THE JOB THAT MADE ETHAN COLE PART OF GREYHAVEN
Chapter 2
The Greyhaven Harbor Hotel was older than Ethan expected.
Three stories.
White wooden siding.
Large windows facing the ocean.
A wide porch wrapped around the front.
The sign above the entrance had lost some of its paint.
Inside, everything smelled faintly of cedar, coffee and salt.
Ethan walked to the front desk.
A woman looked up from a computer.
She had dark hair tied into a loose bun and wore a navy cardigan over a white shirt.
“Can I help you?”
“Ethan Cole.”
She stared at him for half a second.
“From Walter?”
“Unfortunately.”
She smiled.
“Claire Morgan.”
They shook hands.
She looked at his work clothes.
“You fix things?”
“Usually.”
“Usually?”
“I don’t make promises.”
“Good.”
She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a ring of keys.
“Boiler room is downstairs.”
Ethan took the keys.
“Any problems?”
“Noise.”
“What kind?”
“Knocking.”
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
He looked at her.
“You’ve been running it for three weeks?”
“We have guests.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s a hotel.”
Ethan looked at the ceiling.
“Fair.”
He went downstairs.
The boiler was old.
Very old.
The pipes shook every few seconds.
Ethan listened.
He touched one pipe.
Hot.
Then another.
Cold.
He followed the line.
“Someone installed this backward.”
He found the problem twenty minutes later.
A pressure valve was sticking.
He replaced it.
The knocking stopped.
Claire appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“Done?”
“Yes.”
She listened.
Nothing.
Her eyebrows lifted.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“How much?”
Ethan looked at her.
“Walter didn’t say.”
“I didn’t ask Walter.”
She smiled.
“How much?”
Ethan thought.
“Nothing.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I was already here.”
Claire crossed her arms.
“You’re strange.”
“I’ve been told.”
She handed him a small envelope.
“Then take this.”
Ethan opened it.
Cash.
“What’s this?”
“Four hours of work.”
“You said the boiler was the problem.”
“It was.”
“So?”
“You worked.”
Ethan looked at the money.
Then put it away.
Claire nodded.
“You need more work?”
“Maybe.”
“Come back tomorrow.”
“Doing what?”
“Breakfast.”
Ethan stared.
“I don’t cook professionally.”
“Neither did the last guy.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“He burned toast.”
“How bad?”
“Fire alarm.”
Ethan smiled.
“I can cook.”
“Six a.m.”
“That’s early.”
“That’s breakfast.”
