The Love Trilogy

Oh God, what was Anna doing over there without her? Any guilt she’d felt about leaving Wedding Wishes had been for her clients, rather than her boss. Once Carrie had become vaguely competent at the wedding planning side of things, Anna had taken a back seat, dealing with the finances and contracts rather than handling distraught brides and double-checking dates on invitations before they went to the printers.

Which was probably why Anna had been so cross about her leaving, Carrie thought. She liked to keep herself away from the actual wedding part of wedding planning. Too much joyousness tended to annoy her.

“I’m sorry, Vicky,” Carrie said. “I really can’t. Even if I wasn’t…otherwise occupied now, I signed a contract with Anna. I couldn’t take any clients with me when I left.”

Vicky sighed. “Lucas said that’s what you’d say. But I figured it was worth a try. I just wish…”

“I’m really sorry, Vicky,” Carrie said again. “I’m sure Anna will do a great job for you. I mean, she’s being planning weddings for much longer than I have.”

“I suppose.” Vicky didn’t sound convinced.

“I hope the wedding goes wonderfully.” What else could she say, really?

“Yeah. Thanks. Bye, Carrie.”

“Bye.” Carrie ended the call and dropped her phone onto the table.

Bridges burned, just as her dad had said. She’d left that world behind, and all she had now was the Avalon. She had to find a way to make this work.

Grabbing her pen, she turned back to her list.

Chapter 6

Autumn was marching on and, given his mood, Nate saw no harm in getting stuck into some of the more energetic pre-winter garden jobs. After all, he was just the gardener. And he had a sudden urge to hack at stubborn roots and overgrown shrubs. Which had to be better than his earlier, similar urge to do with his new employer.

Besides, certain things had been let slide, he’d admit, while he’d been busy running the rest of the inn for Nancy. Time to get back to his garden where he belonged. Far away from Carrie Archer.

“She hasn’t been here in five years,” he told the hedge he was cutting back. “Who the hell is she to tell me my job?”

“Your boss.” The words held just the right mix of sympathy and censure to stop him feeling sorry for himself. It could only be his grandmother.

“I know.” Nate sighed and lowered the hedge clippers.

“You left your lunch in Reception,” Moira said, proffering another ubiquitous Tupperware box. “It’s ham and tomato today.”

“Sorry.” Nate took it from her and thought longingly of the roast he’d seen Jacob prepping earlier. But Gran liked to think she was looking after her boys. Really, how did you screw up a sandwich?

“Can’t have you going hungry.” Moira smiled and settled herself on the top of his stepladder. Apparently there was more to this talk than soggy sandwiches and an organisational chart reminder.

Nate returned to his hedge. Might as well get some work done while he listened.

“I know this is going to be hard for you, Nate,” Moira started, plucking a stray leaf from her skirt. “Nancy left you free run of your gardens, but you’re used to looking after everything.” She held up a hand when Nate tried to interrupt, and the memories of his gran’s leg smacks were still terrifying enough to make him shut his mouth immediately. “She needed your help, I know that. You were a great boon to her, these last couple of years.”

She paused and gazed at him, as if assessing his general usefulness.

“I owed her,” he said, looking away. “She gave me a home and a job.” And now she’d managed to make both rather more permanent than he’d intended.

“She gave you a lot more than that, and you know it. You might not remember what a hellion you were at sixteen, Nate, but I certainly do.”

But Nate remembered well enough. Remembered his mother’s tears, most of all. Remembered that restless feeling he couldn’t shake, that just wouldn’t let him settle down and work hard and pass his exams so he could get a nice, safe job. That wasn’t him, never had been. But at sixteen, that restlessness had translated directly into trouble. Into pushing boundaries, rules, laws far past breaking point, until his mum couldn’t cope any more.

Moira had taken him in, looked after him for one long, formative summer. But it was Nancy and the Avalon Inn that had straightened him out. Given him a vocation, even.

“Nancy took one look at me and put me to work in the gardens.” He could almost hear her saying the words, in her brisk, decisive way. You need to learn patience, boy. And the best teacher for that I’ve ever found is nature.

And twelve years later, when he’d been lost and confused, restless again and unable to find his path, he could only think of one place to go—the Avalon Inn. Where Nancy had saved him again.

“Why do you think she did it?” Nate asked. “Left me the gardens, I mean.”

