The Welcoming

to watch yours.” Conby pulled himself free and straightened his shirt. In the five years since he had taken over as Roman’s superior he had found Roman’s methods crude and his attitude arrogant. The pity was, his results were invariably excellent. “You’re losing your focus on this one, Agent DeWinter.”
    “No. It’s taken me a while—maybe too long—but I’m focused just fine. You’ve got enough on Block to pin him with conspiracy to murder. Dupont’s practically tied up with a bow. Why wait?”
    “I won’t bother to remind you who’s in charge of this case.”
    “We both know who’s in charge, Conby, but there’s a difference between sitting behind a desk and calling the shots in the field. If we take them now, quietly, there’s less risk of endangering innocent people.”
    “I have no intention of endangering any of the guests. Or the staff,” he added, thinking he knew where Roman’s mind was centered. “I have my orders on this, just as you do.” He took a fresh handkerchief out of his drawer. “Since it’s apparently so important to you, I’ll tell you that we want to nail Block when he passes the money. We’re working with the Canadian authorities on this, and that’s the way we’ll proceed. As for the conspiracy charges, we have the word of a bargain-basement hit man. It may take a bit more to make it stick.”
    “You’ll make it stick. How many have we got?”
    “We have two agents checking in tomorrow, and two more as backup. We’ll take Dupont in his cabin, and Block in the lobby. Moving on Dupont any earlier would undoubtedly tip off Block. Agreed?”
    “Yes.”
    “Since you’ve filled me in on the checkout procedures, it should go very smoothly.”
    “It better. If anything happens to her—anything—I’m holding you responsible.”
    ***
    Charity dashed into the kitchen with a loaded tray. “I don’t know how things can get out of hand so fast. When have you ever known us to have a full house on a Wednesday night?” she asked the room at large, whipping out her pad. “Two specials with wild rice, one with baked potato, hold the sour cream, and one child’s portion of ribs with fries.” She rushed over to get the drinks herself.
    “Take it easy, girl,” Mae advised her. “They ain’t going anywhere till they eat.”
    “That’s the problem.” She loaded up the tray. “What a time for Lori to get sick. The way this virus is bouncing around, we’re lucky to have a waitress still standing. Whoops!” She backed up to keep from running into Roman. “Sorry.”
    “Need a hand?”
    “I need two.” She smiled and took the time to lean over the tray and kiss him. “You seem to have them. Those salads Dolores is fixing go to table 5.”
    “Girl makes me tired just looking at her,” Mae commented as she filleted a trout. She lifted her head just long enough for her eyes to meet Roman’s. “Seems to me she rushes into everything.”
    “Four house salads.” Dolores was humming the “Wedding March” as she passed him a tray. “Looks like you didn’t need that dynamite after all.” Cackling, she went back to fill the next order.
    Five minutes later he passed Charity in the doorway again. “Strange bunch tonight,” she murmured.
    “How so?”
    “There’s a man at table 2. He’s so jumpy you’d think he’d robbed a bank or something. Then there’s a couple at table 8, supposed to be on a second honeymoon. They’re spending more time looking at everyone else than each other.”
    Roman said nothing. She’d made both Dupont and two of Conby’s agents in less than thirty minutes.
    “And then there’s this little man in a three-piece suit sitting at 4. Suit and tie,” she added with a glance over her shoulder. “Came here to relax, he says. Who can relax in a three-piece suit?” Shifting, she balanced the tray on her hip. “Claims to be from Seattle and has an Eastern accent that could cut Mae’s apple pie. Looks like a weasel.”
    “You think so?” Roman allowed himself a small smile at her description of Conby.
    “A very well-groomed weasel,” she added. “Check it out for yourself.” With a small shudder, she headed toward the dining room again. “Anyone that smooth gives me the creeps.”
    Duty was duty though, and the weasel was sitting at her station. “Are you ready to order?” she asked Conby with a bright smile.
    He took a last sip of his vodka martini. It was passable, he supposed. “The menu claims the trout is