that day.
Jackie Hernandez came in about midafternoon again to let her know that he wasn’t thrilled about his promotion.
“You’re making a mistake to cut out Dale,” he told her. “He is Bowen and Bowen now, and nobody knows these old buildings or BCHS like he does.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Petra told Hernandez. “Just let me know immediately of any problems. Before you take them to Mr. Anderton.”
Hernandez glumly nodded his understanding. “Yes, ma’am.”
The problems began not half an hour later when the wrong supplies were delivered. Jackie pulled out the plans and argued with the deliveryman for ten minutes before the guy called Dale, only to concede afterward that Jackie was right.
“It’ll go smoother next time,” Petra told the new construction manager, praying that it would be so before hurrying off to begin setting up appointments to interview restaurant personnel.
Garth wanted the chef brought in on the ground floor, knowing that any chef worth his or her salt would insist that the kitchen be remodeled to personal specifications. They’d employed an agency to help them find likely candidates, and part of Petra’s job was to weed through them so Garth could make the final choice. It turned out to be no small task.
Owing to her delayed start on the day, she got home too late for dinner that evening—but just in time to join the aunties at midweek prayer service. Tired to the bone, Petra would have loved to beg off, but one look at Aunt Hypatia’s expectant face had her putting on a smile and trooping out the door again. She was glad that she went. Prayer, as the pastor reminded the congregation, is for the benefit of God’s children rather than God Himself.
“Your Heavenly Father already knows your needs and desires, after all,” he told them, “but by lifting them up to God, we gain strength in communion with Him, wisdom in His answers and much-needed perspective.”
Petra wondered how God could know her needs and desires when she felt so unsure of them herself, but listening to all the requests for healing and rescue certainly put her personal troubles into perspective. As she bowed her head, she couldn’t help thinking of Walt Bowen insisting that they pray together about Dale’s position that morning, or of Dale sitting beside her on that couch with his head bowed unashamedly as Walt had sought guidance.
“Very solid people,” Aunt Hypatia had called them, and she had been right.
Petra liked them. She wasn’t entirely sure that she understood them, but she did like Walt and Dale Bowen. She wondered what Dale’s mother and sister were like, then lost the thought in concentrated prayer. Afterward, she felt uplifted—but starved!
Hilda, bless her, had left a plate for Petra. She enjoyed the food in her room then left the remains in the old-fashioned dumbwaiter down the hall before climbing into the tall, four-poster bed. As she slipped off to sleep, she wondered if Dale had worked at Chatam House today. Very likely, he had. That meant he’d been right around the corner from this room. That seemed strange to her—and oddly significant.
His words drifted through her mind one last time.
“I’ll be around when you need me.”
She slept like the proverbial rock.
* * *
Petra arrived at the hotel early the next morning to find Garth already there. He asked right away how it went with Bowen. She replied simply that Jack Hernandez was the new construction manager.
“Excellent. Excellent,” Garth said, rubbing his hands together. “In that case, I have a little bonus in the works for you.” He rocked back on the heels of his Italian leather shoes and smiled. “It’ll be ready later this afternoon, so I’ll bring it by Chatam House this evening.”
Deciding that she couldn’t put him off any longer, Petra gave in graciously. “If you can be there by six, I’ll let my aunts know that we’ll be having company for dinner.”
His smile widened. “Six, it is.”
Petra turned the conversation to the pending chef interviews. By a quarter to five, exhausted from trying to stay a step ahead of Garth, she gratefully headed home to prepare for the evening ahead. She barely set foot on the landing upstairs when Dale appeared.
“I have something for you.”
“Oh?” What was this, she wondered, gift Petra night?
He waved her over to look at a picture on his phone. “A contact of mine found these fixtures in a Chicago retrofit. He even found extra shades in the original boxes. What do you think?”
Petra looked at the wall-mounted brass-and-glass light fixtures and lifted an eyebrow. “They’re lovely, but what are they for?”
He shot her a surprised look. “The missing hotel wall lamps. I counted fourteen.”
Petra blinked. “Where are fourteen lamps missing?”
He jammed the phone into his hip pocket. “Hang on. I’ve got a copy of the hotel plans in the truck. Won’t take a minute for me to show you exactly where the lamps go.” He paused. “Unless you’d rather talk to Jackie about it. I can fill him in, and he can—”
She shook her head. That was just silly. Why insist on secondhand information? “Go on.” She hurried toward her room, adding, “I’ll just change and meet you back here.”
“Okay.” Dale smiled and shot down the stairs.
Petra ran to change. If they needed wall lamps, they needed wall lamps, for pity’s sake. Hernandez would be handling the installation. What did it matter who told her about them?
She couldn’t deny, though, that she’d much rather discuss the matter with Dale than the new project manager. Jackie was nice enough, but he seemed to blame her for Dale’s removal and she couldn’t very well tell him that Garth had insisted. Besides, something about Dale Bowen made her trust him. So what if he made her heart race just a little faster than normal? This was business. Just business.
* * *
Dale stood at the top of the stairs, a roll of blueprints in hand, when Petra reemerged from her room. She’d managed an amazing transformation in a short time, trading her severely tailored business suit for jeweled sandals, leggings and a shiny knit tunic in a shade of dark orange that made her eyes glow. She’d pulled the clasp from her hair and let it hang sleekly down her back.
“You look great,” Dale heard himself blurt.
She stiffened slightly then smiled. “Thank you.”
He had to force his mind back to the job at hand. “I’ve, uh, got a makeshift table in here.” He carried the plans toward the unfinished suite. Petra followed. Unrolling the blueprints on a sheet of plywood balanced atop two sawhorses, he anchored one end with a hammer from his tool belt. “Okay, from the bottom floor up…”
Looking over his shoulder, she watched as he pointed out, numbered and marked with a pencil the placement of every fixture.
“I’ll need those plans,” she said when he finished. “Can you
