Page 63 of Dragon Detective

“Still locked, huh?” I’d forgotten to open it this morning. “I’m sorry.” He could use the litter box in the basement, but he hated it and only used it if he absolutely had to.

He scooted through the opening, and I returned to assembling the lasagna in a big pan. I placed it on the stove to wait. I would pop it into the oven when Reylor got home, and I had a solid time in mind to serve the dish.

I sliced a loaf of Italian bread and slathered each piece with garlic butter, wrapped the loaf in foil, and set that aside to place in the oven closer to dinnertime.

A glance out the window in the front door showed me Reylor wasn’t here yet. Four-ten. He said he might be able to leave early, but I’d plan on five or so just in case.

Back in the kitchen, I poured a glass of red wine and went outside to sit on my patio to enjoy the view. The sun warmed my spine, and the wine tasted amazing, dry with a hint of berries. There wasn’t much I loved more than lounging in the late afternoon after spending a solid day working on my building. It was coming along well. At this rate, and with no one coming behind me to sabotage my progress, I might meet my deadline to open. Then my guests could sit out here on the patio with friends or family and savor their own wine or drink of their choice.

“There you are.”

I turned to find Grant Murray striding over to me, a sheath of papers in his hand. He stopped in front of me and thrust the papers into my face. “Sign.”

“Excuse me?” My sandaled feet thudded onto the patio stones as I sat up, frowning.

His slick smile rose, but rage filled his eyes. “Sign, and I won’t have to take this any further.”

My stomach tightened, and a cold sweat prickled down my spine. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re selling the B&B. I’m offering the price you paid for it.” He jerked the papers at me again.

A chill rushed through me, and I stumbled to my feet, backing around my chair to put distance between us. Were the security cameras catching all this?

“I’m not selling the building,” I said loudly since the cameras would pick up sound. “I’ve told you that a thousand times.”

“I’m sure you’ll reconsider. Haven’t we convinced you yet?”

“We?”

His head tilting, he frowned at the back of the building. “What are you doing to the back deck?”

“Someone else did that.” I didn’t need to explain to Grant about Victor.

“Odd choice.” He shook his frame, and his sneer rose once more. “This place is falling apart.” The conniving look in his eyes made dread wash over me. “I love the way you’re decorating. Do you plan to add new windows, or do you think yourguestswill enjoy staring at plywood in the evening?”

Victor had admitted to ripping out my flowerbeds and damaging my back deck, but he’d denied breaking the windows, insisting he’d never do anything that mean. As if cutting up my deck wasn’t mean? Detective Carter had assumed Victor was lying, that he’d done everything.

Now it appeared he might not have.

“You,” I snarled, backing away from him. “You broke my windows?”

He plucked a bit of lint off the front of his dark blue suit jacket and rounded my chair, stalking me. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“I can’t believe you’d do something like that.”

“Sign,” he barked.

I jolted. “I’m not selling you the building.” I tried to remain calm and come across strong, but fear kept gnawing away at my spine. “Go away.” I’d call Detective Carter the moment I got inside and locked the doors. Why hadn’t I brought my phone outside with me?

Grant’s shiny black shoes smacked on the patio stones as he came after me, the papers thrust forward in his hand. “Sigh, damn you. I need this deal or . . .”

I paused, studying his face. “Or what?”

“I need to move some money fast or a few people will be very angry with me.”

“Do you mean your boss, Estadore?”

He scoffed. “The griffin? He has no clue about anything.”

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