Нора Робертс - The Next Always

“Really? Wait, haunted? No, one thing at a time.” Hope waved her hands in the air as if clearing a chalkboard. “Now, tell me everything about Beckett Montgomery. I met him briefly in your place, Avery, but all I remember is an impression of yummy.”

“Yummy’s accurate, but Clare would have more details there due to big, sloppy.”

“I should never have told you about last night,” Clare said to Avery.

“As if. He’s gorgeous—they all are. He has his office and apartment over the restaurant.”

“Oh, that’s right, that’s right. I remember now. I met Owen long enough to say hi, there. Two out of three, at least, are yummy.”

“Ryder carries on the tradition. Anyway, Beckett.” Avery grinned at Clare. “He got his degree from the University of Maryland, worked for the family business in the summers, then apprenticed with a firm in Hagerstown for a couple years. He’s full-time with Montgomery Family Contractors now, handles the architectural needs, and still straps on a tool belt whenever he’s needed. Which looks fine on him.”

“Maybe you should go out with him.”

Avery just kept grinning at Clare over her wine. “He never gave me the puppy-dog eyes. He’s been stuck on Clare since high school. He told her.”

“Aww.”

Avery gave Hope a light slap on the arm. “I know. They’re going out Friday night.”

“Where?”

Clare shifted in her chair. “I don’t know. Dinner, I guess. He’s coming at seven. That should be dinner.”

“What are you wearing?”

“I don’t know. God, I don’t know. I don’t remember how to do this.”

“We’re here to help,” Hope assured her. “We’ll go up and pick something out.”

“I don’t even know if I have anything that’s date-wear. Everything’s Mom- or bookstore-wear.”

“I love your clothes,” Avery disagreed.

“We’ll see what’s what. And if we can’t find anything that makes you happy, we’ll go shopping.”

“I don’t really have time to—”

“Clare, you’ve been shopping with me.” Hope lifted a finger. “You know I can whip together an outfit, including shoes, accessories, and underpinnings, inside twenty minutes.”

“She has that talent,” Avery confirmed. “See, fun. We can do this all the time when Hope’s living in town. You know what you need to do! You need to move up here now. Move in with me until the inn’s finished. It’s perfect. We could be roommates again. You’ll get to know the area, the people, have a real handle on the inn before you really start working there.”

“Getting way ahead of yourself has always been one of your talents. I haven’t even seen the place. And, even if I decided I wanted the job like I want a new pair of Manolos, there’s no guarantee they’ll hire me. For all we know, Mom and Sons might take an instant dislike to me.”

“Never happen; they’re too astute. Especially Justine. Oh, Oh.” Avery waved her wineglass. “Did you hear about the gift shop?”

“I was in there earlier,” Clare confirmed. “The building next to the bookstore,” she told Hope. “Their tenant moved out, and they’re going to make it into a gift shop, specializing in local arts and crafts. Tying it in with the inn.”

“That’s a clever idea.”

“They’re full of them,” Avery told Hope.

“Uh-huh. Tell me about the place being haunted.”

“It’s a woman with a preference for honeysuckle. That’s all I know.” Avery shrugged. “The original part of the building is the oldest stone house in town. Seventeen-ninety-whatever. So she could be from any time. You know what? Owen ought to research her. That’s what he does—research things.”

“Owen’s the one I talked to. The detail man. Has this honeysuckle-loving ghost caused any problems?”

“Not that I’ve heard of. And I would, or Clare would. The crew eats at my place a lot, and gets coffee or books at TTP. They’d talk about it, believe me. Maybe you’ll make contact when we go through tomorrow. Clare, you’ve got to come.”

Clare tuned back in, shifted her gaze from the softening light over the backyard—that needed mowing. “I don’t think the Montgomerys want three little boys running around the place. Plus, it’s not safe.”

“It wouldn’t take long. I could get Franny to watch them for a half hour. She’s on tomorrow.”

“I don’t know . . . Let me see. I might be able to drop them at my mother’s for a bit. A little bit,” she added. “We’ve still got a lot of back-to-school prep to do, and I’ve got yard work and housework.”

“Walk-through’s at ten.”

Clare juggled tomorrow’s agenda in her head. “Maybe. I’ll be there if I can make it.”

“Good enough. Now.” Hope rubbed her hands together. “Let’s go play closet.”

