Page 12 of Illinois Innkeeper
When my vision finally clears, I see that Miranda is looking at me like she doesn’t know me at all. The disappointment in her gaze nearly guts me.
“No, you don’t understand,” I say a bit too sharply.
She flinches, so I sit up in the bed and temper my tone before adding, “This is all a big misunderstanding. Xander is my cousin. He just bought a small beachside hotel in Alabama. We like to commiserate with each other about the intricacies and challenges of owning a hotel. The constant maintenance tends to completely take over your life, but we both love what we do and wouldn’t change it for anything.”
“Then why did you say you wanted to burn it down for a payout?” she asks.
“I was joking,” I half-shout. She bugs her eyes out at me, so I take a deep, calming breath before continuing. “Sometimes the unending work list seems overwhelming, but I love my inn. That place is my whole life. I would never set it on fire. In hindsight, the joke was in poor taste, but it truly never crossed my mind that it might actually burn to the ground. I still can’t quite believe it happened.”
“Well, if it was you, it wasn’t a very smart move because the insurance won’t pay out for arson,” she tells me.
“It wasn’t me,” I whisper. Suddenly remembering, I add, “I wasn’t even there. I was at the grocery store. Mrs. Swindell saw me.”
Standing and pointing toward the closed, avocado-green and golden-yellow striped curtains covering the window, I add, “My groceries are still in the back of my Jeep. I was so distraught by seeing my home as a raging inferno that I completely forgot about them, until now. I can show you.”
She takes a step back away from me, which makes my heart ache in my chest. “That won’t be necessary.”
It dawns on me, then, that I’m fully nude. With her current concerns about my character, it’s only natural that she is uncomfortable with me moving toward her.
While I grab my underwear and put them on, she scurries toward the bathroom. Just before closing the door, she says, “I’ll just be in here a minute, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
I long to say that her leaving is the last thing I want, but I sense that isn’t what she wants to hear from me right now. Her lack of trust in me is confirmed when the click of the bathroom door’s lock echoes throughout the room.
12
MIRANDA
Ilean back on the closed bathroom door and allow the tears burning the backs of my eyes to trail down my cheeks. Graham is the most amazing man I’ve ever known. He gave me the most marvelous, life-affirming feelings last night. I hadn’t even realized it was possible to be that connected to someone.
But now, I’m doubting everything I thought I knew about him. I ache to believe he’s telling the truth and that he would never set his own inn on fire, but the evidence against him is pretty damning.Besides, who else would benefit from its demise?
As far as I know, he doesn’t have any enemies who would do this to hurt him. He’s really the only logical suspect in this crime, which totally irks me because I was really starting to fall for him.
Despite how much I need another shower, I decide there isn’t time. Plus, I’m not sure I want to wash Graham’s scent from my skin just yet. If it turns out that he did this, I won’t ever be with him like this again, and I’m not quite ready to give up the last traces of our wonderful night together.
I quickly dress, splash cold water on my face, and use my finger to brush my teeth. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I realize that my hair is a mess and there are dark circles under my eyes, but this is the best I can do under the circumstances.
Steeling my nerves, I take a deep breath. I’m not strong enough to face Graham right now, but I have to in order to get out of this hotel room. All I want to do is run into his loving embrace, but I can’t do that because it’s quite possible that he is an arsonist.
Reminding myself that someone could have been hurt in that fire, I unlock the bathroom door and charge back into Graham’s room.
He’s fully dressed and the pleading look he gives me almost makes me waiver. Instead, I shift my gaze to the floor as I stalk toward the door and say, “I need to get to the firehouse.”
“Miranda, please. You have to believe me. I didn’t do this,” Graham says, sounding utterly sincere.
Turning to face him, I say honestly, “I want to believe you, Graham. I really do. But I’m not sure what to think. What I do know is that I need to get to work. Perhaps I can help figure this out and clear your name.”
Graham’s face is pale and drawn with worry. I long to reach out and comfort him, but I won’t allow myself to do that while I have any doubt about his innocence.
I start to go, but freeze when Graham calls out, “Wait!”
He hesitates, and when I turn to look in his eyes, I can tell that he’s trying to decide whether or not to confide in me about something.
Fear ices my veins as I wonder if he’s getting ready to admit to me that he was actually the one who set the fire. I wait for him to speak, ready to lunge for the door at the first sign of any danger.
His gaze is downcast toward the floor as if he can’t stand to maintain eye contact with me when he says, “I have some enemies. Bad enemies.”
Intrigued, I take one step in his direction. I can’t imagine why anyone would hate the affable, hardworking inn keeper, but I’m desperate for any evidence that may prove he isn’t the one behind this fire.
