“Sit down. Let me finish—”
Meekly, I sat again. My hands were shaking. “You’re the private entity, aren’t you? This is what you did to the Gold Bug Tavern. You pushed Peter Hardgrave out, didn’t you?”
Kendall shook his head as if he were tired of being maligned. “I am not the private entity. Dark Haven already made a bid for your property. But thanks to Phyllis Martin’s…obfuscations…they weren’t successful. No, this transaction is a bit more…direct.”
“Who is the private entity?”
“The same man who owns this cabin.”
“He tried to kill me.”
“I promise you, you’re not going to get a better deal. Not from anyone. Not ever.”
“Why does he want my inn so badly? It’s just an old house.”
“That’s his business, not mine.”
I thought about Eldritch. He was happy telling his stories at my inn. I was an employer. I was my own boss. I ran things the way I wanted and I was free to experiment with new tactics. I could never go back to slaving for someone else.
“I’m not interested in selling,” I said. “That’s final.”
“You haven’t even heard the offer yet.”
“I don’t need to. Red and Breakfast is not for sale.”
“Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Kendall said. “All cash.”
I swallowed hard. I stared at the paperwork.
“That offer is well above market value. The average house in Dark Haven goes for a little over two hundred thousand dollars. You won’t see this kind of appreciation for at least another decade, provided the town itself doesn’t go bankrupt—and let me tell you, from what I’ve seen of their ledgers, their coffers are sucking air at the bottom of the hold. I give Dark Haven fifteen years at best before the entire economy collapses and the place becomes a ghost town.”
“Maybe their solvency problems are because the town keeps seizing property and driving people out of business. You ever think of that?”
“Maybe,” Kendall said. “But if you play your cards right and accept my offer, the township’s folly will only sweeten the deal for you.”
I stared at the table. My reflection in the surface was cut in half by the stack of papers.
“Things were really coming together at the inn,” I said quietly.
“Yes, they were. Until they fell apart.”
“I can’t sign these. No matter the figure. I like the place. I’m good at managing it.”
“You and I must have different definitions of good.”
“I don’t care if I lose money. Mortgages lose money for thirty years. I need to live someplace, don’t I? So I might as well try to make a few bucks while I’m at it. How many people have that option?”
Kendall looked down at his briefcase. He fiddled with one of the golden latches, clicking it open and then closed. Then he adjusted his tie, looked up, and flashed me a great big smile.
“I didn’t want it to come to this, I really didn’t, but let’s put it this way, Rosie. You’re not leaving this cabin until you sign the goddamn papers.”
40
My eyebrows narrowed. I looked up from my reflection in the counter. “What did you say?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used such coarse language. But I believe my message was clear.”
“I’m a hostage now?”
“Not exactly—”
“I am. You’re holding me hostage!”
“Settle down.”
“I want you to take me back to Dark Haven. NOW.”
“Relax, Rosie. Like I said, do not let your emotions cloud your judgment on this matter. You need a new life, one where Roman Caesar can’t find you, one where the cops can’t arrest you. Take my offer and go some place where you won’t get hurt. Get out of Dark Haven. Disappear. Go far away. Think of this as a self-imposed witness protection program. I’ve been wracking my brain about the best way to help you and this is the best I could come up with. My client was reluctant to go this high, but he relented. I pushed the value as high as I possibly could. For you. If you go back to Dark Haven, you will never be safe. Trust me on that.”
“I’ll find Caesar myself if I have to.”
“This runs far deeper than Caesar. You have to trust me on this. If you stay in Dark Haven, your life will be in danger. Always.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, I am not. I am pointing out the facts. I am trying to save you. I worked hard to negotiate this deal. My client wanted to pay far less.”
My fingers contracted into a fist. “Who is the blasted client, Kyle?”
“I can’t tell you. Confidentiality.”
“Then at least confirm one thing. Is this the same person who convinced Phyllis Martin to kidnap me?”
Kendall glanced up at the motion sensor in the corner. It watched us like a large red eye, like HAL or the eye of Polyphemus.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“Is it the same person who sent me a postcard at the hospital when I was keeping watch over Stanley?”
“Most likely.”
I got up and went to the counter. The empty bottles of Red Rum were still sitting there. I reached for one, touched the neck of the bottle. I remembered seeing the bottle break in my drunken dream. Maybe I was supposed to grab it and smash it over Kendall’s head. Maybe I was supposed to snatch his keys and make a run for the Mercedes.
My fingers curled around the neck of the bottle.
“I’ve got some more rum in the car if you want to celebrate,” he said.
“Celebrate what?”
“Resolution.”
My fingers tightened. Then I remembered the remote start on his vehicle. I would need the password to his phone to get the car running. Unless…unless I grabbed the tools downstairs. I could drill the ignition, insert a screwdriver—
Unsatisfied with the ragged edges, Kendall straightened the stack of papers against the table again and then slid them carefully into his briefcase and latched it shut.
“It looks like you need some time. Why don’t you take a little bit to think it over?”
I lifted the bottle off the counter. “Even if I make the deal, I can’t go anywhere without a