As arranged, Owen arrived at Vesta at nine thirty sharp to meet and interview Hope. Since she’d promised to stay out of the way, Avery busied herself with the morning prep—firing up the pizza ovens, making the sauces in anticipation of Saturday business when they opened at eleven.

When Owen walked in, Hope sat at the counter drinking coffee as she looked over her notes.

Owen shifted his briefcase to his left hand, held out his right. “Hope.”

“Owen.”

“It’s nice to see you again. Appreciate this, Avery.”

“All for the common good,” she said from the stove. “Coffee?”

“That’d be great. I’ll get it.” At home, he walked around to the pot she had on one of the twin burners, poured, then added a dose of sugar. “Why don’t we take a table?” he suggested. “So, how was your trip up?”

“Not bad.” She took her seat, gauging him as she knew he gauged her. His eyes, a clear, quiet blue, stayed direct on hers. “I left early enough to miss the traffic.”

“I don’t get down to D.C. often. Traffic’s one of the reasons.” A smile shifted, softened the angles of his face. “Things move a lot slower up here.”

“Yes, they do. It’s a pretty town.” She kept her tone carefully noncommittal. “I’ve enjoyed the area when I’ve come up to see Avery and Clare.”

“It’s a big change from Georgetown.”

Circling each other, she decided. Well, she knew how to dance. “I’m looking for change. Rehabbing and reimagining a building like the inn, with its long history, must be a big change from the kind of work Montgomery Family Contractors has done in the past. You and your family have rehabbed old buildings before, including the one we’re sitting in, but nothing on this scale. It must be a challenge.”

“It is.”

“And owning an inn, with all its demands, issues—quirks—that’s a big change from a more traditional landlord role.”

Who was interviewing whom? he wondered, and decided he liked her.

“We thought about it for a long time, blended viewpoints, and came up with a specific vision. We’re going to make that vision a reality.”

“Why an inn?”

“I’m betting you researched the history.”

“That doesn’t tell me why you and your family conceived this particular vision.”

He considered her while she questioned him. He gave her points—for appearance, to start. Killer looks, and she knew how to play them. The sharp style of her hair set off her eyes. The cut and rusty red color of her suit set off her body, and telegraphed control and authority.

Big, sultry eyes, he noted, offset by an air of coolness.

It was a nice combo.

“It was originally a tavern stand,” he told her, “a place for travelers to rest, rest their horses, get a meal. Over time, various owners added on. The name changed, but for more than a century it served as an inn. We’ll make it an inn again, respecting that history. While bringing it into the twenty-first century.”

“I’ve been getting the rundown on some of the features.” She smiled then, warming up the cool.

He gave her more points.

“We’re having some fun there. This area has a lot to offer visitors. Antietam, Crystal Grottoes, Harpers Ferry, and plenty more. Right now, there’s no place for those visitors to stay in Boonsboro. Once there is, we’ll draw people in, people who’ll want to eat, to shop, to sightsee. We want to give them a unique experience in a beautiful place with exceptional service.”

“Exclusive, individual, historic. It’s an interesting concept, naming the rooms after literary couples.”

“Romantic couples. Each room has its own flavor, its own feel. Couples are a major clientele of B&Bs. We’d like to draw honeymooners, couples celebrating an anniversary or special occasion. Give them a memorable stay, so they’ll come back, and tell their friends.”

And enough about us, he thought, sipped some coffee.

“Your resume certainly qualifies you for the innkeeper position.”

“I have a hard copy of the file I emailed you if you want it.”

“Sure.”

“You’d need the innkeeper to live on-site.”

“Can’t keep the inn by remote. We’d provide the apartment. It’s a two-bedroom on the third floor. Living room, bath, smallish kitchen, but the innkeeper would have access to the main kitchen, and the laundry facilities.”

“She—or he—would have to cook.”

“Just breakfast.”

“I’d think you’d want more than that. If you’re providing B&B service, you’d want homemade cookies, muffins, or some other type of thing to offer during the day. Wine and cheese in the evening.”

“That’d be a nice touch.”

“Avery had an idea about offering guests delivery, if they didn’t want to go out.”

Owen glanced back toward the open kitchen. “Smart. We could put her menu in the room packs. Smart,” he said again, and made a note.

“There are a lot of practicalities, Owen. A list of duties, salary, days off. Housekeeping, laundry, budget, maintenance. Anyone taking this on would need an assistant. Nobody can work twenty-four-seven, fifty-two weeks a year.”