Phelps was a difficult man to track down, when he wasn't sitting in his office. I needed him to be sitting in his office, but apparently it was a day of rest or festival or something for the people of Mystic Falls, and so there was a nasty sign on the door of my landlord's place that politely (mostly) told me to fuck right off.

I did as the sign bid. As much as I wanted to try to break in and do a little investment shopping (there was a high probability Phelps was enough of an asshole to just keep the coinage he stole from his tenants just lying around), there were people on the street and I didn't want to have to murder them or bribe them. It wouldn't do great things for my reputation in Mystic Falls, and it was honestly way too early in the morning for such activities. Breaking and entering, casual murder, and paying off tipsters was more of a late afternoon, early dusk activity.

With little idea of what else to do, I went into the center of town. I was hoping I could find some random passerby who would be able to point Phelps out to me like I was the protagonist in some story, but I went mostly ignored by everyone.

I didn't blame them.

Remember how I hadn't bathed and smelled pretty terrible on my first day in Mystic Falls?

I still hadn't bathed.

And I'd done a lot more physical labor since then.

Hell, I'd been swinging around a sledgehammer and hoisting around cut stone bricks the day before.

I smelled riper than a six month old egg and I was covered in enough grime to pass as one of the homeless folks that lined the streets.

Every respectable person in Mystic Falls ignored me. Some even spat in my direction, which, ew. Don't do that. Not only is it highly unhygienic and you might spread disease, but what is your end goal? The person gets coated in your spit? They decide to beat the shit out of you for spitting at them? It's just not worth it, okay?

I was surprised how busy the main strip of Mystic Falls was, anyway. There were people out left and right, hanging streamers or banners and setting up stalls. Kids were running through the streets, either chasing one another with some weird brightly colored bauble, or dodging in and out of the crowds to get to some sight or another.

But everyone who was anyone was here.

So why was this the first time I was hearing about it?

Was there a notice that I missed? Did the town have a community bulletin board where they listed events, and I just hadn't seen it yet? Perhaps a crier had come around and I had just been zonked out after too much physical labor and cabbage soup?

I wondered if Mel knew. She usually loved festival days, and would get a kick out of watching everyone run around and celebrate whatever stupid thing the people of this town were celebrating. From the look of it, it was something about an egg and a bunny.

Boring.

But, in spite of the whole town being in the center of town, I wasn't able to find Phelps. Either the portly man didn't believe in whatever this egg-based bunny was selling, or he used this as an excuse to stay the hell home and not have to get any work done.

Which, like, the least he could have done was answered when I banged on his door repeatedly.

I almost turned back to return to the eatery. We still had things to get done, and there was a whole day still before the tables would get delivered. Mel and I could go out tomorrow morning and try again, and at least this time Phelps might actually open the door and be able to answer my very simple question.

But something stopped me.

More importantly, someone.

He was short, with a slim body that looked like it had never seen a day of physical labor. The man was wearing a very nice looking pair of breeches and a button down shirt, and both were crisp and clean. Also crisp and clean were his cheeks - it looked as if he either couldn't grow facial hair or meticulously shaved it away every morning. The man was also wearing a pair of rimmed spectacles, which clearly spoke of the money he had to have - as if the other signs weren't sparkling in the summer sun.

"Oh you poor thing," he murmured, before grabbing my arm at the elbow. "Come. Let's get you taken care of."

"Um, excuse me? Who the hell are you?" I tried to rip my arm away from him, but his skinny little fingers were quick to dig in.

"Don't worry now, chap. Let's get you a bath and a meal, and then we can talk about employment, yes?"

I hesitated for a moment. A bath and a free meal would be amazing. And if this guy was just going to give them over, who was I to judge?

But there were other people in town who could use free things more. I had a plan. It wasn’t a good plan, and it was costing me a lot of money, but it was a plan.