Moira looked uncomfortable, her expression just a little bit guilty, which pretty much confirmed all his suspicions before she even spoke. “Maybe she thought it was what you needed.”

“Or maybe you did,” Nate said, and Moira looked away. “Did you ask her to do it?”

“No! We talked about it, I admit. Nancy agreed with me that it was time for you to settle down, to find a place where you could be happy. Fulfilled. But she thought you’d already found it, and just needed a little push…”

“And this was her push.”

“I suppose so.” Moira shifted on the stepladder and sighed. Nate leaned the shears against the hedge, and waited to hear what else she had to say. He hadn’t learnt a lot in thirty years, as Nancy had regularly told him, but he had learnt Gran was always worth listening to.

“I know this place has been a refuge for you,” she said eventually, looking down at her hands. “But Nancy was a big part of that and she’s not here any more, Nate.”

“I know that,” Nate said, trying not to let his irritation show. As if he hadn’t noticed.

“I don’t know if she realised how different it would be here without her. How difficult.” Moira looked up and caught his eye. “Whether we like it or not, Carrie’s in charge here now.”

“Not in my gardens,” Nate muttered.

“Perhaps,” Moira went on, her tone delicate, “if you don’t feel you’ll be able to work with her, for whatever reasons, it might be time for you to move on again. Admit that the Avalon isn’t where you belong, after all. Set yourself free to stop hiding and find your own place in the world.”

The very thought of leaving the Avalon hurt something inside his chest. Turning to his hedge again, Nate tried to make a joke of it. “You trying to get rid of me, Gran?”

“Never.” Moira snuck an arm out and clasped his forearm. The skin on her hands looked grey and tired. How could he leave her now? “But I want you to be happy. And I’m not sure hiding out here is what will do that for you any longer.”

The hand disappeared, and when Nate looked up Moira was already halfway to the path. For a little old lady, she could move at speed when she wanted to. And she always spoke a lot of sense.

Except this time he wasn’t sure she was right.

Because what would happen if he left Carrie alone to sort out the inn? There’d be nothing of the old Avalon left, and Nancy would never forgive him. He owed Nancy, and so he’d stay. For now, at least.

And if the memory of standing on a moonlit terrace, pressing his lips against Carrie’s, had anything to do with his decision, well, Nate was happy to ignore that, for the time being.

* * * *

Carrie’s planning week swept on without her, and more often than not she found everyday events at the inn distracted her from renovation plotting. For a place that hadn’t made money yet this financial year, it was certainly bustling.

But with time and money slipping away, and a meeting with Nancy’s lawyer and the business advisor he’d recommended looming, Carrie finally had a handle on her business plan. She’d done the research, she had the builder’s quotes Nancy had left, although she didn’t know how useful they’d be, since the firm had apparently gone bust since then. Still, she had another firm coming round later and she even had the beginnings of a timetable. All she needed now was the time and space to put it all together into a winning presentation.

Which was why she was spending Friday afternoon hiding in the seldom-used Green Room, trying to ignore the moth-print wallpaper and the faded velvet curtains that looked and smelled like moss. Replacing them, creepy as they were, was so far down her list she really didn’t have time to start obsessing about them now.

But the Green Room did have some things going for it. It was at the far end of the west side of the building, it had enough floor- and bed-space to spread out all her notes and good light streamed through the large bay window facing south over the woods.

And, most importantly, no one would ever think to look for her there.

“By the time I leave this room, I’m going to have an honest-to-God plan to show potential investors,” Carrie muttered to herself, starting to lay out her papers.

She got twenty minutes in before the phone rang.

“Guess what?” Ruth’s voice, miles away in Cheshire, was bubbling with excitement.

“What?” Carrie asked her cousin, shifting the decorating of the bedrooms up by a few weeks on her timetable.

If she sounded impatient, Ruth was obviously too excited to notice. “I’m getting married!” Ruth finished off the sentence with the obligatory squeal of excitement.

“That’s...” Carrie paused. “Hang on. To Graeme?”

“Of course to Graeme!” Ruth sounded vaguely insulted. “Who else would I be marrying?”

“But you’ve only been together, what… a couple of months?”

“What does that matter?” Ruth asked. “I told you at the funeral that I thought he was the one.” Her voice took on a wounded tone. “Aren’t you happy for me?”

