The Grand Opening

by Ava Miles

  “How does Dustin feel about starting out at a new high school?”

  He propped her feet up on a cooler and stood over her to block the sun, making her smile. Her red curls bobbed around her face when she sank into the chair.

  “He hasn’t stopped bitching. I expect we’ll hear nothing but complaining for the next few years. We’ve ruined his life, you see.”

  “Don’t freak out an expectant mom. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the thought of babies. Teenagers terrify me.”

  The memory of what it had been like to be a hell–raising teenage boy kept him up at night. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. “Join the club.”

  “You didn’t think about letting them stay in Arizona?”

  He took a bite of potato salad. The extra pickle punched it out of the ballpark. “No. We’re family. We stick together. Abbie and I made that deal when we built the second hotel. I have to travel between our hotels as part of the business, but we always have a home base together.”

  She grabbed an olive. “I love that about you. You’re like a poker player with a heart of gold—instead of a hooker.”

  “Leave it to you to twist that phrase into a sick compliment. Have I told you how glad I am you’re working with me?”

  “Almost every day. It’s part of my grand plan to lure you into letting me take over the hotel. You know my aspirations to be a great businesswoman in Dare.”

  “You already are with the coffee shop. Now, you’re just expanding.”

  He pulled a table with an umbrella closer to Jill. “You need to be in the shade.”

  “You’re right. These munchkins suck all the air conditioning out of me. Not that we have any in the house. We usually don’t need it in the mountains, but this is the hottest summer I can remember. I’ve told Brian he’s going to sleep on the couch until he installs a window unit. I can’t take it anymore.”

  Mac’s mouth tilted up. “It’s the least he could do. You’re carrying his kids.”

  “Exactly!” She grabbed her lemonade.

  Mac dragged another chair over to the table. Guests filtered over to discuss the already infamous moose incident and the hotel’s grand opening on July 2nd, which was just over a week away. The festivities would include the first big–name poker tournament. Mentioning some of his more famous guests, like the award–winning country singer Rye Crenshaw, had the women swooning. Unfortunately, Mac hadn’t been able to convince Rye to sing when the poker tournament ended on July 4th, right before the fireworks show. He was still working on that.

  Tanner joined the group with an update on the moose. Officers had followed it back to its one–month–old calf. The poor thing had broken its leg in the stream running adjacent to Brian and Jill’s property, probably trying to find water in the drought. The mama had been feeding it Peggy’s pie. The cops had used a stun gun on both animals, and a vet was fixing the baby’s leg. They’d be released into the wild once the little one recovered. The vet had told the cops that moms always went nuts over their babies. Hadn’t Peg?

  Mac gave Tanner a few quotes for his article, savored the phenomenal BBQ, and let the chatter and whiskey relax him.

  But he couldn’t unwind all the way.

  Peggy.

  Even with his back to her, he could feel her. The watchfulness, the caution, the interest.

  God, he had to tune her out again. He’d gotten pretty good at keeping her in the deep freeze. The moose incident had unleashed the primal fire he felt for her.

  He switched to beer and let Jill amuse him with her jokes and animated chatter. Her enthusiasm for the hotel matched his own. As they talked about the final training session for the staff, he let himself remember who he was—and how different that was from how Peggy seemed to see him.

  A delicate tap on his shoulder made him look back. Keith tucked his hands under his armpits and stared at the ground. Mac fought the instinct to scoop him onto his lap and comfort him. Poor kid had to be terrified. But he’d learned with his nephew that you needed to balance the boy and the growing man, even at this age. Men knew they needed to be brave, scared or not. Especially the sons of single mothers. There was no one to protect their moms, so somehow they felt it was their job. It wasn’t, but he’d never crush that spirit.

  “Mr. Maven. I wanted to thank you for saving us.” His voice could have doubled for a bullfrog’s.

  “You were doing pretty great before I dropped in. You were brave to run to the house all by yourself.”

  Keith’s head darted up. Those brown eyes—so big and clear like his mom’s—widened. “You think so?”

