would be driving some other poor innkeeper crazy. “And I told everyone not to worry, that he’d be gone in a few days, and to treat him like a guest instead of a food inspector. Poor Melissa runs off every time she even thinks she hears him coming. I just hope he doesn’t put everybody’s back up. This is Tuesday, which is the day we do the linen count, and you can just bet he’s going to be driving Doreen absolutely crazy.”
“You’d better keep her away from the mops,” Marge advised unsympathetically. Doreen, the Inn’s head housekeeper, had a notoriously short fuse.
“Well, what can he do to us, after all?” Quill said with a renewed surge of optimism. “Mark Jefferson said he’ll give the bank a list of recommendations, and how bad can that be?”
“Is that a question?” Marge demanded.
“I guess so.”
Marge raised one chubby finger after the other as she counted off: “First, let’s say he thinks you’re overstaffed. He’ll want you to fire a bunch of people. Second, let’s say he finds that the kitchen budget is too high. He’ll want Meg to make less expensive food. You want me to go on?”
“Nope,” Quill said decisively.
“This guy will look at where you’re spending money, and how you’re spending money, and make a big fat list of what needs to be done to cut your costs. Worst case, he can tell us the business isn’t viable and that we should call your loan.”
“We?” Quill said.
“The board of the bank,” Marge said impatiently. “Jeez, Quill. D’ya think we sent this guy on over to you because there’s nothing to watch on cable TV? You want to keep on doing business in Hemlock Falls, this is the guy you got to listen to.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I never kid about business.”
Quill ate her piece of cranberry bread and said philosophically, “Marge, I’ve been getting your advice about running the Inn, and John’s, too, ever since I realized the Inn was in trouble. I don’t know anyone as smart as you about business, except John, of course, and to think that some crabby coot recommended by the . . . what is it?”
“Office of the Comptroller of the Currency.”
“Right. Anyway, do you really think that he’s going to find any major problems? I don’t believe it for a minute. The way Mark presented this, it’s a necessary step to getting the mortgage continued. Like getting an engineering inspection when you sell your house.”
“You think so, huh?” Marge might have been Hector skeptical about the contents of the wooden horse outside his city’s gates. “Well, what’s gonna come will come. You planning on finishing that cinnamon bread? We’ve got that Chamber of Commerce meeting and for once, it’d be nice if you were on time.”
Quill swallowed the rest of the bread and edged out of the booth.
“Tell you what,” Marge continued, “you drive. I want to walk back downtown after.” She patted her substantial stomach. “Doc Bishop thinks I need to get a little more exercise.”
Quill followed Marge out of the diner. She’d parked the Honda close by—it was rare to have a parking problem in the village—and they drove the short distance back to the Inn in silence. Marge was lost in thought. Quill herself—her optimistic mood temporarily dashed by Marge’s grim reading of the McWhirter powers—grew progressively more cheerful as they proceeded down Main Street and past the Christmas decorations.
The residents of Hemlock Falls loved the holiday season. They decorated with the enthusiasm of little kids. Each year, the explosion of holiday decorations gave the whole village the look of a print by Currier and Ives. Most of the buildings in the village were of cobblestone. And while the founding of Hemlock Falls itself dated back to the late seventeenth century, most of the town’s expansion had occurred just after the Civil War, at a time when Carpenter Gothic was the favored architectural style in upstate New York. So icicles
“You’d better keep her away from the mops,” Marge advised unsympathetically. Doreen, the Inn’s head housekeeper, had a notoriously short fuse.
“Well, what can he do to us, after all?” Quill said with a renewed surge of optimism. “Mark Jefferson said he’ll give the bank a list of recommendations, and how bad can that be?”
“Is that a question?” Marge demanded.
“I guess so.”
Marge raised one chubby finger after the other as she counted off: “First, let’s say he thinks you’re overstaffed. He’ll want you to fire a bunch of people. Second, let’s say he finds that the kitchen budget is too high. He’ll want Meg to make less expensive food. You want me to go on?”
“Nope,” Quill said decisively.
“This guy will look at where you’re spending money, and how you’re spending money, and make a big fat list of what needs to be done to cut your costs. Worst case, he can tell us the business isn’t viable and that we should call your loan.”
“We?” Quill said.
“The board of the bank,” Marge said impatiently. “Jeez, Quill. D’ya think we sent this guy on over to you because there’s nothing to watch on cable TV? You want to keep on doing business in Hemlock Falls, this is the guy you got to listen to.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I never kid about business.”
Quill ate her piece of cranberry bread and said philosophically, “Marge, I’ve been getting your advice about running the Inn, and John’s, too, ever since I realized the Inn was in trouble. I don’t know anyone as smart as you about business, except John, of course, and to think that some crabby coot recommended by the . . . what is it?”
“Office of the Comptroller of the Currency.”
“Right. Anyway, do you really think that he’s going to find any major problems? I don’t believe it for a minute. The way Mark presented this, it’s a necessary step to getting the mortgage continued. Like getting an engineering inspection when you sell your house.”
“You think so, huh?” Marge might have been Hector skeptical about the contents of the wooden horse outside his city’s gates. “Well, what’s gonna come will come. You planning on finishing that cinnamon bread? We’ve got that Chamber of Commerce meeting and for once, it’d be nice if you were on time.”
Quill swallowed the rest of the bread and edged out of the booth.
“Tell you what,” Marge continued, “you drive. I want to walk back downtown after.” She patted her substantial stomach. “Doc Bishop thinks I need to get a little more exercise.”
Quill followed Marge out of the diner. She’d parked the Honda close by—it was rare to have a parking problem in the village—and they drove the short distance back to the Inn in silence. Marge was lost in thought. Quill herself—her optimistic mood temporarily dashed by Marge’s grim reading of the McWhirter powers—grew progressively more cheerful as they proceeded down Main Street and past the Christmas decorations.
The residents of Hemlock Falls loved the holiday season. They decorated with the enthusiasm of little kids. Each year, the explosion of holiday decorations gave the whole village the look of a print by Currier and Ives. Most of the buildings in the village were of cobblestone. And while the founding of Hemlock Falls itself dated back to the late seventeenth century, most of the town’s expansion had occurred just after the Civil War, at a time when Carpenter Gothic was the favored architectural style in upstate New York. So icicles
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