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“Tracking number. Right.”
Kate leaned forward, sniffing loudly. “What is that smell? Smells like, I don’t know, brandy or scotch or something. It’s really strong, isn’t it?”
Emily stiffened, but Kate didn’t appear to notice, or to pinpoint the source of the overpowering, boozy odor.
“I wonder what Beau got into now. I hope he didn’t knock over the decanter in the parlor.” She frowned. “You wouldn’t believe the things that cat thinks it’s funny to dip his tail in.”
“It’s not the cat.”
Kate paused. “No?”
“No. It’s me.”
“You?”
“A man on the plane spilled one of those tiny bottles of booze—cognac, I think—on me.” Emily gave a delicate whiff of her own. “Oh, dear. It really is potent, isn’t it?”
“Well, it could be worse. I mean, it’ll come out. Don’t you think?”
“I hope so.” Eager to change the subject, Emily pulled out her purse. She reached for a credit card, but put it back on the double. No credit cards as long as she was on the lam—too traceable by well-meaning family members. Her dad and brothers were bad enough, but her mother…sheesh. Once Judge Patience Burr-Chaplin found out her only daughter had skipped town, she was going to have a fit. And she wouldn’t rest until she located Emily.
“The least I can do is make it tough for her,” Emily murmured under her breath. With a faint smile, she added, “Do you need me to prepay? I have cash. I hope that’s okay.”
“Oh, sure. That’s great.” Kate looked up expectantly. “And how long will you be staying?”
Emily paused. How long would she be staying? The first answer that occurred to her was short and succinct.
As long as Tyler.
Chapter 3
BUT SHE DIDN’T SAY THAT. “I’ll be staying through the weekend, I think. Have to be back in the office on Monday.”
“Great.” Kate beamed at her. “You’ll be in the Pollyanna room.”
“The Pollyanna room?” she echoed. Pollyanna? But she was hoping for…“Isn’t there anything else?”
“Sorry,” Kate replied. “Pollyanna is the only room available. But I’m sure you’ll like it. It’s very lacy and feminine—just right for someone like you.”
“Someone like me…right.”
Which was exactly what she was trying to avoid.
“I’m really sorry.” The innkeeper lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I completely understand. I think Pollyanna is kind of lame, too. But my mom made me add it. She thinks the other rooms are too—oh, I don’t know—slutty or something. Mothers.” She rolled her eyes. “Can’t live with them, and they won’t let you live without them.”
“I hear you.”
Kate edged the register book in front of her and then stooped down under the desk. From down there, she called, “Hang on. I have to get a pen off the floor—that darn Beau!” Straightening, she handed over a felt-tip. “Okay. Now I’ll need you to fill in your name and address.”
The register. The very one Tyler had signed a few minutes ago. With heightened anticipation, Emily pulled the book closer, eager to read whatever he’d written about himself.
But it was just a blank page. Darn it. Emily’s registration was the first one on a new page, and she was going to have to very conspicuously turn the page back if she wanted to read his information.
“Is there something wrong?” Kate inquired.
“Oh, no. Well,” she said, improvising, “this pen is dried out. Do you have a different one?”
As Kate once again ducked under the desk, Emily grabbed her chance, flipping the page back, squinting at the slash of rotten handwriting to make out “Tyler O’Toole, Chicago, IL,” and then several blank lines.
Quickly she put the register back the way it was, just in time for Kate to pop up with a pencil. Emily took it and scribbled down her own name and address.
Okay, so he wasn’t terribly good at filling out forms and he hadn’t given her much to go on. At least she knew his last name now. Tyler O’Toole.
Speaking of last names…she glanced down at her own. Was it wise to use her real name? Or smarter to go with a fake one just in case her mother started looking for her?
While Kate was occupied tidying up the pencil cup, Emily erased her last name and penciled in the first cool name that popped into her head. “Bond,” she wrote. Emily Bond.
After spinning the book around to read the name, Kate smiled. “Nice to meet you, Emily.” Then she turned to pull an old-fashioned key off a hook. “Okay. Pollyanna is the first room on the right at the top of the stairs. There’s a doll on the door—that’s how you’ll know it’s Pollyanna.”
“Pollyanna and baby dolls,” Emily murmured, feeling more disappointed by the minute. It sounded like her room when she was twelve. As the youngest child and the only girl in the Chaplin family, she’d had to endure all kinds of smothering, fussy stuff. “I’ll be sure to look for the doll.”
Handing over the key, Kate began to list a few other B and B procedures, something about when she wanted breakfast, and did she like coffee or tea, and would she want afternoon snacks, and checkout time. But Emily just nodded at appropriate times, not really paying attention. She was too busy watching Tyler slip back down the stairs and head this way. Beau nipped at his heels, but Tyler grabbed the big tabby in the crook of one arm and then deposited him with Kate.
Hanging on to the squirming cat, she interrupted her welcoming spiel to ask him, “On your way out so soon?”
He nodded, edging toward the door.