  Mac’s hand rested on his little shoulder. “I sure do. You know about castles and knights, right?”

  Keith nodded emphatically.

  “When bad guys surrounded a castle, the knights would always send the bravest person to run for help.”

  “That’s so cool!” His eyes shone as big as dollar coins. “I’m glad you helped my mom. She didn’t have her gun.”

  “She’s pretty brave.”

  “She’s the bravest! I can’t wait to tell my friends what happened.”

  His gaze drifted to Peggy. She was watching them. Her facial muscles had softened. He fought off his frustration. He wanted her to soften with him regardless of whether he was being kind to her kid.

  The mother in her appreciated and trusted him.

  The deputy didn’t. She’d probably shoot him—not fatally—just to give him a limp. Especially if it delayed the hotel’s opening.

  “Mom said to tell you thank you.”

  So, she’d sent a messenger behind enemy lines. He caught Jill looking at him and fought a curse. Peggy could barely say thank you to her brother. Why had he expected her to say it to him?

  Because he’d hoped that moment in the car had changed things.

  He was a fool.

  “You tell your mom I did what anyone would.” He ruffled Keith’s hair.

  The boy took the encouragement and jumped on his lap, chatting like a magpie with Jill, his favorite person in the world. Mac let Keith curl against his body with the total trust of a child.

  He remembered how Peggy had curled against him when she was on his lap. Totally different, except for the delicate ribbon of trust that had been created in that moment.

  But she’d ripped it in two.

  He put an arm around Keith, met her eyes for a full ten seconds, and then looked away.

  His heart wasn’t staying on his sleeve.

  Chapter 3

  The moose jokes were going to make her crack. Billy Barnes had the audacity to shove a stuffed, furry replica under her desk. It gave a deranged moo when she sat down, courtesy of its motion sensor. The guys were yukking it up so hard she hoped they’d choke on their glazed donuts. She’d just hurled the moose at Billy without saying anything.

  This was getting ridiculous.

  After her lunch break, during which she’d been exposed to a whopping six moose jokes, she stormed back into her office. Usually she could laugh off pranks and jokes, but all the moose talk made her think of Maven. She’d had trouble sleeping two nights in a row courtesy of his stupid, gorgeous face worming its way into her brain. She couldn’t stop hearing his dark chocolate voice whisper in her ear.

  The pastry box and card on her desk stopped her in her tracks. She eyed it like a bomb tech. The guys wouldn’t have gotten her a moose cake, would they? Jeez. See if she’d share it with them. She’d shoot a hole right through its gooey center. That would shut them up.

  She lifted the lid one inch at a time. The key lime pie made her snarl. She knew who’d sent it before she tore open the card.

  Since you blamed me for ruining your pie, I wanted to replace it.

  I hope it matches the care and attention you took with your delicious creation.

  I also want to cordially invite you to the hotel’s opening on July 4.

  The Grand Mountain Hotel looks forward to welcoming you.

  Regards,

&
nbsp; Mac

  She threw the card down. Damn him. Didn’t he know this would get her goat? She stopped pacing. Of course he did. Hadn’t she seen the hurt in his eyes at the BBQ before he turned into Mr. Cool again?

  Her foot kicked her trash can. He was lucky she didn’t march over to his hotel and throw the pie in his face. Of all the gall! She rocked on her heels. She simply had to find a way to close him down or make him leave town. Now that she’d found a safe haven at last, she couldn’t let gambling ruin it.

  She strode out with the pie. “I have a special dessert in my hands. You can have it on one condition. No more moose anything! Understood?”

  Fresh–faced Kirby Jenkins stood up. “What kind of pie?”

  “What does it matter? It’s pie.”

  “I’m not retiring my moose jokes until I know it’s worth it.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. It’s key lime.” Since when did men care what kind of dessert it was?

  “Sweet.” He grabbed the box. “You’re off the hook. I’ll see to it.” He pointed his finger to the other officers who were lounging with donuts and coffee.

  “You’d better. Or I declare war. You know I fight dirty.”

