Pet Friendly by Sue Pethick Page B

away.” He shrugged. “I’m not in a hurry if you don’t mind my hanging around awhile longer.”
    Emma shrugged.
    â€œNo, I don’t mind. I’m sure my handyman, Jake, could find something for you to do.”
    Todd glanced at his dog.
    â€œCan Archie stay in here?”
    Archie, who’d been happily panting as he listened to their conversation, reeled in his tongue and cocked his head.
    â€œIt’s fine with me,” Emma said. “After the day he had yesterday, it might even be better if he got some more rest.”
    She pointed to the pillow and blanket she’d given Archie the night before.
    â€œHe’s welcome to hang out here until you’re ready to go.”
    â€œExcellent,” Todd said. “And in the meantime, I’ll try to make myself useful.”
    â€œAre you sure? You don’t have to, you know.”
    Todd set Archie on the pillow and tucked the blanket around him.
    â€œI’m sure.”
    â€œAll right,” Emma said, grabbing her coat. “If you knock on the back door and tell the kitchen staff I sent you, they’ll give you some breakfast. I’ll talk to Jake when he gets in.”
    Todd was about to tell her that he could pay for his own breakfast, but Emma was already halfway out the door.
    â€œI’ll see if we can get you some work clothes, too,” she said. “Come by my office when you’re ready to get started.”
    In the kitchen, Todd was treated to a farmhand’s breakfast: pancakes, eggs, and hash brown potatoes filled one plate; a second was piled high with bacon and house-made sausage. Looking at all the food in front of him, Todd couldn’t help thinking about the wheatgrass smoothies and egg-white omelets that Gwen swore were the keys to a long and healthy life.
    Oh, well, he thought. When in Rome . . .
    When he’d finished, he thanked the cook, handed his plates to the dishwasher, and went back to his room to call Gwen.
    Five more rings and another message left on her voice mail. As Todd broke the connection, he began to wonder what Gwen was doing that she didn’t have time to call him back. It wasn’t like her not to return his calls. Then again, maybe her cell phone was out of range. Service out on the island could be pretty spotty.
    He walked down to the lobby and saw Clifton at the front desk. The man gave him an unctuous smile.
    â€œGood morning, Mr. Dwyer. May I help you?”
    â€œIs Emma around?”
    â€œMiss Carlisle is in a meeting,” Clifton said. “As soon as she’s free, I’ll let her know you’re here.”
    Todd looked around for a place to sit, but all the chairs were taken by people he assumed were there for the convention. They were a well-dressed bunch—even moneyed, perhaps—who nevertheless gave a strong impression of the counterculture. As they milled around, conversing with one another, the general mood of the room was one of excited anticipation. Whatever these ghost hunters had come looking for, it seemed that some of them, at least, had already found it.
    After a few minutes spent wandering around the lobby, curiosity got the better of him and he approached a middle-aged couple who looked as if they might know what was going on.
    â€œExcuse me,” Todd said. “Are you here for the convention?”
    â€œIndeed we are,” the man said in a voice more suited for the theater than the inn’s modest foyer.
    He offered a slight bow.
    â€œI’m Professor Lars Van Vandevander. This is my wife, Vivienne.”
    â€œViv.” The woman smiled. “Lars is one of the featured speakers.”
    â€œOh. Congratulations.”
    Todd introduced himself and the two men shook hands.
    â€œAre you a member of SSSPA?” the professor said.
    â€œNo,” Todd said. “Just a guest, but I’m curious. What does ‘spa’ stand for?”
    The Van Vandevanders glanced at each other and