On his way out? But he couldn’t be yet. Emily needed to follow him, but it was difficult to do that in the middle of registering. How blatant would it be if she ran out now, without even looking at the Pollyanna room, just dropping everything and racing after him? Pretty blatant.
Beau gave a howl and Kate dropped him. After landing with a big thud, the cat immediately attached himself to Emily’s legs, winding around, meowing, giving her a plaintive stare from those infuriating green eyes.
“I—I guess he likes me,” Emily murmured.
So why was he bumping her with his head and nudging her closer to Tyler? Was the cat actually telling her to go for it?
“Now, now,” she said sweetly, trying to disengage herself. But Beau was a stubborn little beast, and he rammed his whole weight into her, pushing her after Tyler.
Tyler’s moody gaze swept the two of them. Was that suspicion she read in the clear green depth of his eyes? Or interest? Just before he cleared the door, his hand already on the brass knob, Tyler stopped. He turned back.
“The airport, the cab…” he said slowly. “Do I know you?”
“Um, no.” Suddenly reckless, taking her opening where she could get it, Emily asked, “But would you like to?”
“Would I like to what?”
He gave her an odd look, but it spoke volumes. It was the same one that said, Who gave you a day pass from the loony bin?
She hated that look.
And then he shook his head, frowned at her, shoved open the door and took off for parts unknown, leaving her holding the key to the Pollyanna room.
Emily closed her eyes and tried not to feel like an absolute doofus. The first time in her life she’d gone for coy and flirtatious, and it had flopped big-time. Let’s not try that again.
“Emily, I’m sorry to have to say this.” Kate bit her lip. Clearly she was trying to be kind. It was written all over her pretty face.
“You don’t have to say any—”
“Yes, I do. I can’t help but notice that you seem sort of, well, smitten with Tyler.”
Smitten? Smitten? But that wasn’t it at all! Tyler was part of an adventure, a caper, an escapade. She hardly wanted to date him or bring him home to meet Mom and Dad—although the expression on their faces would have been priceless when they got a load of Tyler.
Emily shook her head, getting back to the business at hand. She didn’t want anything like that from Tyler. No, she wanted to skate on thin ice with him, to dance on the brink of danger. Smitten had nothing to do with it.
“You seem to have the wrong idea—” she began.
But Kate interrupted. “I’m so sorry, Emily, but I think it’s better you should be warned up front. Forewarned, forearmed, all that, you know? It’s just that Tyler and I, well, we go back a long way.”
Forewarned and forearmed? Tyler and I? Emily backed away from the desk. “Are you trying to say you and Tyler are a couple? I have always been very respectful of—”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Kate waved her hands anxiously. “It’s not that Tyler is taken or anything like that. And certainly not by me. Far from it. Well, we had a couple of…I mean, years ago, we did…never mind.” She gave Emily a wry smile. “Let’s just say I know him pretty well. And I have some experience with this matchmaking business. You know, running the B and B.” She inclined a thumb at the wall of postcards. “Those are some of my success stories.”
“M-matchmaking?” Emily sputtered. “But I don’t need—”
“That’s what everyone thinks,” Kate confided. “But you’d be surprised how many otherwise perfectly sensible people will walk right past the perfect person for them.” She shook the wayward tendrils of her short-cropped hair. “Luckily, I have really good instincts about people, and I am an excellent matchmaker, if I do say so myself.”
Looking at all the postcards, Emily had to agree.
“It’s my experience as a matchmaker that’s telling me this.” There was that kind, half-pitying expression again. “Frankly,” Kate said, “you and Tyler…I just don’t see it. Not a good match.”
“But I’m not interested in being matched up with him,” Emily insisted. What was it with her? Did she have “please find me a date” stenciled on her forehead? Everyone in the world seemed to think she was so pitiful she needed to be fixed up with a guy, any guy. And that was the last thing she wanted.
“I know, I know. Everyone says they’re not interested in getting matched up. And don’t get me wrong,” Kate interjected. “Tyler is a great guy. And you seem very nice. But I don’t think he’s at a place in his life where he’d be looking for someone like you. I mean, I have to be honest with you. Since he and I had our couple of nowheresville dates years ago, the only women I’ve ever seen him with have been hookers and strippers.”
Emily’s jaw dropped. “Hookers and strippers?”
“Oh, no, not to date or anything,” Kate assured her. “It was business. You know, in his line of work, it comes up.”
And what line of work would that be?
But Kate was continuing with her friendly warning. “Really, trust me. He’s not your type.” She perked up. “On the other hand, I do have a sweet, nice, stable guy staying in the Pirate room. A nice, stable divorce lawyer. I think he’d be perfect for you—”
“A lawyer? No. No lawyers. Ever.”
Even if she had been interested in dating, which she wasn’t, that bit of info would’ve been enough to put her off. Yech. Her brain manufactured an image of the pompous, self-important face of Kip Enfield, and she shuddered. If she never saw another lawyer, it would be too soon.
“No lawyers? How funny,” Kate mused. “Tyler always says the same thing.”
