Page 46 of The Accidental Innkeeper

“Ha. Ha.”

I swear if this woman hadn’t given me that huge check, I might be considering throwing her out on her ass. Or at least hiding her martini glass and watching her spiral.

I repositioned my hands, this time bracing my shoulder against Edna’s bronze collarbone. Cold. So cold. Why was she cold? Was this statue haunted? Because it felt haunted.

“Okay,” I muttered. “We’re going to try this again, Edna. You and me. One final showdown.”

I pushed. Nothing.

I pushed harder.

Still nothing.

Motherfracker. “I know you’re doing this on purpose,” I told it. “You were stubborn in life, and apparently you’re stubborn in stone. Congratulations on the follow-through.”

Lola leaned forward slightly. “Have you tried apologizing?”

I shot her a look. “To the statue?”

“To Edna,” she corrected. “Some women require acknowledgment before they release their grip on a space.”

“I am not apologizing to a dead woman who once told me I’d never amount to anything and then left me an inn out of spite.”

Lola lifted her glass. “Fair.”

I took a step back, wiped my forehead with the hem of my shirt, and assessed the situation like a general surveying a losing battlefield. The den was half cleared. Chairs stacked. Side tables moved. Rugs rolled. Yet Edna remained, planted dead center, holding on to her cigarette and daring me to try again.

“Who commissions a statue of themselves?” I muttered.

Lola smirked. “Someone who expects history to agree with them.”

A ring sounded from the front desk and I stilled, waiting. After the third ring, I heard a click, and that’s when I knew the answering machine picked up.

Dottie had shown me how to do it so I could one, use the bathroom, two, go change out of my yoga pants and pull on some jeans, and three, clean the den to get ready for the guests tomorrow.

Maria was still cleaning the rooms, so I thought I’d pitch in. And what I meant by pitching in was getting rid of that creepy life-size statue of Edna.

If I wanted this business to succeed, I shouldn’t scare away the guests.

I turned back to Edna, fueled by fresh irritation. “That’s it.” I bent my knees, wrapped my arms around the statue’s waist—which was deeply uncomfortable, by the way, because stone Edna had no give—and lifted.

My feet slid.

The statue did not.

And I might have let out a fart.

I was in hell.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, my face inches from bronze. “Do you have lead in you? How the hell was anyone able to bring this in?” With a crane, I’d believe it.

Lola clapped once, delighted. “This is better than cable.”

“I am going to win,” I told the statue. I turned around, and using my back, I started to push.

The statue remained unmoved.

Sweat trickled down my back. My thighs burned. My dignity lay somewhere near the rolled-up rug by the fireplace.