In the Cradle Lies

by Olivia Newport

  “Lindy would have called.”

  “I guess, but I should check. I’ll give you a quart or two of double chocolate chip cookie dough to take home, since there probably haven’t been any customers anyway.”

  “Stop being such a pessimist. But I’m not saying no to that offer.”

  At the Victorium Emporium, Luke was in the front window, on a ladder, unrolling a large poster of a winter scene in a Victorian village.

  “I’m a fan of winter,” Kris said, “because I love to ski, but those two go overboard.”

  “Marketing,” Jillian said. “The tourists will eat it up. Veronica will sell woodcrafts with a nice little tag saying they are handmade by Leo Dunston out at the Inn at Hidden Run, and maybe next time they’ll book at the Inn. Then the tourists will wander up and down the street poking into every shop. It’s good for everybody.”

  “In the summer, I agree with you. At this time of year, the theory is sketchy.”

  “There’s a lot of ski season left.”

  Kris’s shop was next door to the Emporium, but she had to overshoot it to find an open parking spot on the street. Jillian held her tongue and did not point out that the lack of parking should be an indication of brisk business on Main Street despite the weather. They got out and turned back toward Ore the Mountain.

  “You and Carolyn should cook up more ideas for selling frozen treats made from her candy,” Jillian said. “More than just the hot chocolate.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Kris, look.”

  Tucker, with his tattered backpack over his shoulder, exited the ice cream parlor with a cone.

  “Looks like you had at least one customer today,” Jillian said.

  “That’s freaky. He can’t have known that was my store.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Where’s he going now?”

  “What difference does it make? He’ll browse like all the tourists do.”

  “Except he has serious money to spend. Let’s follow him.”

  “Hello, what?” Jillian grabbed Kris’s wrist.

  Tucker paused outside Ore the Mountain briefly and turned his head in both directions.

  Kris threw an arm out and imprisoned Jillian up against the brick wall of the art gallery.

  “Hey!”

  “I don’t want him to see us,” Kris said.

  “What are we doing, Kris?”

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  “What happened at Catch Air was out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t mean I want to take up spying.”

  “It’s not spying.”

  “You’re right. It’s bad spying.”

  “Don’t give me that I-don’t-care attitude, Jillian. Your entire profession hangs on dogged curiosity.”

  “And if Tucker Whatshisname hires me, I will be doggedly curious on his behalf. Right now I’m curious about the quart of ice cream you promised me.” It couldn’t have been more than twenty degrees. Just the thought of eating ice cream outdoors made Jillian’s teeth chatter, but it would taste delicious in the warmth of her home.

  Tucker moved on to the Emporium window and waved at Luke.

  “Do you think they know each other?” Jillian said.

  “See, I knew I was not alone in this curious quest.”

  Tucker sauntered on to the used bookstore, making rapid progress on his ice cream. Across the street were a specialties teas shop, a men’s clothing store, a Colorado home decor store, Ben’s Bakery, and Canary Cage. Any minute now Tucker would be free to go inside establishments up and down Main Street without being scowled at because he had sticky, dripping food in his hands.

  Jillian and Kris were in front of the building Kris shared with Digger’s Delight. They glanced into the ice cream parlor.

  “Looks like there’s a family inside,” Jillian said.

  “Good. Maybe I made enough today to pay Lindy for looking after the place.”

  Tucker walked past the bookstore without going in.

  “Somehow I don’t see him going in the cards and candles shop,” Jillian said.

  “Maybe he loves his mother,” Kris said.

  “Boo.”

  They both jumped at the sound of the male voice behind them.

  Jillian put her hand to her chest. “Leif, what are you doing?”

  “Making deliveries. The big one is for you.” He put the large sack in Kris’s hands. “And the baby bag is for you.” He handed the tiny one to Jillian.

  “We told you, Leif, no.” Kris tried to shove the bulky sack back at him, but Leif stepped away.

  “I spoke to my paying customer, and I’m following his instructions. Come into the shop with your skis, and we’ll do a proper fitting on the buckles before you ski again. But I’m warning you both, there are no returns on this merchandise, so you may as well receive the gift.”

  “No returns?” Jillian said. “Since when?”

  “New policy. On select merchandise.”

  “You’re impossible,” Kris said.

  But Leif was ten feet away and waving at them with the back of his hand.

  “Now what?” Kris said.

  “You could always sell the boots on eBay if you don’t want them. Give the money to the homeless shelter. Or donate the boots to the ski club at the high school, like an equipment scholarship.”

  “And your fancy shades?”

  Jillian blew out her breath. She must know someone who would want them. Maybe Nia or Veronica.

  They peered down the street at Tucker, who turned and waved—at them.

  “Oh great,” Jillian said. “Just great.”

  Her father stepped out of the Emporium. “Well, two lovely ladies fresh from snow heaven.”

  “Hi, Dad. What are you doing here? Finished working?”

  “I might ask what you are doing,” Nolan Duffy said. “Skulking down Main Street? Meeting for secret handoffs?”

