New Hampshire - Heart of Stone (Americana 29 - New Hampshire)

Chapter One

THERE WAS a sudden flurry of activity outside Stephanie's office. Located in the heart of the luxurious New Hampshire inn, it gave her ready access to all phases of the operation. Through the open doorway Stephanie had a partial view of the front desk, which gave her a feeling of the comings and goings of the guests. Across the hall was the housekeeping department. The office next to hers belonged to her brother, Perry Hall, the manager of the inn, and her boss.
When Mrs. Adamson, the dining-room hostess, went hurrying past Stephanie's door, her curiosity was thoroughly aroused. Something unusual was going on. Even though she had actually worked in the White Boar Inn a short three months, Stephanie felt the accelerated tempo of the inn's pulse, a tense quickening of interest.
The unbalanced ledger sheet on her desk was forgotten as she speared the lead pencil through the chestnut hair above her ear and rose from her chair. Bookkeeping was invariably the last department to know anything if she allowed routine to run its normal course. Since Perry was her brother, she didn't choose to sit back and wait to be informed. She had been isolated from the mainstream of life for too many years to let it continue now that she had rejoined it.
In the hallway, she glanced toward the front desk. Her blue eyes noted the expressions of harried excitement in the faces of the usually unflappable pair manning the registration counter. It was rare indeed for the arrival of an important personage to create such a disturbance, since the inn catered to the wealthy and the notable. Besides, every room was already taken, occupied by guests on hand to view the autumn splendor of the White Mountains, and there were reservations all the way through the winter season to spring.
Puzzled by the unknown cause of all this barely subdued commotion, Stephanie absently fingered the scarab pendant suspended by a gold chain to nestle in the valley between her breasts, the loose weave of her white rollneck sweater providing a backdrop for the jewelry. The slight frown remained in her expression as she walked the few feet to her brother's office. The door was standing open and she paused within its frame, not wanting to interrupt her brother's consultation with Mrs. Adamson.
"Get a bottle on ice right away," he was instructing the woman, who was hastily making notes on a pad. Perry, too, was consulting the papers in front of him, not glancing up to see Stephanie in the doorway. His brown hair was rumpled as if he had run his fingers through it many times. "Fix a tray with a selection of cheeses and fresh fruits to go with it. You'd better recheck the wine cellar and make sure you have an ample supply of his favorite wines in stock, too. Alert your staff. I want them on their toes in case he decides to dine in the restaurant this evening. I don't want—Flowers!" Perry interrupted himself to exclaim. "I nearly forgot the damn flowers." He punched the buzzer to summon his secretary.
For once the young girl appeared within seconds. She looked pale and anxious, more timid than usual. Despite her youth, Connie York was highly skilled and competent. Her chief flaw was a marked lack of self-confidence, which was blatantly in evidence at the moment.
"Yes, Mr. Hall?" She made a question of her response to his summons, her small face pinched into tense lines of unease and framed with dark hair.
His upward glance took note of Stephanie in the doorway, but he didn't acknowledge her presence in his office beyond that. "Call the florist. If they can't have a bouquet of roses delivered here within ninety minutes, I want you to pick them up."
"Yes, sir." Her head bobbed in quick agreement, but she didn't make any move to follow through with the order.
Perry, who was usually extraordinarily patient with his self-effacing secretary, sent her an irritated look. "You aren't going to get it done standing there, Connie. Go on!"
"I know, but…" She wavered uncertainly.
"What is it?" he demanded in short temper. "I haven't got time to coax it out of you."
Stephanie's gaze wandered over her brother's face in surprise. Six years older than herself, he rarely allowed stressful situations to shake him. He had been more than just her big brother: he had been her idol for as long as she could remember. Life hadn't been easy for him…or for her, either. Their mother had died when Stephanie was only four. Perry had played surrogate mother to her, fixing meals and keeping house while their father worked long hours, skilled only as a ski instructor and bartender, to make ends meet.
Five years ago, when Stephanie was seventeen, it had seemed the world would become their oyster. Perry had obtained a scholarship to attend a prestigious postgraduate law school and Stephanie had been accepted by a prominent women's college. Then a freak skiing accident had left their father a paraplegic, and Perry had given up his scholarship to take the position of assistant manager of this inn, while Stephanie stayed home to take care of their father. A virulent pneumonia virus had claimed their father four months ago. In many ways, his death had been a blessing—for him and for them.
Stephanie hadn't completely adjusted to the freedom from responsibility that had matured both of them beyond their years, while it deprived them of the pleasures of youth. The night course she had taken in accounting, to supplement their income by doing bookkeeping at home for small businesses, had provided her with the experience to take the post as bookkeeper at the inn when her predecessor had retired with a few grumblings about nepotism, because her brother had become the manager in the last year.
She liked working at the inn, being with people and being part of things. Most of all, she liked working with her brother. She had come to respect his competency in a position the duties of which were far ranging and varied. Perry always appeared to be totally in control whether dealing with a crisis in the restaurant kitchen or organizing the staff. Which was why Stephanie was surprised by his harried attitude at the moment. It didn't seem in character.
"It's just that…I was wondering…" Connie was stumbling over the reason for her hesitation.
"I don't have all day. Please get to the point," Perry ordered.
"It's your appointment," his secretary began, intimidated by his abruptness.
"I told you to cancel them." His mouth thinned with impatience.
"Yes, but…" She bit her lower lip.
Perry appeared to mentally count to ten in an effort to control his temper. "But what, Connie?" he asked with forced evenness.
"You're supposed to speak at a luncheon this noon." She rushed the explanation. "It's been on the agenda for two months. They couldn't possibly get anyone to take your place at such late notice."
Perry groaned. "Is that today?"
"Yes, sir." Anxiety tortured Connie's expression. "What should I do?"
"Do? There's nothing you can do," he sighed. "I'll have to attend the luncheon, but cancel everything else. And get those flowers."
"Yes, sir." With a nod of her head, the girl disappeared inside her adjoining office.
Returning his attention to the woman in front of his desk, Perry raked a hand through his dark hair again, adding to its disorder. "You know the routine, Mrs. Adamson. I trust you to handle it." He cast a glance at his wristwatch, in effect dismissing the hostess.
Stephanie stepped to one side so the woman could exit through the open door. From the conversation she had overheard, she had a general idea what was happening. With the exception of the private suite, the inn was fully booked. And the suite was reserved exclusively for the owner or his personal guests. Before she had a chance to ask whose arrival was anticipated, Perry was addressing her.
"Whatever your problem is, Stephanie, it will have to wait—unless someone has absconded with the receipts. In that case, I don't want to know about it for three days," he declared with a tired shake of his head.
"I don't have any problem," she assured him. "I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. Who's coming? The place is in a quiet uproar—if there is such a thing."