20. Just Doing My Job

At a quarter to nine the following morning, Hailey stepped outside the Loose Moose. No wildlife greeted her. Did that mean bad luck awaited? Not likely, and she was ready for whatever inspections Cliff had lined up. She had checked the department's database the night before but hadn't seen any restaurants flagged in the county, which baffled her—unless they crossed county lines, which would be even more puzzling. But this was Cliff, the guy so focused on his upward mobility that he often lost sight of dotting his i's and crossing his t's. The guy who rarely did an inspection and probably didn't know they had systems in place. The guy who leaned heavily on her to check the details and follow the protocols. The guy who, when he fell flat on his face, would foist the clean-up on her. When that inevitably happened, she'd be tempted to virtually rub her hands together with glee, except she'd be too busy brooming up his mess.

If only she could think up a way to expose Cliff, to give Dan a firsthand look at his incompetence, but that would entail Dan not being blind and her being as crafty as Cliff.

She arrived at the lobby before he did, and when he did appear, he sported an extra dose of smugness in his expression.

Guess his early-morning meeting went well.

He herded her toward his SUV—the county's brand-new vehicle—and soon they were on their way to a tiny pub in an unincorporated part of neighboring Ouray County. No wonder she hadn't found it in the database. Different county.

The inspection, conducted by Hailey while Cliff chatted up the restaurant manager, was complete an hour and a half later. There wasn't much to the place, but she still had to check the same boxes for hygiene policies and habits and a host of other requirements as she would for a larger operation.

"Where to next?" she asked as they settled back into the Ford.

"You'll find out."

Why was he acting so dodgy? "Can you at least tell me what county it's in?"

"San Juan," Cliff crowed as he headed back in the direction they had come.

A bad feeling formed a knot in the pit of her stomach before spreading through her limbs.

At a fork in the highway, she prayed he'd veer to the right, but he took the turn toward Fall River. The foreboding inside her blossomed, and she struggled to control the panic in her voice when she said, "Where are we going, Cliff?"

Very un-Cliff-like, he didn't utter a word until they pulled up in front of the Miners Tavern. He cut the engine and turned toward her. "I got a tip about this place. My suspicions were already high when I learned you got sick from eating here—"

"But I didn't get sick!" she yelped. "And don't forget we both ate here last night, and I didn't get sick then either. Did you?"

He rapped his knuckles against his abdomen. "No, but I've got a cast-iron gut, so that's not necessarily a good barometer." His expression grew eerily solemn. "Last night's meal was undercover work. I wanted to watch the employees while they were oblivious to being observed, and I saw some practices that raised red flags, so I did some more digging. This place needs a thorough going-over, and you're the best man for the job."

Questions flew from her mouth. "What red flags? A tip from whom? Where did you dig, and what did you find?"

"You'll see." He released his seat belt. "We have one more inspection after this, and it'll be quitting time when we return. I want to catch these guys at a busy hour, like now, while they're gearing up for the lunch crowd."

"It's only a little past eleven on a Tuesday," she pointed out. Silence charged the air. "Let me ask you something. Why did you give Dell's advance notice but you're not extending the same courtesy to the Miners Tavern?" She was grasping at straws, trying to slow down this locomotive.

"Because there are reports of rodents at the Miners Tavern that just came to my attention. Rodents, Hailey."

Rodents? She gasped before she could stop herself, but he didn't seem to notice. No way were there rodents in the tavern.

"If the allegation is true, then it's a very serious situation, and they don't deserve a heads-up. It's our job to protect the public, Hailey." He gave her a pointed look, as if she didn't understand what the exact nature of the job was, the asshole.

It's also our job to treat these businesses fairly. Every inspection was supposed to be unannounced … except that Bruno Keating's place had gotten special treatment. Why? A memory of the chummy way Cliff had treated Bruno and their disappearing act surfaced.

"Where did the tip come from, Cliff?" she repeated. "A rival restaurant owner with an ax to grind?" He didn't acknowledge the question, and her indignation got the better of her. She ran on without a filter. "You're not being fair! As of last night, you said nothing about inspecting the Miners Tavern, yet your mind was already made up after we went to Dell's yesterday. The tavern's not even down for an inspection in the database like Dell's was."

He side-eyed her. "That's just an oversight. And why are you snooping around?"

"I thought checking the status of inspections was part of my job." She softened her tone. "Can't you see that someone's trying to manipulate the department to do his dirty work? This is a grudge complaint, and it's bogus."

"You act as though you have a dog in the hunt. And what exactly do you mean by a ‘grudge complaint'?"

"I mean, Bruno Keating wanted to buy the Miners Tavern, and he's pissed because Noah, um, the owner, got it instead. From the very beginning, Keating has been trying every trick in the book to throw the competition into disarray, like calling out permit violations and slowing down their opening." She bit back the urge to list the numerous building violations in Dell's that were obvious to even an untrained eye. "He plays dirty pool. Now he wants to plant doubt in people's heads about the restaurant's cleanliness. They were inspected two months ago, and they passed! In fact, they've passed every inspection as far back as the records go."

Cliff's eyes hardened into dark beads. "How do you know so much about the Miners Tavern and its owner?"

Whoops! Dial it back, Hail. "I've been spending time with some of the locals, and you pick up things. You know, town gossip and all that."