  Billy Barnes crossed his arms. “You couldn’t stop that moose in its tracks.”

  Her hand waved in the air. “Ha–ha. Don’t make me make you eat your words.”

  She didn’t slam her office door, but she wanted to. It was time to get serious. Her key unlocked her storage cabinet. The musty files made her nose twitch. She sneezed and pulled the first faded folder, the dust bunnies shining like starbursts in the sunlight streaming through her office window. The label read Murder, The Grand Mountain Hotel, 1931. She’d snuck over to Archives in the early dawn to borrow the records.

  The murder photos had yellowed with age, but that didn’t hide the grisliness. Aaron the Kid, a small–time mobster, had accused the card dealer, Bradford Calvin, of fixing his poker game. Witness statements differed completely. Some said Aaron pulled his weapon first. Others said Bradford had pulled a concealed weapon in self–defense. No one commented on how Lance Kitrick, a local, was involved or why he’d fled the scene.

  She’d made her own board about Maven and had been studying this old case for months without any breakthroughs, praying the construction crew would find a skeleton. When they didn’t, she locked the cabinet and gave up, but she hadn’t been able to put the file back in Archives.

  Today, she finally had to admit defeat. Since everyone associated with the crime was dead, she couldn’t go back and interview anyone. It was more than a cold case; it was arctic. A murder in 1931 couldn’t hurt The Grand Mountain Hotel now.

  God, in her desperation to kick Maven out of town, she’d been grasping at straws.

  A nasty voice entered her mind. You’re this desperate to make him leave? What does that tell you? She shut it down and tapped the pencil against her temple. Everybody but her—and the teetotalers and anti–gamblers—wanted this hotel. Her beef with Maven was common knowledge, even though no one understood it.

  Her recent “moment” with Maven had reinvigorated her desire to get him out of town. She couldn’t ignore him forever. Keith was upset. So was her best friend, Jill. Tanner and Maven had grown close too, dammit, and even Meredith seemed to enjoy laughing with him.

  Peggy was odd man out in her family.

  Something had to give.

  Plus, the ongoing dreams were making her straitjacket crazy.

  The sex–crazed ones played out the same fantasy over and over again. She and Maven were tangled up in her bed sheets as he drove into her until she screamed out. Even more mortifying, she came in her sleep every time. She blamed it on the sex drought since her divorce.

  The other dreams were about her father. He had been a gambler and a drunk, and the one surety in her young life had been that he would appropriate the money her mom had set aside for her school supplies or prom dress to buy another bottle of Canadian Mist and play some cards. He had never hit her, but he’d always been quick to yell and raise his fists. Tanner had always interceded, diverting his attention.

  Peggy blamed her father’s behavior on booze and gambling. If he hadn’t given into those vices, he’d have been a good father. The cop in her knew it wasn’t true, but the young girl she’d been couldn’t let go of the belief. She’d channeled her anger into mercilessly upholding the law. No one walked on a drunk driving. Kids drinking underage got arrested.

  But she’d never busted anyone for gambling. Hadn’t come across it until now.

  Maven’s legal gambling pissed her off. Why could a hotel offer it, but not a back room? The difference didn’t make sense.

  What she really needed was to dig up a skeleton in Maven’s closet. So far, she hadn’t found one. Her first try had ended in total embarrassment, for her.

  She shoved the files aside, her nose twitching at the dust. The Western Independent’s front page drew her gaze. They were running yet another article on the hotel’s miraculous transformation, juxtaposing old pictures from its grand opening in 1922 with modern ones. The grainy photos harkened back to a time when men slicked back their hair and wore fedoras and pin–stripe suits.

  She tapped a pencil to her lips. These photos were older than the ones in her murder file, but they hadn’t yellowed with age. Arthur was beyond resourceful, and he always managed to dig up unusual and obscure scoops. Hell, hadn’t he printed the story that Maven was coming to Dare to restore the hotel before it was common knowledge, making Maven accelerate his plans?

  Hmm…

  Her brain started working. It was time to talk to Arthur. He liked a good story, and maybe together they could find something on Maven.