“Of course I am,” Carrie said automatically. “It just seems a bit fast, is all.” And it wasn’t as if this were even the first time Ruth had got engaged. By Carrie’s count they were up to three ex-fiancés, with not a wedding between them.

Of course, that was arguably still better than Carrie’s own romantic disaster zone. Since the miserable demise of her only real relationship, the best she’d managed was a series of first dates, followed by a few two-month-long attempts at dating that generally ended when the men in question realised Carrie was too busy working to see them. Of course, that was usually around the time that Carrie realised that she didn’t care that she hadn’t seen the guy in two weeks, so it all worked out quite well, really.

“Carrie, this one’s different. Trust me. I never... With the others, it was different. This is the one for me. And when you meet the love of your life, there’s just no point waiting. You’ll see what I mean one day.” Ruth’s tone was utterly serious now, and Carrie sat up straighter. She sounded like she might actually go through with it this time.

“So, um, when did he propose? And where?” Maybe the kitchen could wait until next summer. Jacob seemed to be managing all right at the moment. Carrie shifted the relevant Post-it note into the Future Plans section.

“Last night. We were having dinner in this cozy little Italian round the corner from his flat, and we were talking about the future—you know how you do.”

“Of course,” Carrie said, although in her experience, at the two-month mark she was more likely to be discussing how it really wasn’t working out, and how she had a lot of work on right now anyway, and maybe it would be better if they stayed just friends.

“Anyway, Graeme said he saw himself marrying me, one day, so I said, ‘Why wait?’”

That didn’t sound exactly like a proposal to Carrie. More like a hijacking.

“We’re going shopping for a ring this afternoon,” Ruth concluded.

“Well, I can’t wait to see it.” Carrie hoped Graeme had a decent credit limit. He certainly hadn’t had time to save up for a suitable rock. Picking up the survey again, Carrie flicked through to see exactly how desperately the guttering needed replacing.

“Oh, you will soon. I’ve told Graeme we have to get married at the Avalon, so we’ll be visiting so he can get the tour. He thought it was cute how we used to play weddings there when we were kids. It’ll be perfect. You can be my bridesmaid again!”

The survey dropped to the floor, clunking against the carpet and sending up dust. “The Avalon? You want to get married here?”

“Of course I do! Besides, I need you to plan my wedding, or else Dad will stick me with the awful Anna Yardley. And since you’re only doing weddings at the Avalon, where else could I have it?”

“You do remember what the Avalon is like, right?” How long had it been since Ruth had visited? She must have been there more recently than Carrie, surely.

“Of course. But now you’ve taken it over I’m sure it’s going to be glorious.” Confidence shone out of Ruth’s voice, making Carrie feel even worse.

“Unfortunately ‘glorious’ takes money,” she said. “I’m just working on a business plan to put to investors now.”

“You need investors? Well, that’s easy—ask Mum and Dad.” Ruth made it sound so easy, so simple. But the thought of having to go cap in hand to Uncle Patrick and Aunt Selena, begging for help, made bile rise in Carrie’s throat.

“I need to do this on my own, Ruth. I told you that.”

“But you’re not on your own, are you? Gran left you that gardener chap to work with, for a start. And besides, we’re family. We’re supposed to help.” When Carrie didn’t answer, Ruth sighed. “Well, think about it. And anyway, my wedding should help pay for some of it, right? I mean, Dad is already expecting me to spend a fortune on it, so I may as well spend it right.”

Which sounded a lot like a handout by another name to Carrie. “I don’t want you holding your wedding here just because you think I need the business.”

“I’m having my wedding at the Avalon because it’s home. And I will be paying a deposit cheque—that coincidentally will help get the place ready for my big day—because that’s what I’d be doing wherever we held it. So you don’t need to get all huffed up about it.” Carrie winced at Ruth’s insulted tone.

“I’m sorry. You know I’d love for you to have your wedding here. I just hope you’re planning a long engagement!” Carrie attempted a chuckle, but it came out more of a croak.

“Oh, no.” Carrie could practically hear Ruth tossing her head from side to side. “I want to be Mrs Frobisher as soon as possible. And I’ve already decided on my bouquet. This month’s Blissful Bride magazine had a feature on Ecuadorian Cool Water Roses. They’re lavender, you know. My favourite colour.”

“How soon is as soon as possible?” Carrie asked, desperately trying to get back to the things that mattered.

“Actually, I was thinking of a winter wedding. Maybe even Christmas.”