"Which locals have you been spending time with?"

"I don't see where that's any of your business, Cliff. What I do in my spare time—"

"Fine. Unless your fraternizing interferes with your job." His eyebrow dipped. "Don't mix your work and social time, Hailey."

She spluttered a protest. "What about you getting friendly with Keating? Aren't you the pot calling the kettle black here?" Except I'm not a pot or a kettle. Am I?

He threw his door open. "Let's get this over with. We still have a long day ahead."

As they marched to the restaurant, Hailey's heart migrated up to her throat and lodged there. She muttered a prayer that Noah wouldn't be at the tavern. There was a chance … but only a slim one. He was always there. He lived there. Literally.

God wasn't listening today—the fact that she hadn't struck up a conversation with the Big Guy in a while might have been the difference maker—because the tavern's owner stood in the empty dining room talking to Dixie when she and Cliff walked in. Hailey couldn't avoid hearing their conversation.

Dixie threw out an arm. "But we always get the regular MMs from Costco. Why are you having me order bags of blue MMs? They cost way more. It don't make sense, unless you're getting orange too so we can go all in on Broncos Country, but that's not cheap either. And who likes blue MMs anyway? They taste funny."

"Just do it. Please." Noah sighed right before taking notice of Cliff and Hailey.

He and Dixie turned toward them with widening eyes. Noah perused Hailey from top to bottom before fastening his gaze on hers, and the confusion reflected there left her hopes sagging. This wasn't going to end well.

Just kill me now.

The barkeep's gaze moved from Hailey to Cliff, and recognition flared. Pleats formed between his dark brows. "Something I can do for you?"

Using his most officious tone, Cliff pulled out his credentials. "We're with CDPHE, and we're working with your local county government." Noah's creases deepened. "We've been called in to perform an inspection of your establishment."

"When?"

"Now."

To Noah's credit, he didn't flinch. "But we just went through an inspection two months ago. And we passed. You can look it up."

"Timing isn't the issue here," Cliff pontificated.

Noah's gaze transformed from bewildered to flinty as he turned it on Hailey. "Do you have some kind of ID to show me, miss?"

"Show the man your ID, Hailey," Cliff snapped.

Trying to douse the charges exploding in her stomach, she extracted her credentials with deliberate movements so she could control the tremor in her fingers. Noah scanned the tag that identified her as a Montrose County food inspector and raised those gorgeous emerald eyes to hers. Confusion, hurt, and anger danced in their depths. Then he shuttered them.

He swiveled those eyes to Cliff. "Since timing isn't what brings you here, do you want to tell me exactly what the issue is?"

Cliff's chest seemed to inflate with pomposity. "We have complaints of a very disturbing nature that we're compelled to investigate in the name of the public's safety."

"What kind of complaints?"

"Vermin."

"Vermin?"Dixie spat.

Cliff looked down his straight nose at her. "Rodents."

Dixie struck her indignant hands-on-hips pose. "I know what vermin are, Mr. Inspector. What I don't understand is why someone would report seeing vermin here when we ain't got no rats, no mice, no roaches, not even a skeeter. No nasty critters of any kind." She gave him a narrowed look that broadcast she was staring at the only exception.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name." Cliff hovered his pen above his clipboard.

"She's my manager, Dixie Dobbs," Noah huffed. "Come on. Let's get this over with so we can get back to work." He motioned for them to follow.

Hailey fell in behind, her feet like lead as they shuffled toward the kitchen. Before she got there, though, Cliff asked Noah to direct him to the pantry. "Where your dry goods are kept."

"He knows what a pantry is," Dixie snipped.

Noah jerked his head toward his closed office door. "Dixie, why don't you go finish up that order?"

"I will not," the stubborn woman shot back.

A muscle in Noah's jaw jumped. "And maybe you can check to be sure I turned off the stove upstairs while you're at it."

Chance! He wants Dixie to make sure the dog can't get out. Hailey resisted the urge to reach out and pinch her.

"But you never—" Dixie's blue-eyeshadowed eyes widened. With a quick head bob, she turned and hustled toward his office.

Noah gestured Cliff and Hailey toward the pantry with a sweep of his hand. "Right this way, inspectors." Icicles dripped off his last word, and he threw Hailey a few extra eye daggers.

All of her felt like crumpling inside.

She wanted to scream, "I'm just doing my job." The job that pays my bills. The job that's funding my dream. The job that keeps me safe. She'd used the same tired phrase on hundreds of kitchen managers before him, but none of these reasons kept the words from ringing hollow.

Cliff entered the small room, Noah on his heels. There wasn't enough room for three bodies to work comfortably, so Hailey began scanning the vestibule and storage area, moving toward the kitchen as she quickly ticked boxes and jotted notes on her form. Might as well minimize the pain by making this as quick as possible.

Her heart dropped further when she heard Noah exclaim, "There's no fucking way they could have gotten in!"

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

She ducked into the pantry, coming to a standstill. Ice formed in her veins. Noah's mouth hung open as Cliff, on his knees, extracted five dead mice from the gap between the floor and the lowest shelf.

His eyes gleamed with triumph as he looked up at Noah. "Your restaurant is closed until further notice, Mr. Hunnicutt."