What the hell am I doing? I legit had no idea. Words were emerging from me as if they had no association with my brain or heart.

Ayisha was dubious. “Really.”

“Sure,” I said, shrugging one shoulder like I was convinced what I was suggesting was remotely a good idea, even though it so wasn’t. “Arthur mentioned wanting to go to me, too, so it’s obviously something he really wants to do.”

She stared at me. “And you’d be okay with that?”

“Totally!” God, I was such a liar and, it seemed, a self-sabotager. But I kept going like an out-of-control boulder tumbling downhill. “There aren’t a ton of options for him, party-wise.”

“That’s true.” She seemed about to say more when she looked past me and frowned in confusion. “Is that Dr. Raymond?”

I turned and followed the direction of her gaze out the window overlooking the courtyard, and, sure enough, there was Dr. Raymond, acting suspicious as he approached the juniper hedge trees that formed an evergreen wall on one side of the courtyard.

“What’s he doing?” I asked.

“Well, he’s not meeting your gramma, she left a half hour ago.”

We both watched him reach into his orange deer hunter’s jacket and take out an opaque plastic CK shopping bag that appeared to be full. From there, he withdrew something green.

Ayisha frowned. “Looks like he’s hanging something?”

But from this angle it wasn’t clear what it was.

She shook her head, already done with the matter. “He’s so weird.” Then she refocused on me. “Can you bring these”—she pointed to the two mugs of coffee—“to the Meacos in dining? I need to head upstairs to turn down the guest rooms.”

“Sure. But I thought we’d both do the rooms.”

“No, I’ll do them. You take the front desk. I’m not in the mood to be around people right now.”

Which meant now was not the right time to bug her about Barrington.

“What about these?” I pointed to the dirty dishes soaking in the sink.

“Leave them for Val.” She smirked and for once it wasn’t aimed at me.

Ten minutes later, I was standing at the front desk, writing up a message for Lloyd, who was thankfully far more easygoing than Mrs. Buzzard about the changes the Yablonskis wanted for their dinner, when Dr. Raymond appeared in the lobby.

I smiled politely. “Hi, Dr. Raymond.”

“ ’Lo, Finley.”

I saw him holding the plastic CK bag, though now it seemed less full.

“How’d the surgery on Mayor Slaughter go?” I asked, as I eyed the bag.

“Fine and dandy. Temporary cap in place and I gave him a handheld bottle opener he can hang from his belt.”

“That’s nice of you. I’m pretty sure my grandmother’s out at a meeting.”