Page 24 of The Magical Bed & Breakfast

He did occasionally have a keyboard solo. That is if he wrote one into his songs, which he was prone to do. “Sure.” There, he hadn’t actually lied.

“It explains how easily you were able to play the score we found last night. So, you play concerts? That’s wonderful.”

Realizing Kate now believed him to be a concert pianist, Rory shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat. “It’s a complicated piece.”

“I’m going to learn it,” she said with a nod. “And practice until I can play it perfectly.”

“To guarantee your success?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t hurt.”

*

Kate watched Roryhead into her basement to navigate the tunnel and sighed in relief that it was him heading into the tunnel and not her. She would not have relished tromping through the tunnels again. She did not like dark, underground spaces. She much preferred bright, sunny rooms, and that’s what she was working on creating at the Mayfield Inn. She frowned. She liked the name. It was her name. This inn was hers, but…somehow calling it the Mayfield Inn didn’t feel quite right. Still, the Hazard Inn wasnotan option.

Hmm, something to fret about later, she decided. Today she had work to do, and she better get to it. Kate was grateful to have a guest, but with the inn still being refurbished, she welcomed a morning alone to get stuff done. Stepping outside to sweep her back steps, she stared down at the porch, trying to make her brain process what she was seeing. It appeared the inn’s invisible cat had left her a present. She’d had cats before, growing up, who were good hunters and would bring her gifts of dead mice. They would turn their little whiskered faces up at her, expecting praise for their great hunting ability.

Kate glanced around the courtyard. A soft breeze swayed the hydrangea bushes at the perimeter. Her fountain bubbled merrily. The aged maple displayed an array of autumn hues, its golden leaves transforming into vibrant red with the beginnings of a rusty sienna. Kate rubbed her arms in the chill morning air.

She spotted no cat anywhere. Was it watching her? Peeking out from under a hydrangea? She leaned over to pick up…not a dead mouse, as one would expect. Well—dead, yeah, but fleshless. It was a mouse skeleton, perfectly picked clean and starkly white in its dryness.

Weird.

Since she had come out to sweep the leaves from her back steps, she used the dustpan to scoop up the tiny skeleton and bring it up close where she could study it.

Yep, she was pretty sure this was a mouse skeleton.

Kitty must’ve been hungry to clean its plate. The food in the basement, however, remained untouched. Kate certainly wasn’t unhappy that kitty was catching mice. She didn’t have any in the inn—of that she was certain—and she wanted to keep it that way. The pest inspector hadn’t found anything which was wonderful in such an old building, but now, knowing the inn was connected to the tunnels, it was definitely a concern.

Kate angled the dustpan to slide the tiny skeleton onto the outside window ledge. She frowned. She would decide what to do with this later. It seemed wrong somehow to toss it in the trash. Shewastrying to make friends with her feline tenant.

That handled, she set about vigorously sweeping before moving inside to paint. Since she wasn’t the neatest of painters, she preferred painting alone. While she could keep the paint off floors and counters by covering them up, she always managed to get paint all over herself.

She shouldn’t be overly concerned with how she looked. Rory was a guest—a paying one, because he had insisted—but she still found herself very aware of her appearance when he was around. Perhaps because he always looked so…perfect. Not put-together perfect, but tousled yet manly, strong yet vulnerable. Rory didn’t look like a concert pianist, he looked like…Kate shook her head.

She needed to be focused on today’s project. She had chosen a soft rose color for the second-floor guestroom across from Rory’s. For the connected bath, she had chosen an even paler blush pink. She’d painted the room last week, which was great since she now had furniture in it. Today was for painting the bathroom.

Kate set about covering the floor and opened her paint can, pouring some out into the pan. She had just gotten into the groove, sliding the roller over the larger sections of wall, when she heard her front door chime. She jumped and managed to get a pink streak across her Linkin Park T-shirt. Tempted to ignore the door since she wasn’t really open for business yet, she reminded herself that creating a welcoming impression in the community would serve her well later.

Besides, it could be a delivery. Kate cast her mind over what that might be as she wiped her hands on a rag and took the flight of stairs at a quick pace. The chime was ringing insistently by the time she arrived downstairs. Kate flung open the door and blinked at the woman who had come by a day before.

“Oh, hi,” said Kate.

“So, you are open for guests.” The blonde put a hand on her hip and gave the impression of looking down her nose at Kate, which was pretty funny, since even with Tory Burch ankle boots on the woman was a whole head shorter.

Kate took a breath before she replied. “I told you, the inn will not be open for guests until after the first of the year.”

“Humph, you have furniture. You said it was because you didn’t have furniture.”

“A friend brought the furniture by, but I’m not open yet for a lot of other reasons. Not just the furniture. Since I still have workmen coming in several times a week and tearing things up to put them back together again, I can’t in good conscience open for guests.”

“Except you have. I sawhim. You opened up forhim.”

“Him?” Seriously, how did this woman even know that? Kate had watched her leave long before Seymour and Rory arrived with the furniture.

Was this woman spying on the inn?

And how weird was that?

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