The Empty Rooms Had Been Full On Someone Else's Paper
Part 2 · 3 min read ·
Nell went quiet for so long that I checked the phone.
"Are you still there?"
"I'm saving everything," she said. "Don't go into the office. Don't take anything from Kent's desk. Just tell me what you have yourself."
"A laundry book."
"Start there."
I kept a small bound book in my coat pocket. Each morning, I wrote down the rooms I stripped and the clean sets I left on each cart. Kent liked to argue about missing sheets. The book had ended those arguments.
January had no east wing rooms.
It did have a note on the third: Four buckets returned to Twelve. No linens.
After a pipe failed in November, water kept coming through an old ceiling seam when the snow melted. Kent had closed the whole wing until repairs could pass inspection.
The upstairs flat had its own stairs and heat. We had stayed there while the east hall sat dark.
"My book isn't official," I said.
"It tells us what to look for. That's useful."
Wren was at the table, fitting blue paper over the torn sea.
"Does she need my school calendar?" she asked.
"Maybe later."
She pushed it toward me anyway.
Thursday morning, I walked her into school. Two mothers by the coat hooks stopped talking when they saw me.
Wren pressed against my side.
"You can tell them," she whispered.
"I will tell the people who can fix it. You get to be nine today."
Her teacher, Mr. Clay, held the classroom door.
"Come help me with the weather chart, Wren."
He didn't ask anything in the hall. I was grateful enough to cry, so I left before I did.
At ten, I met Nell at the library. She had brought printouts. I had brought my laundry book, lease, pay stubs, and shift calendar.
There were four household claims. Each was for thirty-one nights at $150 a night. Each came to $4,650.
Together, they made $18,600.
"Ruth asked Kent to explain these before approving his next payment," Nell said. "Instead of giving her records, he accused you at the supper."
"The fund sent that money to the inn?" I asked.
"Yes. Kent says you invented the stays, then took the money as cash refunds for the guests."
She showed me a second sheet.
Refunds Distributed By: Ada Mercer.
Under that was the same false signature.
"I don't pay guests," I said. "I can't even open the cash safe."
"Did you ever sign a blank form for him?"
"No."
I studied the page. The signature was neat. Mine always tipped uphill because I rushed.
"He told Ruth the originals were ruined by a leak," Nell said. "These are scans."
"Convenient leak."
"Maybe. We need more than that."
She pointed to the room numbers. Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen.
"Who could confirm the closure?"
"The town office. And Cal Doran, the plumber."
At the town office, the clerk found the inspection record by the inn's street address. I paid $2 for a copy.
The notice said the east wing could not take guests until the listed repairs passed a final check.
The date was November 12.
"Was there another inspection in January?" I asked.
The clerk searched again.
"No. The next one was February 6. It didn't pass."
I folded the copy carefully.
For the first time since the supper, I had a fact that didn't depend on anyone liking me.
Cal called Nell from his truck. With his permission, she put him on speaker.
"I shut the water off to those rooms myself," he said. "Sent Kent an estimate for $9,870. He never approved it."
"Would you send the estimate and your work notes?" Nell asked.
"Sure. Who says anybody slept there?"
Neither of us answered fast enough.
"Oh," Cal said. "Send me the meeting date too."
By three, Kent had left seven messages.
The first told me to bring back my laundry keys. I arranged to leave them with Ruth and get a receipt.
The last told me he could still help me.
"Come get your final pay," he said. "Let's not make this uglier."
I went with Nell.
He met us in the lobby. Behind him, the east hall door had a sign that read CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.
"You didn't need an escort," he said.
"You didn't need a microphone," I told him.
He set a check on the counter. It was for $2,160. Beside it was one typed page.
"Just a receipt."
Nell reached for it before I could.
She read the first line aloud.
"I alone submitted the false housing claims."
Kent kept one finger on the check.
"Sign it," he said, "and you can stop worrying about Friday."