He indicated the technician with his small assistant.
“Doug, I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
“Just as well. Nora sent a plate of her famous biscuits and some homemade jam. I’m hoping you’ll have breakfast with me.”
“But I…” Maggie glanced around in distracted fashion.
Rose and Terry had moved into the other bedroom with their cleaning equipment. Moira was with them, still dusting.
Maggie heard a steady hum of conversation over the noise of the appliance, accompanied by occasional bursts of laughter.
Terry, it appeared, was getting along very well with the local populace.
“Robin, I need that yellow screwdriver,” the technician said, frowning at a hole he’d drilled in one of the baseboards.
Solemnly, Robin handed over the proper tool, then gave Maggie and her uncle a proud smile.
“It looks like everything’s under control up here,” Doug said, taking Maggie’s arm. “By lunchtime you’ll be able to establish a Pentagon office in this suite if you want to. For now, come downstairs and have some breakfast with me.”
“And help you with your computer problem,” Maggie said dryly.
“Well, since you’re going to be nearby anyhow…” He gave her a boyish grin.
She didn’t resist further, mostly because it was so pleasant to feel his hand on her arm. A treacherous part of her wanted to nestle closer, and see if his long body was as hard and muscular as it looked.
Horrified at herself, Maggie suppressed the dangerous thought.
As they neared the lobby with the cat at their heels, a delicious aroma of fresh coffee and hot baking drifted up the stairs.
“Oh my,” she said. “Doesn’t that smell wonderful? By the time I leave here, I’m going to weigh two hundred pounds.”
A phone rang behind the reception desk. Doug vanished into his office and returned a few moments later, tucking a folded piece of paper into his shirt pocket.
“And when will that be, Maggie?” he asked quietly, lifting the little gate so she could walk behind the reception desk.
“Beg your pardon?” She perched on one of the stools and looked hungrily at the carafe of hot coffee, the platter of fluffy biscuits.
Doug poured her a cup of coffee and offered the biscuits, along with napkins and utensils.
“How long will you be staying, Maggie? And what,” he asked with a sudden steely edge to his voice, “exactly are you doing here?”
Maggie tensed, but forced herself to sip coffee and butter one of the biscuits with a casual air. “Well, the fact is, at the moment I’m working on a little research project of my own,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
He settled onto the stool next to her and helped himself to a biscuit.
“Because Ralph Wall’s been telling everybody within a fifty-mile radius that you’re working for a movie producer who’s planning to buy up all the real estate and shower the place with money. I was hoping you might want to tell me what’s really going on.”
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