STEPPING up to the open double doors, Ryan Stone knocked tentatively before shouting out, “Anybody home?” Receiving no answer, he went inside anyway, taking off his hat and pausing to listen.
From somewhere he could make out the grunts and groans of someone moving things around. Heavy things by all accounts. It was the voice of a man, so he called again, “Mr Cartwright? It’s Sheriff Stone, I’ve come to ask you a few things regarding the hotel.”
He waited.
If it was Lewis Cartwright moving things, he clearly did not hear the Sheriff.
As far as Stone could tell, the voice seemed to be coming from underneath the floor. He peeped over the reception desk and frowned.
Spread across the top of the desk were a number of formal looking documents, embossed with stamps to prove their legality. U