  “Skulking? We’re just walking.”

  “Might as well tell him, Jillian,” Kris said. “He gets the truth out of everyone eventually.”

  Nolan feigned a diabolical laugh.

  Jillian was all business. “See that guy up there, Dad? With the green jacket and the backpack? He was out at the ski resort today, and Kris says he was living dangerously. Then he was in the ski shop throwing money around trying to buy us stuff. Expensive stuff. With cash. We don’t even know who he is or why he’s here.”

  “Looks like he succeeded in buying you expensive stuff.”

  “He sent Leif chasing after us. He spent hundreds of dollars on ski boots for Kris. That is not our doing, Dad.”

  “Surely not. But I can help you with your questions. No need to pretend you’re with the CIA.”

  They both stared at him.

  “Dad, you know that guy?”

  “Not technically. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him. But I know his name is Tucker Kintzler, and he’s from Missouri, possibly St. Louis. He’s staying at the Inn at Hidden Run. The word on the street is he intends to live up to the Inn’s name by skiing the old abandoned run the Inn is named after.”

  “If you know that much without talking to him,” Kris said, “I’ll be very impressed by what you find out when you do talk to him.”

  “He was in the Emporium before I was. Luke chats. If Nia and Leo invite me to the Inn and he happens to be there, it would be rude not to speak to him, don’t you think?” Nolan wiggled an eyebrow. “Otherwise, I’m on my own to run into him in town.”

  Jillian had no doubt her father would manage to do this.

  “Hidden Run—the ski slope—isn’t that dangerous?” Jillian said.

  “Very.” Nolan dug in his pockets for his gloves and pulled them on. “It’s in poor condition—hasn’t been maintained.”

  “Where exactly is it?” Kris asked. “In all my years skiing everything around Canyon Mines, I’ve never actually been there.”

  “A few old maps show it,” Nolan said. “But it’s aptly named. It was only open to the public
for about seven years in the 1930s, and even then it wasn’t easy to get to and the run itself was hard to discern for all the trees. People pulled themselves up the mountain on a rope to find the top of the run. There was a rugged warming hut, but the hut burned down, the rope kept breaking, and the run itself was too difficult to have any real commercial possibility.”

  “Double black,” Jillian said.

  “Way worse than that. Maybe you’d call it triple black.” Nolan’s cell phone rang, and he pulled it from his jacket pocket, glanced at it, silenced it, and shoved it back in.

  “Doesn’t sound like something anyone should try to ski then,” Jillian said.

  “I don’t imagine any modern ski authorities would be enthused at the prospect.”

  “Wouldn’t he need a permit or something?”

  “First he has to find it,” Kris said. “It might even be on private property.”

  Nolan nodded.

  “But maybe he’s not a permit kind of guy.”

  “Maybe not,” Nolan said. “But the smartest thing is for him not to attempt it in the first place. I suggest we take a vote about who should talk to him.”

  “Be serious, Dad.” Jillian was starting to wonder if there wasn’t someplace warmer to have this discussion.

  “I am.” His phone rang again, and again he silenced it without more than a casual look.

  “None of us knows him, Dad.”

  “I nominate Nolan,” Kris said. “His qualifications are that he can make friends with anyone and he is incredibly persuasive.”

  “Duly noted,” Nolan said. “I nominate Kris, on the grounds that as a fellow expert skier, she can identify with Tucker’s thirst for adventure while also moderating it with common sense about the particular adventure he has in mind. Plus, he did just buy her new boots, so she has a natural in for more conversation. A personal thank-you will open doors like nothing else.”

  When Nolan’s phone rang this time, he didn’t even remove it from his pocket before silencing the call, instead merely pushing a hand in.

  “This works out well for me,” Jillian said. “You’ve nominated each other, and I have no compelling qualifications to be of any help. Mr. Kintzler doesn’t seem to need a family tree. I’m freezing. Dad, did you bring your truck into town or walk?”

  “It’s across the street at the Cage.”

  “Don’t you want your ice cream?” Kris asked.

  “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream! Rah! Rah! Rah!” Nolan bellowed. “Tuesdays, Mondays, we all scream for sundaes! Sis-boom-bah!”

  “Dad, please. I can’t feel my feet.” Jillian rolled her eyes. He knew her rule about extemporaneous singing in public. “You two are going to have to work out what to do about the ski demon later. I need to thaw out.”

  “I didn’t promise I’m going to do anything!” Kris said.

  “Let’s all just get warm and discuss this another time,” Jillian said.

  “The vote is officially tabled.” Kris pivoted back toward her shop.

  Jillian and Nolan crossed the street toward the Canary Cage coffee shop. Tucker had crossed ahead of them and now pulled an item out of a yellow Victorium Emporium bag.

  “I know what that is,” Nolan said.

  “What?”

  “A topographical map of the old mines and ski runs in the areas. Luke sells them at the Emporium. I have a lithograph of the same map hanging in my office at home. You’ve seen it.”

