Page 28 of The Magical Bed & Breakfast

“Rory Throckmorton,” he pointed to his chest.

“Seymour’s grandson! Oh my gosh, yes. I didn’t recognize the new you.”

Rory grinned. “I’m doing research on the old inn, that one Kate Mayfield bought.”

“The inn where you got locked in? Weren’t you always researching that inn?”

It threw Rory that Whitney would remember that. He hadn’t known her well at the time. She ran with a different crowd. Back then Whitney was athletic, ran track, and had been involved in student government. At graduation, she’d been valedictorian. All through school, she’d been a straight A student, while he’d been more on the social fringe, especially after what had come to be known as “The Incident.” The days after his experience had been rough. He’d separated himself socially and dived into research, but hadn’t been able to find what he was looking for. He was hoping he would have better luck this time around, being older and having a better sense of where to focus his search. “Why do you even remember that?”

“This town is important to me, both the current state of the community and the past.”

“As a librarian.” It wasn’t a question. Still, he didn’t see Whitney as a person to just take over the reins of the Hazard Historical Society when Marjorie decided to retire from it, which would likely be a decade or more. Whitney was such a go-getter; Rory was stunned to see her still living and working in Hazard at all.

She leaned forward. “You haven’t seen the signs?”

Rory blinked, trying to fathom what she meant. “Signs?” He imagined something paranormal and mysterious and wondered if Whitney Hopewell, Hazard High’s darling, really could have changed that much.

“The signs around town.”

Rory frowned, for a moment lost in his own visions from the tunnel, where past meant present. “You mean omens?”

Whitney’s face eased into amusement. “No, silly, I mean literal signs, in people’s yards and in windows all over town. I’m running for mayor.”

He blinked at her. “Wow, congratulations.”

Whitney tightened her lips and gave a self-deprecating head tilt. “I haven’t wonyet.”

“I have no doubts. You’ll be amazing.”

“Thanks. So, I’m not supposed to do this, but…” Whitney opened a drawer and pulled out an impressive set of keys, “as the chatelaine of Hazard’s one and only public library, I’ll sneak you in.”

“I won’t tell Marjorie if you won’t.”

“Oh, it isn’t Marjorie who will mind.”

“Seymour has my back, so is it Lydia? She always seems so dour.”

“Lydia can be formidable, true, but under that she’s all about fun, so no, Lydia won’t disapprove. She’s currently on a mission to inspire us young bloods to join the Hazard Historical Society. No, it’s…”

“Hazel,” said Rory, picturing in his mind the tiny, spunky president of the Hazard Historical Society, whose bizarre penchant for hats was renowned.

Whitney brandished the keys and gave him a pointed gaze. “She has a definite idea of what is and isn’t appropriate.”

Rory gave a nod. “Ah, one must abide by Robert’s Rules of Order.” He followed Whitney to the door of the archives.

“That’s right, because rules are meant to be etched in glass.”

“Not sundial sands?”

Whitney flashed a grin over her shoulder and stopped in front of the door.

“And here I thought rules are meant to be trampled underfoot,” Rory teased. “Really, I won’t tell a soul.”

Whitney gave a conspiratorial smile as she let him into a room smelling of aged parchment and mildew. Rory breathed it all in and coughed.

“You aren’t allergic to dust, are you?” Whitney frowned in concern.

“Me? No, I’m allergic to sunshine.”

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