot as anyone in their sixties can be, that is. Angie saw them necking at The Nines.”
Henry looked stricken.
“If Wendell’s dating Audrey strictly to win her vote, his plan will backfire,” I quickly interjected.
“Erin’s right,” Steve added. “Audrey has a mind of her own.”
“So does every woman—” Mikara glanced at Henry, then added sadly, “—right up until she falls in love.”
There was an uncomfortable amount of truth in Mikara’s remark, which gave me pause; we women do have a tendency to adopt our lovers’ viewpoints. Sullivan glanced at me, and I felt my cheeks grow warm.
“Erin, did you see where I left my notepad?” he whispered. “I measured the—”
“It’s on the desk in the lobby.”
He nodded.
The doorbell rang. “That’s probably Angie,” Henry said. “I asked her to g
ive us the results of her inspection right away. Let’s all treat her with respect, regardless of what she says.”
“Oh, darn,” Mikara muttered. “Now I won’t be able to spit in my sister’s eye, like usual.”
Ignoring her, Henry strode into the lobby. Moments later, a blonder, younger version of Mikara entered the kitchen, followed by Henry. Mikara forced a smile. “Hey, Angie,” she said. “You’ve got the work done already?”
“Yeah. But there’s a big problem.”
Why am I not surprised? I thought. Henry grimaced and did a double take, but Mikara merely sighed and introduced me to her sister.
“Nice to meet you, Angie,” I said with a big smile.
“Hi, Angie,” Sullivan said, giving her a charming smile. “Good to see you again.” She barely looked at him, which to my mind was similar to the jury not looking at the defendant before they announced their guilty verdict.
“I can’t believe there was anything wrong with the gazebo construction,” Henry said. “You know what a great job Ben Orlin always does.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the gazebo. But there’s too much lead in your tap water. I can’t approve of this residence being converted into a motel.”
“Fortunately,” Henry promptly countered, “you don’t have to. We intend to use the house as a small bed-and-breakfast inn.”
“Right,” Angie said with a sneer. “That’s even worse. You’ll have to get restaurant approval. Cooking meals and serving tap water rife with these poisons is out of the question.”
“We use the city water here. Same as everyone else.”
“It’s got nothing to do with the water supply. You’ve got bad pipes. You’ll have to replace them all.”
Sullivan and I exchanged puzzled glances; contaminants could be removed with filters, which would be much easier and less expensive than replacing pipes. We needed to wait until Angie left to tell Henry that, though; my hunch was that otherwise Angie would find some arcane ruling that prohibited water filtering.
“Our pipes are copper, not lead!” Henry shouted.
“Must be the solder in all the joints,” she said with a shrug. “Or else maybe they’re copper-coated lead pipes.”
“Oh, come off it!” Henry shouted. “You’re making this stuff up, and we both know it! Now, what’s it going to take to get you to give the water here a passing grade?”
“Are you offering me a bribe, Mr. Goodwin?”
“No, I’m just—”
“Good, because that would be a federal crime, and you’re in enough trouble already. What with your lead contaminants and your faulty front steps.”
“Front steps?”
She gave him a sly grin. “I must have forgotten to tell you. They’re too steep for a business …and particularly for a business that’s going to have geriatrics and little children going up and down them all the time.”
“Toddlers and geriatric guests can use the back door and our handicap access.”
“Or you can follow the law, and rebuild to meet the city codes, so they can use your front steps.”
“Angie!” Mikara cried. “Quit busting Henry’s chops!”
She glowered at Mikara. “Hey, sis. You know, it’s like what you said to me when you left the house this morning: ‘I’m just trying to do my job.’” She used a lilting voice and flitted her eyes derisively, mocking her sister.
“You’re being a brat, Angela!”
“And you’re being a weasel!” Angie shot her sister a furious glare, then she softened her expression slightly and said to Henry, “The bottom line is there are unacceptable levels of lead in the water supply. Fix it, or else you’re not going to be able to convert this place into a bed-and-breakfast.”
“But we’re opening on Christmas Eve! In three weeks!”
“Then you’d better get the lead out, hadn’t you,” she said. “Plus, have the entire concrete stoop demolished and rebuilt to code.” She tore off a pink copy from her clipboard and handed it to him. “Here’s your official notice. Pity your violations will probably delay your opening. But take heart, Mayor Goodwin. There’s always next Christmas.”
She strode toward the front door, glanced back over her shoulder, and said with a haughty smile, “Good seeing you, Henry.”
“Be real careful on the steps,” he snarled. “We wouldn’t want you to fall and crack your head open.”
Chapter 2
That went well,” I said with a sigh.
“Yeah, it sure did,” Henry said. “It’s really touching to see how strong that sisterly bond is between you two, Mikki.”
Mikara wore a pained expression as she stared at Henry, but she held her tongue.
