The Welcoming

grabbed at the thread of opportunity with both hands. “I was just telling Roman that I’m not feeling very well.”
    “You don’t look well.” Concerned, she walked over to feel his brow. It was clammy and deepened the worry in her eyes. “You’re probably coming down with that virus.”
    “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
    “You shouldn’t have come in at all today. Maybe Roman should drive you home.”
    “No, I can manage.” He walked on shaking legs to the door. “Sorry about this, Charity.” He turned to give her a last look. “Really sorry.”
    “Don’t be silly. Just take care of yourself.”
    “I’ll give him a hand,” Roman muttered, and followed him out. They walked out into the lobby at the same time Block strolled in.
    “Good morning.” His face creased with his habitual smile, but his eyes were wary. “Is there a problem?”
    “Virus.” Bob’s face was already turning a sickly green. Fear made a convincing cover. “Hit me pretty hard this morning.”
    “I called Dr. Mertens,” Charity announced as she came in to stand behind the desk. “You go straight home, Bob. He’ll meet you there.”
    “Thanks.” But one of Conby’s agents followed him out, and he knew he wouldn’t be going home for quite a while.
    “This virus has been a plague around here.” She offered Block an apologetic smile. “I’m short a housekeeper, a waitress and now Bob. I hope none of your group had any complaints about the service.”
    “Not a one.” Relaxed again, Block set his briefcase on the desk. “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Charity.”
    Roman watched helplessly as they chatted and went through the routine of checking lists and figures. She was supposed to be safe upstairs, sleeping deeply and dreaming of the night they’d spent together. Frustrated, he balled his hands at his side. Now, no matter what he did, she’d be in the middle.
    He heard her laugh when Block mentioned the fish she’d carried into the dining room. And he imagined how her face would look when the agents moved in and arrested the man she thought of as a tour guide and a friend.
    Charity read off a total. Roman steadied himself.
    “We seem to be off by . . . $22.50.” Block began laboriously running the numbers through his calculator again. Brow furrowed, Charity went over her list, item by item.
    “Good morning, dear.”
    “Hmm.” Distracted, Charity glanced up. “Oh, good morning, Miss Millie.”
    “I’m just on my way up to pack. I wanted you to know what a delightful time we’ve had.”
    “We’re always sorry to see you go. We were all pleased that you and Miss Lucy extended your stay for a few days.”
    Miss Millie fluttered her eyelashes myopically at Roman before making her way toward the stairs. At the top, he thought, there would now be an officer posted to see that she and the other guests were kept out of the way.
    “I get the same total again, Roger.” Puzzled, she tapped the end of her pencil on the list. “I wish I could say I’d run it through the computer, but . . .” She let her words trail off, ignoring her headache. “Ah, this might be it. Do you have the Wentworths in cabin 1 down for a bottle of wine? They charged it night before last.”
    “Wentworth, Wentworth . . .” With grating slowness, Block ran down his list. “No, nothing here.”
    “Let me find the tab.” After opening a drawer, she flipped her way efficiently through the folders. Roman felt a bead of sweat slide slowly down his back. One of the agents strolled over to browse through some postcards.
    “I’ve got both copies,” she said with a shake of her head. “This virus is really hanging us up.” She filed her copy of the receipt and handed Block his.
    “No problem.” Cheerful as ever, he noted the new charge, then added up his figures again. “That seems to match.”
    With the ease of long habit, Charity calculated the amount in Canadian currency. “That’s $2,330.00.” She turned the receipt around for Block’s approval.
    He clicked open his briefcase. “As always, it’s a pleasure.” He counted out the money in twenties. The moment Charity marked the bill Paid, Roman moved in.
    “Put your hands up. Slow.” He pressed the barrel of his gun into the small of Block’s back.
    “Roman!” Charity gaped at him, the key to the cash drawer in her hand. “What on earth are you doing?”
    “Go around the desk,” he told her. “Way around, and walk