Christmas wasn’t so bad, Carrie told herself. Fourteen months away. Plenty of time. Unless... “You don’t mean this Christmas, do you?”

Ruth laughed. “Of course, this Christmas. Are you free on Christmas Eve? I think that would be the most romantic day to get married, don’t you?”

Carrie slumped against the embroidered moth cushion on the musty bed, secretly hoping that Ruth and Graeme would break up over the jeweller’s counter. She loved her cousin, really she did. But there was no way they would be ready for a wedding by Christmas.

“Anyway, I know we haven’t got much time, so I’ll email you some bridesmaid dress ideas later, and I’ll check with Graeme when we can come up to see you to sort out the rest, okay?”

Carrie nodded, then realised that was useless. “Great,” she said, unable to muster much enthusiasm.

“Then I’m off to choose my ring!” Ruth said, and hung up.

Carrie had two minutes of staring blankly at the phone before there was a knock at the door, and Nate’s head appeared around it. His expression was blank, so she had no idea if he was still angry with her about Mr Jenkins or not. They hadn’t really spoken since, which suggested he probably was. But on the other hand, he’d come looking for her…

“How did you know where I was?” she asked.

Nate came into the room, and shrugged, still expressionless. “Cyb saw you sneak in here earlier. Look, the builder’s here, when you’re ready. Said you called for some new quotes?”

“Yeah.” Carrie grabbed her clipboard and hopped off the bed. She had bigger things to worry about than whether her gardener liked her. “I’m coming.” She wondered what builder Tom would say when she told him she needed all the work done by Christmas, and she still didn’t have any money to pay him.

Chapter 7

As Carrie trailed around the Avalon Inn later that afternoon, always three steps behind the builder she’d called in, she felt her spirits falling by the second. It was all very well trying to save the inn, but really, in the face of Tom Powers of Powers Construction, master of the sucked-in breath and “that’s going to cost you”, how much could one woman do?

Finally, they finished with the inside and headed out to deal with the inn’s exterior.

“This door doesn’t look good, either,” Tom said as they went through the main entrance.

Carrie groaned inwardly. The door was huge, heavy and almost certainly expensive. “The survey didn’t mention it.”

Tom gave her his ‘Listen to me, idiot woman. What do you know about construction, anyway?’ look, which he’d perfected over the course of his visit. “Hardly surprising, with all the other problems. Surveyor was bound to miss a few things.”

Given that she was probably going to owe the man her first-, second- and third-born children by the time he’d fixed her inn, Carrie decided not to argue.

“How’s it going?” Nate appeared again, this time from behind one of the shrubs lining the drive, shears in hand and a couple of leafy twigs in his hair. Carrie wondered how long he’d been hiding in the bushes waiting for them to arrive. And why he’d bothered.

Tom sucked his breath through his teeth again, making Carrie shudder. “Lot of work here.”

Nate stepped closer, still holding the clippers. “Well, we knew as much from the survey.” His voice was perfectly amiable, Carrie thought, but somehow the huge blades in his hands made the words a little more threatening.

“Tom’s found some problems the surveyor missed, too,” Carrie told him.

Nate flashed her a look miles away from the ones Tom had been giving her all morning. This one was more conspiratorial, somehow. The knot that had set up residence in Carrie’s stomach when they’d started the inspection tightened as she tried to figure out what Nate planned to do. Just in case she needed to stop him.

But all Nate did was say, “Really? Can I take a look?” He reached out and snatched the pad Tom had been scribbling on for the last hour from his hands. Tom didn’t even put up an objection, possibly because of the very sharp blades.

Nate cast a cursory glance over the paper and, before Carrie could even ask to see it, he thrust it back at Tom. “Yeah, she’s not going to be using you.”

“What?” Carrie reached out and grabbed the pad from between the two men. “Tom, don’t listen to him, he’s just the...” The numbers of Tom’s estimate sank in, three times Nancy’s initial quote, and she lowered the paper. “Yeah, sorry, Tom. He’s right.”

For a moment, she thought Tom might argue, but he looked at Nate and obviously decided to cut his losses. Without even taking his notepad, he stalked off towards his car, parked at an angle on the other side of the gravelled drive, muttering, “Waste of bloody time.”

Carrie watched him go and wondered how the hell she was going to put together a proper business plan without building quotes.

“Cheer up.” Nate leaned the shears against the side of the steps leading up to the front door, and stood beside her as they watched Tom Powers screech away in his four-by-four.