But Emily was rewinding the tape of their conversation, back to the part about the hookers and strippers. Trying not to sound too nosy, she ventured, “Okay, so you said that women from the wrong side of the tracks come up in Tyler’s line of work. Why would that be, exactly?”
Kate blinked.
“I mean,” Emily tried again, “what line of work is it that these bad girls come up in?”
“Sorry.” Kate pressed her lips together. “I do apologize, Emily, since I brought it up, but I feel very strongly about maintaining my guests’ privacy.” She clapped the register shut with a quick thump. “I’m sure you understand.” Kate turned and ducked behind the desk, stowing the registration book securely in a drawer. “Where did I leave that…? Oh, here it is.” She held up an envelope. “Better go pay the bills. Right now.”
And Kate beat a hasty path down the hall to the parlor door. She turned around long enough to call out, “Remember, the Pollyanna room is the first right at the top of the stairs.”
“Got it.” Oh, she had it all right. She understood perfectly. Kate was not going to tell her anything useful about Tyler at all. Blast it, anyway.
Lugging her briefcase, which seemed to be getting heavier by the minute, Emily decided that with Tyler already off the premises, there was nothing to do but get upstairs and see what this Pollyanna room was all about.
“I’ll relax and then I’ll formulate a plan,” she said out loud, taking the stairs as rapidly as she could manage. When she almost tripped on the top step, she glanced at her sensible pumps. “The first thing I’m going to do is get out of these shoes. And the second…” She crinkled her nose. “The second is take off my skirt.”
She felt better already, having a plan.
“Okay, find the door with the dolly.” That was easy enough. The golden-haired doll in Edwardian clothing was fastened to the door with a pale pink ribbon around her waist, and she held out her arms in welcome. A dead giveaway that this was the Pollyanna room.
But Emily couldn’t resist. She passed it by, long enough to tiptoe down the hall to locate The Wild One. A small silver trophy was the marker for this door, for reasons she didn’t quite understand.
Fingering it gently, Emily wished again that she could see inside that room. “The Wild One,” she breathed. “That is majorly cool.”
Oh well. As she traipsed back to her own door, she decided that the good news was that The Wild One was right next to her room. It shouldn’t be tough at all to keep an eye on Tyler—if he ever came back.
Safely inside the Pollyanna room, Emily kicked off her shoes and took a look around. As promised, it was pretty. There was a canopy bed, dripping in white lace and ruffles, with a pastel-colored movie poster of Hayley Mills as Pollyanna hanging next to it. Under the poster sat a white wicker rocking chair, and in the rocker, someone had placed a fluffy teddy bear wearing what looked like a vintage christening gown.
Tall bookshelves took up most of the outside wall; they overflowed with exquisitely costumed dolls in velvet frocks and feathered hats. There was even a small wicker tea table with child-size chairs pulled up around it, and an antique armoire pushed up against the wall Pollyanna shared with The Wild One. Delicate bunches of violets had been painted on the doors of the armoire, making it an even more lovely piece.
“Oh, pooh.” Emily sat down on the bed, curling her hand around the carved wood bedpost. She’d only been here five minutes and she’d already fallen under the spell of the Pollyanna room. “I actually like it here.”
Somehow, Beau the cat had sneaked into the room with her, and she bent to pet his head absently. Apparently deciding that was an invitation, Beau hurled himself into her lap.
“Whoa.” He was one heavy cat. She tried to be friendly, but he began to sniff and paw at her cognac-soaked skirt, and Emily got the hint. “I was going to change it,” she told him. “Everyone is a critic.”
So she slipped off her jacket and skirt, even her panty hose, tossing them onto the bed. Much better. Beau immediately curled up on the pile of discarded clothing and began to lick his paw.
“I’m glad you’re happy, Mr. Kitty. But what do I wear now?”
While hanging out in her silk blouse and underwear was comfy for right now, it had its disadvantages in the long run—like the fact that she couldn’t leave the room.
“Aha!” Emily announced, stooping and dragging her laptop out of her briefcase. After carefully moving the tiny tea set, she opened her computer on the small wicker table, managing to squeeze herself into one of the junior-size chairs. “Let’s do a little E-commerce,” she muttered, booting it up and searching for the nearest decent clothing store. It took a few minutes, but she hit pay dirt eventually. “Ooh, this one’s good. Based in San Francisco, and they even deliver.”
She clicked on an image of a plain white T-shirt, and then a pair of khaki pants. “And let’s see. Maybe a pair of sneakers and some socks.”
All it took was quickly verifying the inn’s address, keying in her credit card info, and then sitting back and waiting for her new clothes to arrive.
“I love technology,” she said brightly. She felt so smart, so hip, so now, coping with the various challenges of her impromptu adventure.
But what now? She had to do something while she waited. Of course, she was keeping an ear peeled for any activity next door in The Wild One, but so far, nothing. She’d already read her book, and she had no intention of working on that stupid Bentley file. Not here. Not now.
