Locked? That didn’t make any sense. I pulled out my cell phone, wondering if I’d missed something somewhere. An e-mail, maybe? Or a phone call? I even pulled up the last e-mail I’d received regarding my employment to make sure I had the start date right. I knocked on the door and peered through the tempered glass but couldn’t make anything out inside. I hurried around the building to the main entrance and climbed the wide porch steps, anxiety building with every step.

On the front door, a handwritten sign read: Closed until further notice.

Closed? What made an entire operation—an inn that was open 365 days a year with a full-service restaurant, twenty-five functional guest rooms, and a reservation list booked out months in advance—come to a grinding, screeching halt? Two competing thoughts ran through my brain: Why hadn’t anyone told me, and more importantly, what on earth was I supposed to do about it?

I dropped onto a wood bench that sat to the right of the front door, disappointment coming on strong.

“Hello? Are you Lane? Please tell me you’re Lane.”

I turned around to see a woman with long dark hair and dark eyes hurrying up the stairs. She was beautiful, but with her hair pulled back into a bun and her lips stretched tight across her face, she had a look of austerity that didn’t match the softness in her voice. But then she smiled, her eyes so full of kindness that the tightness I’d noticed melted away.

I returned her smile. “You found me. I’m Lane Bishop.”

“Oh, thank the Lord. I wasn’t sure when you were supposed to start but was keeping every part of me crossed that it would be today.” She sighed. “I’m April, front of house manager.”

“What’s going on? I tried the back entrance, and it was locked.”

“So much is going on. Let’s go inside. I’ll fill you in.”

She pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the main doors. I followed her through the lobby and back into the inn’s management offices. Hanging in the hallway, right next to the light switch, was an old photo of the inn’s owner, Mr. Thomas, standing on the front porch, his hands pushed into his pockets. It couldn’t have been long after he’d opened for business. Another photo not far down the hall was a close-up of a bride’s bouquet. All roses and daisies.