I dug my heels into the ground, even as he tried to yank me down the street. "Look, man, I appreciate it. I do. But I've got a job. And I look-"

"-and smell-"

"-right, and smell, horrible, but that's because I've been working at that job. I'll get cleaned up after it's done."

"Ah, so do you work in waste disposal?" He immediately let go of my arm, but I could still feel his dexterous digits where they'd dug into my flesh.

"Not quiet. I run an eatery."

He looked like he was going to be violently ill, and I didn't blame him.

"It's still a work in progress. I'm actually trying to find the building inspector so I can get the place looked at and improved."

"Oh. Oh my."

I glared at the man. "You're the building inspector?"

"Oh moon's light, no." He laughed, as if I'd said the best joke in the world. "Could you imagine? That would be the biggest coincidence in the world."

"Almost unbelievable," I said with a nod. "But do you know who I'm looking for."

"That I do, actually." He reached into a small bag at his hip, and drew out a slip of parchment no bigger than the palm of my hand. "Can you read?"

"And count to ten," I said with a grin, but his aghast look told me my joke didn't land. "Seriously. I can read."

"Good. Go to the north end of town. You're looking for a red building with cream trim. Seventeen Myrlwood. If you beat me back there, just give that Derrick, and he'll set up an appointment for you."

I looked at the slip of paper, confused. On it was the address he'd mentioned, along with the name Derrick Frauen. "Who's Derrick?"

"Um, the building inspector?"

"Oh. Uh. That's lucky."

"Well, we're quite the philanthropic bunch, and so you walking around like the saddest human I've seen all day was quiet helpful. I thought you were homeless and I was going to get you fixed up."

Before the man and I parted ways, I found out his name was Liam and he was the inspector's partner. He assured me that Derick would help me out, and maybe even allow me to bathe while I was there. Liam even still extended his offer of work, but there was so much I had to get done. It didn't make sense to pick up more to do during the day.

Maybe if I got desperate.

Finding Seventeen Myrlwood was relatively easy, at least in the grand scheme of things. It was a large building, impressive, and surrounded by a stone and metal fence that screamed wealth. The grounds were well taken care of, as was the property itself. When I knocked on the front door, the man who answered didn't seem too happy to see me. At least, that is, until I handed over the slip of paper.

"Oh. You're one of Liam's pet projects."

"Actually, I'm not. Excuse my appearance," I said, almost sharply, "but I'm looking for Derrick Frauen. I need a building inspected."

"You do?" He cocked an eyebrow at me, and I nearly felt the disbelief like a physical blow.

"Yep. Five Monroe. Owned my Phelps, er, Roger Phelps. I'm the, uh, new tenant?"

"I thought I condemned that building years ago."

Oh, this was going to go well. I gritted my teeth. "If you did, Mister Phelps didn't get the announcement. He rented it to me just the other day. I've done some work, hence my appearance, and I need to get it inspected before I can open up."

"And what are you planning on opening? A manure store?" He laughed, as if it was the best joke ever.

I wanted to tell him that his insults stank worse than my ball sack, but I needed his help. Shitty jokes or no, I needed to stay on this man's good side. "An eatery."

"In that building?" He laughed again, and then looked like he was going to be sick. "Oh, you're serious."

"I've already done a bunch of work. If you could just come by and tell me what else needs to be done, if anything, I'll be out of your hair."

"Fine," he said, the word sharp like it was foul in his mouth. "I'll come by tomorrow. But I wouldn't expect it to pass right away. I know what kind of operation Roger runs."

I wanted to inquire what the fuck he meant by that, but he closed the door in my face and I really didn't have a second option. Or a bath, hot meal, and employment opportunity.

Hm.

I was starting to think I should have waited for Liam to arrive. He seemed overly helpful, but also way nicer than his asshole partner. Perhaps he could have tempered Derrick a bit and made things go a hell of a lot smoother.

But, it was too late now. I'd have to live with the consequences.

And maybe get a bath before Derrick showed up tomorrow.