Page 44 of The Accidental Innkeeper

“That’s not a ‘doing that’ sound,” I said. “That’s a ‘something is very wrong’ sound.”

The boiler sat against the far wall like an angry metal beast, vibrating slightly, the pressure gauge twitching like it couldn’t decide whether to panic or explode. Every few seconds it let out another shriek. Metal on metal, furious and desperate.

I set the toolbox down realizing that Dottie had snuck back to the kitchen and left me and New York by ourselves. I crouched, listening, and tilted my head. The pitch was off, fast and dry. I reached out and rested my palm against the side. It was hotter than it should’ve been.

“Shut it off,” I ordered.

She froze. “Like… completely?”

“Yes. Now. Grab that lever and pull it down.”

New York lunged for the switch and flipped it down. The screech died instantly, leaving behind a heavy, ringing silence.

“Okay,” she said. “That felt dramatic.”

I exhaled. “You were seconds away from burning out the pump.” I popped the front panel open. Inside was a mess of pipes and valves that had been serviced just enough to keep limping along. No one had actually fixed the problem. They’d just quieted it.

I shook my head. “They never bled the line.”

She blinked. “I know some of those words.”

I grabbed a wrench and loosened the valve slowly. Air hissed out first. Then water followed, steady and clean.

Behind me, I heard New York’s footsteps moving. I glanced over my shoulder. She stood by the laundry area, her eyes narrowed, taking in the washers, the old folding table, and the shelves stacked with mismatched detergent and lost socks.

“You looking for something?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. Just… inventorying.” She gestured vaguely. “New duties.” She hooked her thumbs toward herself. “Laundry person. Apparently.”

That word again. Duties. Like she’d already accepted this wasn’t temporary. That she wasn’t bailing.

I turned back to the boiler, tightening the valve and then adjusting the pressure regulator before tapping the gauge lightly until it settled where it should.

“Try it now,” I said. “The switch.”

She flipped the switch back on.

The boiler rumbled to life, with a low, steady hum.

Her shoulders dropped immediately. “Oh my god,” she breathed. “That’s… that’s quiet.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to sound,” I said. “It was starving for water and screaming about it.”

She laughed softly, rubbing her arms like she’d just realized how cold she’d been. “So I don’t need to call anyone?”

“No,” I said. “You’re good. For now.”

She looked at me, her focus on my face a beat too long. “You just saved me… how much?”

I shrugged. “Couple hundred. Maybe more if they decided to upsell you on panic.”

“I do panic very well.” She nodded and then reached into her pocket. “Okay. So. Send me a bill. Or I can do cash. No. I can’t do cash right now, but I can send you a check?”

I straightened slowly. I should’ve said yes. I should’ve named a number.

I didn’t.

“It’s fine,” I said instead.