“Hello!” he shouted. “Anyone in here? Hello?”

His impression that the place hadn’t been touched was clearly in error: inside the lobby the woodwork shone from recent polishing. Old carpeting and furniture had been divided into two obvious piles: one that looked salvageable and one that looked like it was headed to the dump. The front desk was covered with tools and bits and pieces from the hardware store.

And there was that radio playing, somewhere in the building.

Fletcher made his way back towards the music. Must be where the family was working on restoring the hotel. Probably were too busy, didn’t realize they’d missed a payment, doing too much themselves. This would be alright, then. Personal touch. He’d work out an arrangement, talk to Rosenbaum (the old softy) about getting the family a second loan so they could maybe hire some contractors. The place was beautiful on the inside, and there was that famous name on the gate. They’d be good for the loans and then some, he could tell.