Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) by M. Kate Quinn

tunnel.
    “Sarah,” the mayor interjected, his face stoic but his eyes kind. “It’s come to our attention that you’re doing some construction at your establishment, yet we have no building permit on file. A detailed report with the specifics of your project is required to obtain a permit.”
    He looked down at the paperwork in front of him. “Additionally, we’ll need you to initiate the conditional use process for your inn for holding catered events. In order to do so, you’ll need to fill out the proper paperwork and file with initial payment. Mr. Pallis here can provide you the forms.”
    “John…Mr. Mayor.” Sarah stood up from her bench, keeping her attention on him and not Pallis, the zoning guy. “It’s just a matter of tearing down a store room wall to add space to my sun porch. I just want to hold my daughter’s wedding at my residence. Why do I need to go through all of this? It’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
    “Please re-examine the town regulations regarding inns such as yours. It clearly states that no parties of any kind will be permitted on the premises,” Mr. Pallis interjected. “And no one may perform construction in Ronan’s Harbor without first obtaining written consent.” He clucked his tongue. “We must all follow the same rules, Mrs. Grayson.”
    She felt the heat of blood rushing to her cheeks. Calm down there, Barney Fife. “Well I think it’s abominable that someone would lodge such a complaint.” She stood straighter.
    “The bottom line, Mrs. Grayson, is that you have side-stepped proper channels. A town member bringing it to our attention is not the issue.”
    Gigi stood now, pressing close to Sarah, their shoulders melded like two comrades in a foxhole.
    “How long does this process take?” Sarah asked.
    “Minimum three to four months, perhaps as many as five,”
    “The wedding is June first. That’s two months away.” Panic squeezed her vocal chords making her sound like a cartoon mouse to her own ears. “The invitations have already been mailed. What am I supposed to do now?” She cleared her throat.
    “I suggest you petition immediately and perhaps consider an alternate location,” Mr. Pallis said. His head angled at a challenging slant, giving Sarah the thought that it wouldn’t take much to slap the sphere right off its long scrawny post.
    “Sarah,” John Reynolds said. “If you have any further questions, please feel free to contact me.”
    And just like that the meeting ended and Sarah watched dazedly as a clerk came out of the wings with a black garbage bag in her hands and fussed about, filling it with empty Styrofoam cups and napkins used by the councilmen.
    Another clerk approached her with paperwork, asked for a signature, and dashed off with a promise to give her a copy.
    The men stood from their chairs and talked among themselves in hushed tones, all impervious to the fact that they’d just dropped a bomb on her life.
    She turned her gaze to Gigi. “So that’s that?”
    “My pea shooter’s in the car,” Gigi said.
    The clerk returned with paperwork, offered a conciliatory “thank you,” and strode away. Sarah folded the papers and shoved them into her purse.
    Shuffling through the crowd of exiting attendees, Sarah eyed the room. When the bottleneck dissipated she saw him—Benny Benedetto stood alone in the aisle in a black windbreaker with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. His eyes bored into hers.
    The hairs on the back of her neck came to attention, and she reached to rake fingernails over the surface. She willed her body to “knock it off.” This was not the time to delve into her encounter on the dance floor.
    “Your Rottweiler is here,” Gigi said under her breath.
    She pulled from his gaze and shook her head. “Let’s get out of here.”
    “Are you kidding? Think about it, Sarah. Why the hell would a guy brand new to town come to one of these boring town meetings? He wanted to see