Page 114 of Lost Then Found
Before I can say anything else, another knock sounds at the door, this one quicker, lighter.
Finn pokes his head in, eyes flicking between me and Dawn like he’s not sure if he should be interrupting. “Uh, Lark? Someone’s asking to see you.”
I frown, setting my fork down. “Who?”
Finn shrugs, shifting on his feet before stepping farther inside, lowering his voice slightly. “I dunno. But he looks kind of…official or something.”
My stomach drops. “Official how?”
“Like…suit-and-tie, clipboard-in-hand, serious expression official.”
Dawn snorts. “Well, that’s never a good sign.”
My shoulders stiffen.What the actual fuck?
I stand, already bracing myself for whatever this is. “Where is he?”
“By the counter.” Finn rocks back on his heels. “Want me to tell him you’re busy?”
“No,” I say, already moving toward the door. “I’ll handle it.”
Even though I have a sinking feeling I don’t want to.
The moment I step out into the front of the diner, I spot him.
A man in a dark navy suit, stiff and pressed like he juststepped out of a boardroom, stands near the counter, clutching a black leather portfolio in one hand. His hair is salt-and-pepper, neatly combed, no-nonsense, and he wears thin, rectangular glasses that sit just far enough down his nose to make him look over them at people like he’s perpetually unimpressed.
He scans the diner, expression unreadable, but his posture says enough. This isn’t going to be a jolly social call.
I square my shoulders, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Can I help you?”
His gaze flicks to me, assessing, professional. “Are you Lark Westwood?”
I nod. “That’s me.”
He extends a hand, his grip firm but perfunctory. “Darren Montgomery, Redwood County Health Department.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. The health department?
I cross my arms, standing a little straighter. “Alright,” I say slowly. “What can I do for you?”
He flips open the portfolio, scanning the paperwork inside before glancing back at me. “You recently had a health inspection here. A couple of weeks ago, correct?”
I nod, my unease growing. “Yeah. We passed, like always. No issues.”
His mouth pulls into a thin line, like he’s already anticipating my reaction. “That’s not what I have in my report.”
My stomach plummets.
I shake my head, frowning. “I’m sorry, what?”
He adjusts his glasses, tucking a finger into the pages and lifting them slightly, as if giving me a glimpse will somehow make this easier to process. “According to our records, The Bluebell Diner failed its most recent health inspection.”
A sharp, ringing sound fills my ears. I blink, staring at him, the words not computing.
Failed?
“That’s impossible,” I say. “The inspector came through, checked everything, and before she left, she told me we passed with no problem.”
