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poked out her lower lip and stalked back into the kitchen.
    Storing her anger away, Charity turned to the waitress. “Lori?”
    “Almost ready.”
    “Good. If you can handle the registered guests, I’ll be back to give you a hand after I check the tour group in.”
    “No problem.”
    “I’ll be at the front desk with Bob.” Absently she pushed her braid behind her back. “If it gets too busy, send for me. Roman—”
    “Want me to bus tables?”
    She gave him a quick, grateful smile. “Do you know how?”
    “I can figure it out.”
    “Thanks.” She checked her watch, then rushed out.
    He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, but it was hard not to, with Miss Millie flirting with him over her raspberry preserves. The scent of baking—something rich, with apples and cinnamon—the quiet strains of classical music and the murmur of conversation made it almost impossible not to relax. He carried trays to and from the kitchen. The muttered exchanges between Mae and Dolores were more amusing than annoying.
    So he enjoyed himself. And took advantage of his position by doing his job.
    As he cleared the tables by the windows, he watched a tour van pull up to the front entrance. He counted heads and studied the faces of the group. The guide was a big man in a white shirt that strained across his shoulders. He had a round, ruddy, cheerful face that smiled continually as he piloted his passengers inside. Roman moved across the room to watch them mill around in the lobby.
    They were a mix of couples and families with small children. The guide—Roman already knew his name was Block—greeted Charity with a hearty smile and then handed her a list of names.
    Did she know that Block had done a stretch in Leavenworth for fraud? he wondered. Was she aware that the man she was joking with had escaped a second term only because of some fancy legal footwork?
    Roman’s jaw tensed as Block reached over and flicked a finger at Charity’s dangling gold earring.
    As she assigned cabins and dealt out keys, two of the group approached the desk to exchange money. Fifty for one, sixty for the other, Roman noted as Canadian bills were passed to Charity’s assistant and American currency passed back.
    Within ten minutes the entire group was seated in the dining room, contemplating breakfast. Charity breezed in behind them, putting on an apron. She flipped open a pad and began to take orders.
    She didn’t look as if she were in a hurry, Roman noted. The way she chatted and smiled and answered questions, it was as though she had all the time in the world. But she moved like lightning. She carried three plates on her right arm, served coffee with her left hand and cooed over a baby, all at the same time.
    Something was eating at her, Roman mused. It hardly showed . . . just a faint frown between her eyes. Had something gone wrong that morning that he’d missed? If there was a glitch in the system, it was up to him to find it and exploit it. That was the reason he was here on the inside.
    Charity poured another round of coffee for a table of four, joked with a bald man wearing a paisley tie, then made her way over to Roman.
    “I think the crisis has passed.” She smiled at him, but again he caught something. . . . Anger? Disappointment?
    “Is there anything you don’t do around here?”
    “I try to stay out of the kitchen. The restaurant has a three-star rating.” She glanced longingly at the coffeepot. There would be time for that later. “I want to thank you for pitching in this morning.”
    “That’s okay.” He discovered he wanted to see her smile. Really smile. “The tips were good. Miss Millie slipped me a five.”
    She obliged him. Her lips curved quickly, and whatever had clouded her eyes cleared for a moment. “She likes the way you look in a tool belt. Why don’t you take a break before you start on the west wing?”
    “All right.”
    She grimaced at the sound of glass breaking. “I didn’t think the Snyder kid