  Cheered, she stood up and decided to visit Tanner. While she was there, she’d pop in to see Arthur. No one would suspect anything.

  She locked the files away and strode out. Only a few graham cracker crumbs remained in the bottom of the pastry box. Pigs.

  “I’m heading out for a bit,” she informed Billy Barnes. His foot tapped like a rabbit on a sugar high.

  “See ya, Peg,” he called. “Watch out for big, scary—”

  “Stop right there!” Kirby warned. “We had pie. We’ve been paid off.”

  She gave him a mini–salute for taking charge.

  Another slow day in Dare. You had to love it.

  She decided to walk. Main Street was decked out in festive red, white, and blue Independence Day banners, and a few shops had planted matching flowers. Who had time for details like that? She was lucky to remember to plant geraniums in a pot on the front steps to cover the crack in the concrete.

  The signs Make Dare Beautiful baffled her. Who cared? Being clean and safe was enough for her and her kid.

  Her eyes zeroed in on a Ferrari the color of a silver bullet. Only one person owned a Ferrari in Dare. Well, he owned two, or he had before the moose had totaled the other one. While his cars had initially branded him as an outsider, they were widely considered cool now, especially since Maven also owned a pick–up truck and an SUV like everyone else. And those weren’t his only cars; the guy practically had a fleet. Some people.

  She paused, blinded by the car’s shine. The metal frame reflected her scowl. Her foot tapped on the sidewalk. The vehicle was over–the–top. The fire hydrant on the corner drew her gaze. His car was parked pretty close to it. Her tape measure was in her office, but she was pretty sure he was breaking the law.

  Or so she told herself.

  She dug out her notebook and wrote him a ticket. Signing her name gave her a giddy feeling. If only she could see the look on his face when he found it. She hadn’t caught him speeding yet, but it was only a matter of time in these babies. When she’d done a background check on him, she’d discovered a pile of speeding tickets. The man liked the fast lane in more things than just poker. Maybe there was more in the fast lane category to uncover about him.

  The note fit perfectly under his fancy–schmancy windshield wipers. Thank
s for the pie. She headed down the street, whistling Dixie.

  When she reached the headquarters of The Independent, the windows were sparkling in the morning sun. She pushed the door and entered the buzz. Even though it differed from the precinct’s energy, she liked the feel. People chasing leads. Talking to sources. Investigating. Stuff she understood.

  She waved when a few people lifted their hands. Her shoulder hitched up. She didn’t understand this much friendliness. It was like Dare’s water supply had candy–striper serum in it. Still, she did her best to respond. Her brother had a corner office with a window—something he appreciated after all of the window–less offices he’d inhabited overseas due to bombs and bullets.

  “Hey there,” she called out, crossing her arms in his doorway.

  He spun around and smiled. “Well, if this isn’t a surprise. You wouldn’t happen to have the munchkin with you?”

  “No. He’s probably at the pool with the sitter. Even with all that swimming, he still hates to go to bed. It’s a battle every freakin’ night.”

  He rose and gave her a big hug. “I seem to remember you being the same way.”

  She punched him on the back. “Well, you were the opposite—you always loved going to sleep.”

  “Still do. You want some coffee?”

  “No.” She sat in the ancient leather chair across from his desk. It squeaked. She liked that. Gave it character.

  He shoved a stack of health care books aside and kicked back. “Any bad dreams?”

  Her mouth nearly dropped open. Jeez, his mind–reading thing freaked her out. How did he know she was dreaming about Maven and their dad? “Ah…it’s manageable.”

  His grin confused her. “Do you end up shooting the moose?”

  Is that what they were talking about? Whew. “Funny. You should hang out with my crew. They’re been cracking moose jokes for days.”

  “Billy told me he found a stuffed one that mooed at Wal–Mart.”

  She threw a pencil at him. He ducked.

  “You guys need to get a life. Moose don’t even moo.”

  His laughter was as demented as the guys’ at the office. “I know. How’s Keith? He seemed pretty creeped out.”