Clean Sweep (Innkeeper Chronicles #1)(12)

Speaking of intuition... Something about my conversation with Sean was bugging me. I puzzled over it and realized what it was. He'd said, "From now on, I'll deal with them." Them. As in more than one. The Creature Guide said that stalkers traveled in packs, but Sean had no way of knowing that. If he had access to a resource that could identify stalkers, it could also identify me, and he would've adjusted his attitude instead of storming my castle.

He must've smelled different scents. Maybe throwing him out wasn't such a hot idea. No, no, it was. There were limits. No matter how powerful he was, I couldn't let him run hog wild over the inn and me.

"Them" meant the incidents would keep happening. Whoever was behind this would soon realize I had taken out one of the pack. He or she could retaliate, and I had no idea what form that retaliation would take. Save for an abbreviated entry in the Creature Guide, my search on stalkers hadn't turned up anything useful. They were a rare species, not too numerous and not well-known.

I could look through the rest of my resources. I had access to some other books, but I doubted I'd find anything useful. I'd have to look for any casual mention of the stalkers in association with other species, and none of the other volumes were indexed or searchable. They were mostly anecdotes recorded by various innkeepers.

When I was eight, my parents had taken me, my brother, and my sister to California on vacation. We'd visited many cool places, including Glass Beach near the town of Fort Bragg. The residents of the area used to toss garbage into the ocean, a lot of which consisted of glass, and over the years, the waves had smoothed the sharp shards into beautiful glass pebbles and deposited thousands of them back onto the beach. In the grand scheme of things, looking for the stalkers was like going to Glass Beach near Fort Bragg and trying to find a particular piece of glass among thousands of others. It would take a long time, and my time was in short supply.

I missed my sister. Unlike my brother, who occasionally dropped by when he could tear himself away from the great beyond, she never visited. She fell in love, married, and moved with her husband to his planet. I had no idea what her new life was like, I hoped it was nice.

I needed a shortcut. I needed someone with more experience and practical knowledge.

I walked over to the photograph of my parents and pressed my thumb to a wood whorl in the frame. A small notation appeared in the top corner above my mother's head.

Brian Rodriguez, 8200 Cielo Vista, Dallas.

I let go of the frame and the words faded. Brian Rodriguez was an innkeeper. He didn't know me and I didn't know him, but my father had mentioned him before. Mr. Rodriguez operated one of the oldest inns in Texas, which had stood there when the Viceroyalty of New Spain was still a real power. Unlike Gertrude Hunt, that inn had remained continuously occupied with the knowledge and expertise passed from one innkeeper to the next. If anyone knew about stalkers, it would be Mr. Rodriguez.

Dallas was over four hours away by car. If I left now, I could theoretically be back here before midnight. Unless I broke down on the highway. I doubted anything would occur during the day, but once darkness fell, without me the inn would be fair game. If stalkers, their allies, or Sean, decided to retaliate, tonight would present them with an excellent opportunity.

I sat down and gulped my tea. I'd never met Mr. Rodriguez. My father had spoken of him in flattering terms, and I'd been there when my mother had written his name and address on the portrait. I was told he was knowledgeable and I could ask him for advice. However, he wasn't a friend. When my parents vanished, I had written to him and received no reply.

Trying to phone him would be useless --no innkeeper would respond to a phone inquiry. The innkeepers were neutral entities and we operated covertly and independently of each other, separated by distance. The safety of our guests was our highest priority. We relied on first impressions and handshakes and did business face-to-face only.

If I made the trip to Dallas, there was no guarantee Mr. Rodriguez would even answer my questions.

What to do?

Sitting here waiting for the stalkers to make the first move was pointless. I had no idea what their avenue of attack would be. I didn't even have a clear idea what they were capable off. Was there some intelligence behind them pulling their strings or were they dumped here just to wreak havoc?

Leaving the inn was a risk, but it was a risk I had to take. I'd chosen to become involved --which might have been a mistake on my part, but now it was too late to second-guess it --and I needed to take steps to ensure the security of the inn. Forewarned is forearmed.

Besides, I'd overhauled the inn's security in the past three years. We'd run drills and tested different scenarios. The inn wasn't impregnable with me away, but breaking into it was impossible without making a lot of noise. I had a feeling noise was the last thing anyone wanted.

If I was going to go, I had to go now. At the moment Caldenia was my only guest, and she would stay safely in her quarters. But if another guest suddenly made an appearance, my trip would be canceled.

I got up and went upstairs to the northern balcony. Caldenia sat in her favorite chair, gazing at the street. She saw me and motioned with her long fingers. "Look. I find this extremely curious."

I sat next to her. Below us, a pair of cops was trying to calm two bloodhounds. The big goofy dogs shifted back and forth on their leashes. Officer Marais and another policeman looked on.

Finally one of the K9 officers got his dog under control and said something. The bloodhound obediently put its nose to the asphalt, took three steps forward, and backed away, whining, tail between its legs.