Page 19 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“Concussed and confused. When can I send him home?” Eden asked, covering her nose and mouth. If the entire inn didn’t end up smelling, it would be a miracle.
“Not any time soon,” Eloisa said, cracking her gum. She was a lean black woman in her early fifties who was more than capable of hauling a two-hundred-pound victim out of a window if necessary. She lifted weights religiously and fueled her muscles with a bowl of Rocky Road every night. “Structure’s not safe with the whole end of the house wide open. I’ve got Calvin Finestra’s card in here if Davis is looking for a contractor. It’s gonna be a lot of work.”
Eden paced in front of the front desk, her suede boot-clad feet scuffing at the thick rug.
“So, what do I do with him? Where do I send him? Where’s he staying?”
Eloisa frowned and heaved a tired sigh. “You mind if I sit down?” she asked, gesturing at the chair Davis had stunk up earlier.
“Have at it. I’m burning it anyway.”
Eloisa flopped down with a relieved sigh. “I’m gonna need some serious reiki after traipsing around in that stench. Smells like cat litter and sauerkraut.”
“Chief, about Davis?” Eden said, trying to get the woman to focus.
“Excuse me, Eden do you have any extra pillows we could have for our room?” Thomas Springer was tall and so thin he looked like he’d disappear if he turned sideways. He and his wife were escaping a house full of children with a long weekend getaway. Last night, they’d crawled back from the brewery drunk as two skunks and waving to their Lyft driver like he was a rock star. Eden adored them, and that was before they extended their stay by an extra night.
“Absolutely, Thomas,” Eden promised with a quick smile. “I can actually let you pick the ones you like from our stash.” She had an entire walk-in closet on the second floor stocked with pillows of all sizes and smush-factors.
The front door bell tinkled and in strolled a grinning Bruce Oakleigh hefting two garbage bags.
“Bruce, I’ll be with you in a minute,” Eden said, turning back to Thomas.
“What’s the damage, chief?” Davis shuffled out into the lobby.
Everyone stopped and stared at the man bulging out of yoga pants. Eden’s t-shirt fit him like a second skin and showed a dusting of chest hair at the apex of the deep V. The socks only came up to his mid-shin.
Even dressed like a tall, built woman, the man had undeniable sex appeal. It pissed Eden off that she noticed.
“Thomas, did you get the pillows?” Letiticia, Thomas’s wife, shrilled from the stairway like an opera diva drawing everyone’s attention away from Davis and his pants-enhanced penis.
“Getting them now, sweet pea,” Thomas hollered back.
Sunny skipped into the lobby and ducked behind the front desk. She rested her elbows on the desk as if she were enjoying the show.
“Sunny, can you please show Thomas to the pillow collection?” Eden asked sweetly.
“Oh, sure! Right this way! You’re going to love our down alternative blends,” Sunny predicted.
“Thomas!”
“Coming, sweet pea!”
Eden turned back to the remaining bodies in her lobby. The chief hauled herself out of the chair. Eden could have sworn she saw a puff of yellow smoke rise with her. “Well, Davis. It’s not good news. A lot of damage. And worse, it looks suspicious.”
“Suspicious, like arson?” Davis asked and winced at the volume of his own words.
Bruce dropped his bags on the floor with a muffled thud. “I’m sure it wasn’t anintentionalfire,” he insisted.
Eloisa rolled her shoulders. “That’s usually what ‘arson’ means. We found some kind of device in the corner of your kitchen. Looks like it fell into the trashcan. As far as I can tell, that’s where the fire originated.”
“What kind of device?” Davis leaned his weight on the desk and rubbed his forehead.
“Near as I can tell, it was some kind of mutant stink bomb,” Eloisa announced. “A deadly one.”
Bruce sputtered. “Well, if itwasa stink bomb, obviously no one meant any harm! Maybe it was just a small, harmless accident?”
“Well, that small, harmless accident is gonna cost almost fifty grand in repairs,” Eloisa said, unimpressed with Bruce’s theories.
