Chapter 12: Closed

"What complaint?" I said.

The crowd turned.

I was barefoot, in yesterday's slacks and a sleep shirt, with my hair falling out of its pins.

Damon's eyes went over me once and he looked pleased.

"Elise," he said. "Go back to bed. We've got this."

The inspector looked between us.

She was about fifty, sensible shoes, the face of someone who'd been lied to by every restaurant on the island.

"Who are you?" she asked me.

"Elise Bell. Financial Recovery Director." I held out my hand. "My family owns this hotel."

"Not exactly," Damon said pleasantly.

"Rodents," the inspector said, ignoring him. "Anonymous call at six this morning. Droppings in the ballroom service pantry."

"Can I see?"

She shrugged and led the way.

The service pantry was a narrow tiled room behind the ballroom, with steel shelves of chafing dishes and stacked banquet chairs.

The floor had been waxed on Thursday night. I'd watched them do it.

In the far corner, on the shining wax, lay a little scatter of black droppings.

A neat little pile.

"That's a lot for one mouse," I said.

"That's a lot for ten," the inspector said. "Which is why I'm closing this room and the ballroom it serves until re-inspection."

"When is that?"

"Monday, if your pest people clear it."

Monday.

Two weddings this weekend, both in the Harbor Ballroom. Four hundred guests between them.

Ninety thousand dollars, and both couples' deposits already spent by Damon.

"I'm sorry," the inspector said, and seemed to mean it. "I go by what's on the floor."

She went out to her car to print the notice.

Damon followed her, shaking his head sadly for the guests.

I stood in the pantry and looked at the pile.

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