Page 27 of The Accidental Innkeeper

Lola glanced at me—up and down, slowly. I resisted the urge to adjust my posture, my hair, and my entire existence. At least I was clean… sandpaper clean, but still.

“And you must be Edna’s niece,” inquired Lola. “Sarah, right?”

“Yes,” I said automatically. “Hi.”

“Marvelous.” She stepped closer, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “I’d like my room.”

“Your room?”

“I live here.”

I blinked. “You… live here.”

“Long-term,” she clarified. “Very long-term. Years, actually. Edna and I had an understanding.” She tapped her nose with her free hand like that was supposed to mean something.

I shook her hand, which was warm and confident and somehow intimate, like she’d already decided we were acquainted.

“She stays in the east wing, second floor,” said Dottie, running water over the pan she’d just used. Then she started scrubbing with dish soap a scrubber that wasn’t there a second ago. Did she just pull that out of her ass?

Lola waved that off. “Whichever room still has good light. And space for my clothes.” She gestured to the suitcase, which looked like it contained an entire boutique. “I’ve got more in the car.”

I glanced at Dottie. “I didn’t realize there were… residents.”

Lola laughed, low and musical. “Oh, honey. There are always residents.” She leaned against the island, crossing one leg over the other with expert ease. “Is it too early for wine?”

I stared at her. She looked like she had lots of money, if those diamond earrings and rings were any indication. “You don’t have a house or a condo?”

Lola giggled. “Why would I own property when I can change rooms and men whenever I want?”

Dottie snorted. “Told you. Town slut.”

Lola brushed her hair back, grinning. “I prefer enthusiast.”

I rubbed my temples. Hard. “Listen. I don’t know who told you the inn was open, but it’s not. I mean, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.” I glanced at Dottie. “And even if I did, I can’t pay you with money I don’t have.”

“I can help you with that,” said Lola. She reached into her quilted leather bag with the gold chain strap and pulled out a checkbook like this was 1998, scribbled something with zero hesitation, tore the check off, and slid it across the island toward me. “Here. A year’s rent. It’s what I used to pay Edna in advance. I hate follow-up conversations.”

I stared at the check. Then stared harder.

I picked it up, my fingers suddenly numb. My legs went weak, so I grabbed the nearest stool and sat before gravity made a decision for me.

“This is…” I swallowed. “This is thirty-eight thousand dollars.” Santa’s balls. This was a crapload of cash.

Lola smiled. “Yes.”

Who the hell wrote checks for thirty-eight thousand dollars? Apparently, women who owned silk blouses, zero shame, and men on rotation.

My brain immediately began doing math without my permission. Thirty-eight thousand dollars meant I could pay Dottie. And not in eggs. With real money. It meant I could hire a cleaning person. Maybe even two. It meant I could get someone to look at the boiler before it screamed again. Fix my door. Replace a hinge. Possibly remove at least one life-size portrait.

It meant… options. Real ones.

I looked up slowly. “You’re saying you’d stay.”

Lola shrugged again. “I already live here. I just like things official. And clean. And functional.”

Dottie nodded enthusiastically. “She’s very low maintenance. Except for men and wine.”

Lola tilted her head. “Both are necessities in life.”