Carrie turned on him, scowling. Just because he was right didn’t mean she was happy about it. “What the hell did you think you were doing just then?”

“He was ripping you off,” Nate said, taking a cautious step backward.

Carrie glared at him. “How do you know? Are you a building expert now, too?”

“The survey was thorough.” Nate’s voice was calm and sincere, but it wasn’t making Carrie any less furious. “I know the guy who did it. If Tom says he missed anything, Tom is trying to rip you off. Probably in any number of ways. Where did you find him, anyway?”

“Internet,” Carrie said, knowing she sounded defensive.

Nate rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well. Either way, I’ve still got to find someone to do this work. And I need to figure out what’s essential and affordable, and what’s going to have to wait.” And convince investors it was all worth it. All of which meant going back to The List. Carrie was starting to hate The List.

Nate picked up his shears. “Give me a minute to tidy up. I’ve got a friend or two in the building trade. We’ll make some calls.”

Watching him head over to the shrubs to put away his tools, Carrie wanted to scream, I don’t need your help. But unfortunately, it was becoming patently obvious she did.

* * * *

By the end of her first week on the job, Carrie had managed to offend everyone at the Avalon Inn. By Sunday night, her mental apologies list was growing by the hour.

When she awoke on Monday morning, she tucked Nancy’s multicoloured bedspread tighter around her in the attic bed and ran through them again to make sure she’d remembered them all.

1. Apologise to Nate for not realising Mr Jenkins was an idiot. And for shouting at him about the builder thing

2. Apologise to Moira for leaving the stupid soggy sandwiches out on the reception desk again

3. Apologise to Cyb for saying the bunting made the dining room look like the Eurovision song contest

4. Apologise to Izzie for suggesting she didn’t know how to work the reservations system yesterday.

Carrie considered the last item. Izzie really didn’t know how to work the computer program that stored their reservations information. Maybe she’d just teach her, instead.

But apologies and lessons would have to wait. First she had her meeting with Nancy’s lawyer, Mr Norton, and his recommended business advisor.

“Carrie.” Mr Norton held out a hand as she walked into the lobby that morning. “It’s so lovely to see you again. I just wish it were under better circumstances.” He turned to the grumpy-looking man in a suit next to him. “This is Frank Andrews. He’s been trying to talk with Nancy about the future of the Avalon Inn for some years now, so he’s delighted to join our meeting today.”

As Carrie shook his hand Mr Andrews’s face broke into a forced sort of a smile.

“Well, thank you both for coming,” Carrie said. “Why don’t we take a seat in the drawing room to talk, then perhaps I can interest you in a tour of the inn, Mr Andrews?”

He gave a slight nod, but didn’t actually answer. Carrie decided it was too early to take that as a bad sign, but, still, it looked as if she had some convincing to do.

As the men headed through, Carrie turned to Izzie at the reception desk and added, “Can you get someone to bring us some coffee?” She wasn’t sure she’d make it through this meeting without caffeine.

Izzie looked dubious, but she nodded, so Carrie decided to hope for the best.

Hoping for the best soon went by the wayside, though.

“Mr Andrews and I have been looking at some options for the inn,” Mr Norton said, his hands folded on his lap.

“Options?” Carrie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.

Mr Andrews leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “Mr Norton suggested last week that it might be helpful for me to look into the value and saleability of the Avalon Inn.” Carrie felt her heart pause at his words. That wasn’t the deal. These people were supposed to be here to help her find a way to save the Avalon, not sell it.

“But I’m not looking to sell the inn. I want to re-launch it as a wedding venue.”

Mr Norton gave a small nod. “I know that was your plan. But now that you’ve had a chance to see the current state of the building, not to mention the accounts, I felt it my duty to ensure you were aware of all the possibilities. And I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the results of Mr Andrews’s research.”

Carrie turned her gaze to Mr Andrews, who gave another grimace of a smile. “I have had, in the last thirty-six hours, not one, but two offers to buy the Avalon Inn.”

Carrie blinked. “Are you sure they weren’t looking for the Arundel Hotel?” she asked. Even she had to admit that, other than sentimental value, the Avalon didn’t really have a lot going for it at the moment.

Mr Andrews frowned and glanced over at Mr Norton, as if not really sure if she was making a joke. “Um, no, they were really very clear. Their interest lies purely in the Avalon Inn’s development potential.”

