Free Breaking the Chain by C D Ledbetter Page A

glass doorknob, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least she'd made it across the porch. Taking a deep breath, she twisted the knob and pushed the door with her shoulder.
              The inside wasn't as bad as expected. The foyer, although dingy, was decorated to resemble an old-fashioned hotel. Four barrel chairs with stained cushions circled a round, claw-footed table in the center of the room, and an old saloon-style bar dwarfed the rear wall. She noted a large wooden frame mounted on the wall, intersected with wooden slats that crisscrossed to form small squares. A small metal number on the bottom of each square identified rooms. A set of keys lay inside each square. The numbers stopped at twenty, but some squares remained unnumbered on the bottom row.
              The sole occupant of the room was an older man with a shock of white hair who lay slumped across the far end of the counter. She could tell he was sleeping, because every time he exhaled, the stack of papers opposite his face rustled. She cleared her throat, but he didn't awaken. The thump of her suitcase when she dropped it didn't rouse him either.
              How much worse could this get? Not only was this place a dump, now she had to contend with some old geezer sleeping off a drunken stupor. She mentally chalked up another mark against Mac and decided that this trip ought to equate to two extra weeks of vacation. No, make that three weeks. He owed her big time, and the debt just kept getting bigger.
              A small metal bell sitting to the left of the old man's elbow caught her eye. Maybe he was just hard of hearing instead of drunk. It was worth a shot. She pressed the button, and a loud ping broke the silence. Ah, some sign of life at last!
              The old man stopped snoring, then lifted his head. W atery blue eyes blinked a couple of times, and once they registered the fact that she was standing in front of him, he shot up.
              "I'm sorry to frighten you, but I did try to get your attention before I rang the bell," she murmured in her most apologetic voice.
              "Sorry, I must have drifted off. We don't get many customers these days. What can I do for you?"
              "I believe I have a reservation. My name's Mary Windom."
              "You must be that estate woman they told me about. Come to figure out how much this place is worth." His eyes roamed across her face, then swung to her case on the floor.
              "Yes, I'm a curator for Markis Brothers Estate Company."
              "Well, take it from me, there ain't much here, 'cept for the building and some banged up furniture," he said. "Let me see. Seems like I'm supposed to do something when you arrive. Oh yeah. There's a package for you. It's here somewhere." He rummaged under the counter for a moment, then waved an envelope through the air. "This what you looking for?"
              "Yes, thanks," she said, grabbing the elusive package. "I don't mean to sound rude, but do you think you could show me to my room?"
              "Sure thing. You can have any one you want for the same price, since you the only guest."
              "Anything's fine. I just want to get some sleep. It's been a long night."
              He pulled a thick ledger from under the counter and shoved it toward her. "Just sign there and I'll get you fixed up."
              She tried not to show her surprise when he opened a door at the end of the second floor and she was ushered into an elegantly furnished room. An antique ball and claw foot canopy bed, beautifully preserved, rested atop a floral patterned wool rug, and a blocked front dresser with ball-and-claw feet adjoined the room's only window.
              "This here's the best room in