“I wasn’t snooping. I came in here looking for you, but I saw how the place looked, like . . . like someone had rifled through all your stuff. Have you had a break-in?” she asked, assuming an air of innocence. “No, this is how it always looks. I’m not big on organization,” he admitted, bustling over and pulling the lawsuit paper out of the stack. He glanced at it and threw it down with a sniff. “What’s that?” she said, looking down at it as if for the first time. “Something that isn’t your business and doesn’t matter now anyway.” He took a deep breath, and his expression changed more to the one she recognized, conciliatory and mild. “I’m sorry, I’m just so . . .” He shook his head. “It’s been an awful couple of days. I’m so uptight, and the police are crawling all over my inn.” His gray eyes watered and he slumped down in the chair by the computer and put his head in his hands.
