Page 5 of Devil's Deal

Her husband made a face that said he wasn’t sure he did, and I wasn’t going to prove her point by telling them this wasn’t the first report I’d had of this in recent weeks. In the almost ten years since I’d opened the hotel, I’d never had any issues like this. As of yet, there’d been no theft, but I was getting worried. Today, there’d been nothing missing, but how much longer would that last?

“I’m so sorry this happened. Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?” I asked, speaking more to Mrs. Winchester than her husband since she was the one who was so upset.

“Honey, let’s be reasonable.” He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. “We leave town again tomorrow, anyway. Do you really want to pack up, just to go somewhere else and unpack, just to check out tomorrow morning? Please, let’s stay here and see what Mr. Letterman has to offer.”

She huffed but gave me an opportunity to speak. “I’m assuming you folks haven’t had dinner yet.” I knew they hadn’t. She’d said as much already.

“No, we came up to change and found our room in a shambles,” she said sullenly.

Her husband’s eyeballs rolled up in his head like he was praying for strength. If this was the first time it happened, I might be tempted to agree with him, but I knew I had a problem on my hands.

“Can I offer you a night on me down at The Velvet Room for dinner? If you’d like, when you’re done, you can head over to Discreet Delights for drinks afterward and enjoy the rest of your evening. We have a small jazz band playing. Of course, it’ll all be on the house. Tell your servers to charge everything to your room number, and we’ll adjust the bill before checkout tomorrow morning.”

Mr. Winchester looked pleased at the offer, but his wife still looked suspicious. “Anything we want? All night long?”

“Certainly.” I gave a half-bow. “With my apologies.”

“Well.” she bit her lower lip. “I guess that would be fine.”

Pleased, I clapped my hands together in front of me. “Wonderful. I’m so happy you’re staying.”

Mrs. Winchester ignored me and started removing her clothing from the suitcase, folding them to put back into the drawer. Dismissed, I nodded at her husband and made my way to the door.

Before I closed it, I realized he’d followed me. “Thank you so much, Mr. Letterman.”

Turning, I held my hand out to him, and we shook. “It’s my pleasure. I’m so sorry this happened.”

He waved me off and closed the door. It was a reasonable assumption that he didn’t believe that their stuff had been tampered with. I wished I’d thought the same.

Bone weary, I made my way down to reception to put notes in the Winchester’s file for checkout. When I got down there, Harlow and Huey were manning the desk.

“What happened, Cory? Are they checking out?” Harlow asked, wringing his hands together like I wished I could do.

“No. The husband didn’t really want to, and I coaxed his wife into staying on when I offered dinner at The Velvet Room, followed by drinks at Discreet Delights on us.”

“Whew. I bet that makes you feel much better,” he said.

He had no idea. They’d spent several hours this afternoon at Behind Closed Doors receiving spa services, and they’d already been here for four days. They could’ve demanded I comp a whole lot more, and I’d have done it.

Maybe Harlow realized that, though. He’d been working for me for around four years. He’d started out in the restaurant as a dishwasher, from there, he became a busboy, and then he’d approached me to be a valet, which he’d excelled at. He was personable and a great first encounter with hotel staff for our customers. Since then, he’d earned his spot as a desk agent, and I couldn’t be happier with him. Honestly, I didn’t know what I’d do without the kid.

Huey snorted. “I wonder if anything really happened or if they saw that Yelp review that old guy left about things being moved in his room. They’re probably taking you for a ride to get free stuff.”

Harlow’s mouth dropped, but I chuckled. Huey was a little suspicious by nature, but I knew that he’d had a hard run. At thirty-years-old, he was older and more jaded than Harlow, so the two didn’t always get on that well. But Huey had come to me with hotel experience not long after my husband passed, and I’d really needed more help at the front while I tried to get my shit together.

“Always so suspicious, Huey. I’m pretty sure the Winchesters aren’t looking for freebies. She was really upset when I first got up to their room,” I assured him.

Huey shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do. Can you update their file to adjust everything they charge back to their room tonight, Harlow?” I asked.

“Ab-so-lute-ly,” he answered, making me grin.

Very few employees embraced my nineteen-twenties slang as well as Harlow did. Everyone was supposed to, but…I got it. They felt foolish, so it was kind of a big ask. I’d fashioned the hotel and everything in it—all the names for the amenities and suites—with speakeasy themes. What could I say? I was fascinated with everything during the Roaring 20s, from Art Deco to moving pictures to prohibition to flappers. What a cool time it must’ve been to be alive.

“Where are you going, big cheese?” Huey asked as I left their area.

Rolling my eyes, I pointed at him. “You know darn well you don’t have to call me that.”

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