Page 9 of The Magical Bed & Breakfast

Nothing happened.

No cat ran past. No boogie man jumped out. No weird noises emanated from the thick darkness. Kate released a slow breath. Everything was fine.

“Fine, fine, fine.”

She picked the bowls up and eased her way inside. Flicking on the light with the back of her hand, she peered into the cavern beyond.

“Innkeeper with a capitalI,” she said. “I am the innkeeper with a capitalI. I am amazing, and I can do this.” She took one step down onto the stairs and then another and another. She was committed now, committed to stepping down the stairs to catch the mystery cat and to finding out once and for all if it lived in her basement. But then her mind took off. It delighted in imagining everything that could go wrong. What if the cat got in and out through the basement? What if possums smelled the food and moved in?

“Stop. Innkeeper with a capitalI.”

Kate tread halfway down the stairs. Suddenly a loud pounding, louder than the pounding of her heart, made her jump and fling dry cat food everywhere as she managed to slosh water down the front of her shirt.

“Ugh.”

Disgusted, she dropped the bowls, which proceeded to bounce merrily down the remaining stairs. She brushed at the water on her shirt, now dotted with dampened pieces of kibble.

With a sigh, she trudged back up the stairs and ignored the fact that she was secretly relieved to be deterred from her purpose. Still brushing at her T-shirt, concerned with impressions she would make if another would-be guest waited at the front door seeking to book a room, Kate took a steadying breath, stood straighter, and opened the door.

“Hi.” A tall, lean man with short auburn hair stood on her doorstep. He looked vaguely familiar, and when he gave a wry smile, Kate’s heart took a little leap. “Sorry to show up unexpectedly.”

She smiled back. It was hard not to at his open expression. “It’s okay.” Even to her own ears, she sounded a bit too breathless.

He nodded. “My granddad’s on a mission.”

She looked past his shoulder to see Seymour Throckmorton exit the cab of a very large U-Haul.

“Miss Mayfield,” he bellowed.

“Please, call me Kate. What can I do for you?”

“I brought your furniture.”

“My…furniture?” She flashed a confused look at the man on her doorstep, hoping for an explanation. He shrugged.

Seymour continued, “Yes, the period pieces for your inn. They were stored at Agate Point. I forgot to mention it yesterday when I saw you at the tea shop.”

“My…furniture.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said briskly. The younger man gave his grandfather a disbelieving glower.

Kate tilted her head, trying to gauge the dynamic going on between them. “I don’t have furniture.”

“Only because it was at my home.” Seymour threw a pinched-lip warning glance at his grandson, who rolled his eyes and shook his head before turning back to her.

“I’m sorry. Let me introduce myself. I’m Rory…”

“Throckmorton,” finished Seymour with a grin, “come to town for a visit. So, my Margot…”

Kate knew she looked perplexed.

“His wife, who died,” Rory explained in a low voice.

“…was storing the inn’s furniture at our home, you know,” he coughed, “during the inn’s turbulent years when it was empty and abandoned.”

“Empty because Grandma took all the furniture,” Rory murmured loud enough for his granddad to hear.

Seymour scowled at him and continued. “She didn’t want the pieces to be damaged. Such beautiful craftsmanship…well, you’ll see.” He raised his voice to bark. “Rory, let’s unload.”

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