“Development potential?” Carrie wasn’t entertaining the idea of selling, but the words made her even more certain she didn’t want these buyers getting their hands on the Avalon.

“Yes. I believe one party was looking to turn the inn into a health farm.” Mr Andrews glanced down at his notes. “The other, um, was searching for a site for a rehabilitation facility.”

It wasn’t until the coffee tray clattered to the table that Carrie even realised there was anyone else in the room. The idea of the Avalon as a rehab or fat farm was too distractingly horrifying.

Glancing up, she saw Cyb straightening the plate of biscuits and Mr Norton looking on disapprovingly. “Would you like me to pour for you?” Cyb asked.

“Uh, no, I think we can manage.” Carrie smiled up at her, wondering why Izzie hadn’t managed to find someone who actually worked for the inn to bring the coffee. “Thanks, Cyb.”

Cyb backed out of the room, smiling nervously, and Carrie turned her attention to Messrs Norton and Andrews.

“The offers really were very substantial, Carrie,” Mr Norton said.

Mr Andrews rifled through his papers. “I have some figures here... Ah.” He held a sheet of paper out to her, and Carrie looked away.

“No. No, thank you. Please, thank both parties for their interest, but tell them I’m not interested in selling.” Mr Norton looked sceptical, but Carrie kept her gaze firm.

“At this time,” Mr Andrews added, obviously hoping to keep his options open. She wondered what sort of commission he was up for.

“Ever.” Carrie stood, a sudden sense of surety in her blood. She was home, and she was staying. “Now, how about a tour?”

Mr Norton exchanged a look with Mr Andrews. “Actually, I’m afraid we have another meeting to get to…”

“But you said you wanted to assist me. I need you to help find a way to save the inn. To find investors, backers, something!” If even Mr Norton, who’d been Nancy’s lawyer since she opened the Avalon, wouldn’t help, how could she expect anyone else to?

“Carrie…” Mr Norton gave her a sad smile. “I know you love this place. But really…it’s falling apart. Without Nancy here, you have to think if it’s really even possible to save it. In this economy…and with your lack of experience…”

“I can do it,” Carrie said firmly, the heat in her chest burning. “I will do it. And if you won’t help me, I’ll do it alone. Just watch.” She yanked open the drawing-room door. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

* * * *

“A health farm?” Stan’s voice was getting squeaky and high, and Cyb worried about the vein bulging at his temple. He wasn’t getting any younger. But Stan always liked to be told the truth, upfront and straightforward.

“Or a rehabilitation facility,” she repeated, and the vein turned bright purple. “That’s what the man said.”

Across the pub table, Nate put down his pint and shook his head. “I can’t see Carrie selling the Avalon. She’s got plans for it. I told you. She wants a boutique wedding venue.”

Stan scoffed, so loudly that the Red Lion staff looked over from the bar. “Does she? Really? How do we know she hasn’t decided it’s all a bit too much like hard work? We can’t afford to give her the benefit of the doubt just because you’ve got a little crush, boy.”

“I have not got a—”

“Besides,” Stan said, “I know what these business types are like. He’ll have money on the table for her.” He shook his head. “Not sure she’s the sort who would pick hard work over money. Not like her grandmother.”

“She was talking to Izzie about the reservation thing on the computer yesterday,” Moira said. “Would she really do that if she was planning on selling?”

“I have no idea what goes on inside young women’s heads these days.” Stan’s face grew redder and redder. Cyb moved his pint glass farther away, in case he decided to bang his fist on the table again. A passionate man, Stan. She looked at him, considering. Maybe it was time to find a better use for all that passion, once this mess at the inn was sorted out.

“We could just ask her what she’s going to do,” Cyb suggested, in what she thought was a reasonable manner.

Stan obviously thought otherwise. “Just ask? And what, exactly, is going to ensure she tells us the truth?” He grabbed his ale and drained the quarter of a pint left in the glass. Cyb motioned to a nearby member of the bar staff and indicated the empty glass. The Red Lion didn’t offer table service, but they weren’t very busy and Cyb had found them to be very accommodating to a group of senior citizens. Moira had suggested they were just afraid one of them might slip on the pools of stale beer that tended to form by the bar and sue the pub to cover their hip replacements.

“Unless...” Stan tapped the side of his empty glass. “Nate, boy, I have a job for you.”