One Bossy Offer (111)

He made that crystal clear when he told me to stay out.

And if he had any change of heart, I think I would’ve heard from him by now.

The old man smiles. “That would be nice. Well, I should finish my walk.”

He stands, stretches, and walks off, leaving me alone with the wind kicking up.

I stay there a little while longer with the dinging wind chime until my cheeks are numb, trapped in bittersweet thoughts and picturing a future that’s dull, grey, and glacial.





Whatever else anyone can say about him, Royal Cromwell brings out strong reactions.

Miles is convinced Simone wants to hurt his father to hurt him.

Some random old man who was a Bee Harbor regular is outraged on Royal’s behalf.

Meanwhile, two hurt women who worked under him years ago swear he coerced them into the kind of gross, horrible affairs you hear about every month now with politicians, businessmen, and Hollywood big shots.

My brain is Swiss cheese.

Nothing about any of this makes freaking sense.

But every time I get confused, I just hear the old man saying, Bet his boy is all knotted up.

Miles is a heartless jackass and a human hand grenade, but he doesn’t deserve to go through this alone.

No one does.

That’s not why I’m here, though.

I’m too curious.

Finding out the Cromwells had a history with Gram long before Miles had his fancy house built next door is a total shock.

So I walk into Gram’s old home office, where she keeps the old records that overflowed from the inn. I’m not sure what I’m looking for as I start sleuthing.

But there are boxes.

So many boxes.

It takes over two hours to dig through a stack just to get a handle on how the records are arranged. She kept everything on paper right up until the end.

“Jeez, Gram! You really wanted to make sure whoever inherited the inn earned their keep,” I say out loud.

Finally, I find a box marked 2005-2015 and pop the lid off.

Seems like a good place to start.

There’s a file folder for each month of the year. At least she was organized, but since I’m not sure what I’m looking for, it might not matter.

My directionless treasure hunt burns up the evening.

It’s past midnight and my third cup of coffee when I take the dogs out. I still haven’t found anything useful.

Royal Cromwell and Colleen Narada-Cromwell did stay here a few times every year for weeks at a time, but there isn’t much more in the file than old credit card receipts and reservation details.

If I had any fantasies I’d find something useful, they’re snuffed out fast.

Whatever.

It was a long shot anyhow, but as a bonus, I’m learning a lot about the inn’s operations going back years. Gram even collected email addresses on old paper cards.

I laugh at that. The inn would be doing a lot better if she’d done something with all the email addresses she collected.

Better late than never, I guess.

I start logging them on a spreadsheet as I go, building a makeshift email list.

I’m up to 2013 in an hour, cruising from one month’s manila folder to the next.

March must be the cursed month.

Every March folder has a pile of receipts for high-ticket repairs.

When I get to June, I find Royal and Colleen Cromwell were at the inn most of the month. It’s just another set of dates at first, and his name comes up multiple times through these folders.

Why does it matter?

I tap the side of my head like I’m hoping it’ll shake something loose. It seems important.

Sighing, I grab my phone and pull up another article I read earlier today.

Halfway down the page, it’s there.

“It’s hard to talk about this even now. Royal wasn’t an open tyrant, just a lonely old man who worked too much and went about solving his problems the wrong way. His advances started a few months after I went to work for him and lasted until the last time I saw him,” Ava Wickes stated.

When I asked her to tell me about the last time she saw Royal Cromwell she said, “It’s obviously been a while. He’s been gone for years—the last time was back in mid-June of 2013, I think,” she said. “I remember because I’d just left my niece’s pool party. He was already making noise about stepping down as CEO. I needed a reference for a new job. I knew the only way I was ever going to be able to put this mess behind me was going to be a fresh start. I owed it to my family and myself, so I lined up a new opportunity. But I needed a reference letter from him. He called me over to his mansion on Bainbridge Island so I could pick it up in person. His wife was gone for some conservation thing in Canada, and well, you can guess what he wanted.”

I wrinkle my nose.

If that’s true, it couldn’t be more disgusting.

Still, I flip back to the file and—wait.

Gram’s records show he checked in on June 7th, 2013 and checked out on June 30th. Roughly a three-week stay with Colleen.

There are even daily receipts where they paid for incidentals like a sunset cruise Gram partnered with in town, plus laundry service. The receipts are all in order and stapled to the final bill, clear as day.

I flip through them three times.

“Holy crap,” I whisper, my hand fluttering to my mouth.