“Angie’s concerns are easy enough to resolve, Henry,” Sullivan said. “It should take less than a week to remake the front steps and to fix the troubles with your water. We’ll put in a rush order for a commercial-grade water filter. Then we’ll hire a plumber, and with any luck at all, we can have Angie back out here for the retest in ten days.”
Henry widened his eyes. “You’re saying we can just filter out the lead from the water?”
“Yeah,” Sullivan replied. “It’ll cost a couple grand, but replacing all the pipes would be much more expensive.”
Henry released a sigh of relief. “Great! Then we’re still in business! Interesting that Angie didn’t mention a simple water filter. No doubt she’ll just drum up some more picayune nonsense in the code books to throw at us. But, at least for the time being, we’re a step ahead of her.”
“You can’t expect my sister or anyone else to greet your inn with open arms, Henry,” Mikara exclaimed. “We elected you as our mayor! Next thing we know, you’re partnering up with Wendell Barton himself. It feels like you turned your back on Snowcap Village.”
He looked stunned. “I did no such thing. I worked my ass off, trying to watch out for the future development of this town, and I turned down a small fortune by declining Wendell’s bid for full ownership.” He regarded her coolly and shook his head. “I’m surprised you agreed to come work for me in the first place, considering how you feel.”
“I needed the money. Plus, I love this house. You know that. I love its history and what it means to this town. Somebody needs to treat this property with the respect it deserves. Eventually, the townies will embrace the Snowcap Inn and will proudly show it off to visitors. But for now, Henry, you should try looking at things from their perspective. Act like our forty-two-year-old mayor, not like a twenty-year-old kid who’s dying to skip town and get back to nature.”
Henry jabbed his index finger at her. “I’m your boss, Mikara! If you can’t accept that and treat me with respect for the one lousy year, you should leave now!”
Not backing down, she took another step toward him. “Oh, for God’s sake, Henry! Of course I respect you! But I’m here to get this place running smoothly, so I’m not about to sit back and watch you actively make enemies!” She pointed at the door to the main hall. “You need to get out there and shake some hands, brush some elbows, just like you did last year to win the election. Convince the townies you’re not bailing on them. Remind everyone this house is converting to a B-and-B, not a BaseMart department store! Treat my sister with some respect!”
“Fine. I’m not going to argue with you.” Henry stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’ll play the friendly politician again, for the sake of harmony.”
“Good! Now everyone please excuse me and let me complete my inventory.” She pivoted and marched back over to the drawer where she’d been counting serving spoons when we first met.
Steve, Henry, and I took the not-so-subtle hint and left the room in favor of the spacious lobby. Henry began to pace on the slate floor in front of the enormous moss-rock fireplace. Sullivan and I exchanged glances; his thoughts were no doubt similar to mine. Lovely as this town and this house were, we’d stepped into a hornet’s nest—one with a formidable queen bee. I hoped Henry actually was weighing her excellent advice,
and not just capitulating quickly as an aftereffect of their past history.
“I should’ve seen this coming,” Henry said quietly. “I honestly thought Mikki would be the one lifelong Snowcap resident nobody would dare harangue.”
“And you assumed you’d sail through Angie’s final inspections with Mikara working here,” I muttered.
“Yeah, of course I did,” he snapped, pacing with increased fervor. “In theory, it seemed like the perfect move. But if anything, we’re getting more guff from her sister, now that Mikara’s officially manager. Looks like I’m going to have to outwit Wendell at his own game.”
“What game? What does one-upping Wendell Barton have to do with appeasing the building inspector?”
Still marching back and forth across the hearth like an overwound toy soldier, Henry didn’t answer. He popped a Tic Tac in his mouth. He’d once explained that he suffered from anxiety attacks but hated to take medication, so he’d managed to convince himself that breath mints were beta-blockers. “We have to show this town that Audrey Munroe and Chiffon Walters are the real owners of the Snowcap Inn.”
“The thing is,” Sullivan interjected, “they each own a smaller percentage of the inn than Wendell does.”
“Just by a few percentage points,” Henry grumbled.
Sullivan was clearly worried, which meant we were picking up on the same signals; Henry was now acting like a client on the verge of making an ill-timed decision. His bearing was eerily reminiscent of a homeowner we’d worked for just six months ago who suddenly insisted upon moving her recently completed marble fireplace to a different wall.
“Come on, Henry,” Sullivan said. “Let’s go chop down that tree we picked out.”
Henry frowned. “In a minute.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m going to have to take some action here. Especially since it looks like Audrey and Wendell are in bed together, or might be soon.”
“In all honesty, Henry,” I began, “Audrey’s one of my favorite people, and she’s not—”
He held up a hand. “Poor choice of wording. The point is, though, Chiffon and Audrey need to be kept happy and brought forward … front and center in everyone’s mind. We need to publicly reveal that both women have a big role in this inn. You know what I’m saying? Plus, they both need to feel valued and needed. Otherwise, the minute my back is turned, they’re going to let Wendell buy them out.”