  “With all the little squiggly lines and numbers? I never paid attention to what it was.”

  “Now you know.”

  Nolan’s phone rang for the fourth time just as they reached the curb outside the Cage, and this time Jillian lurched toward him and thrust her hand into his jacket pocket. It was unlike her father to ignore calls, especially when someone was this persistent.

  “What’s going on, Dad?”

  The caller ID said PADDY. That had been her great-grandfather’s name. Pop Paddy. But he had passed years ago, when she was a baby. The only other person in her father’s contact list who might be listed by that nickname was her Uncle Patrick, whom she’d only seen a handful of times in her entire life.

  Just before the call rolled to voice mail, she answered. “Uncle Patrick?”

  “Jillian? Is that you?”

  “It is!”

  “It’s lovely to hear your voice.”

  “Likewise. How is everyone?”

  “We’re all fine. I was looking for your dad.”

  Nolan was half a block ahead of her now, unlocking his truck.

  “He’s not available right now,” Jillian said. “I thought it might be important when you kept calling, so I decided to answer.”

  “That was thoughtful, Jillian, but I need to talk to Nolan. I’ve been trying for days.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Just tell him he should call.”

  “I will.”

  “He’ll know why.”

  Patrick ended the call, and Jillian hustled to catch up with Nolan. He was close to his eldest brother, Seamus, and the rest of his family who still lived in northern Colorado. But the brother he never saw called repeatedly, and Nolan dodged his calls? What kind of genealogist was she that she didn’t know the story under her own nose?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Near St. Louis, Missouri, 1936

  He smiled. He even cupped the back of Mattie’s head and answered the questions of the grinning lady.

  “Just turned four.”

  “Wouldn’t go anywhere without that wooden horse.”

  “Matthew likes our little trips to see a bit of the world. Don’t you, son?”

  Mattie nodded. It wasn’t true, but it was the right answer. He angled his gaze upward and to the side, reading the falsehood in his father’s face. At home it was Mama who read Mattie stories and tucked him in and knew what his favorite toys were. Papa went on trips alone, or he sat in the parlor looking so glum Mattie knew not to bother him. And why would he bother him? Playing in his room was much more pleasant.

  “He is so adorable,” the ladies said. “I remember the day you first brought him with you on a sales call. Alyce was a beaming mother.”

  Mattie’s parents’ gazes arched toward each other over his head.

  “She still is,” Papa said. “She’s doing a wonderful job with him.”

  “I suppose you ought to get down to business,” Mama said. “After all, that’s why we’re here. Hospital central supplies.”

  “Of course,” the lady said. “I’ll let Mr. Anderson know you’re ready to meet.”

  “Mattie and I will be in the outer waiting area, as usual.” Mama took his hand and led him away.

  “Are we going to play now?” Mattie asked.

  “I’m afraid we have to wait just a little while longer,” Mama said.

  “But we’ve been waiting a long time today.” Mattie twirled the horse in his hand, imagining he had all the horses in his corral with him. Papa already had three meetings before this one. Mama smiled at the ladies, and Papa met with the men while Mattie had to be still or play without making noise. Sometimes Papa went down the hall for a special meeting, and Mama’s face turned a funny color.

  “I know,” Mama said. “But this is the last meeting for today.”

  “I want to go home and play with Jackson.”

  “You won’t be able to see Jackson today, Mattie.”

  “But I want to. Why do we have to come on these dumb trips?”

  “Mattie,” Mama said. “You know better.”

  “Sorry.”

  “This is your father’s work. Sometimes he likes my company. Besides, it’s nice to be together since he travels so much. You’ll be six and in school soon enough, and then we won’t be able to come with him at all.”

  Good. Mattie galloped his horse through the air. At home Mama was regular Mama. On trips she was nervous Mama, sweaty Mama. It wasn’t at all nice that they traveled with Papa.

  “This chair wiggles,�
� he said.

  “They are very old chairs.”

  “Grandpa Ted could fix them. He could bring something from his hardware section. They just need some new screws.”

  “What a clever boy you are.”

  “Grandpa Ted says things like that all the time.” Mattie wriggled in the chair and listened to the squeaking that resulted. “He knows how to fix things.”

  “Indeed he does. But perhaps you ought not to squirm so much unless you have some screws and a screwdriver in your pocket.”

  “Can I sit on the floor then?”

  Mama inspected. The tile floors were as clean as the chairs as far as Mattie could tell. Hospitals were supposed to be very clean.

  “All right,” she said.

  Mattie rubbed his nose. “It tickles, and it smells funny. Like flowers.”

  “It’s how they keep the hospital clean. Your papa sells them the cleaner! But please keep your hands off your face.”

  “I’m thirsty,” Mattie said. “It’s hot.”

  Mama checked her watch. “You haven’t had anything to drink in hours. You stay right there. I’m going to let someone know I’m running down the hall for a cup of water and to be mindful of you.”

  Mattie nodded.

  Mama was back in a moment. “Mrs. Gibson was away from her desk, but I spoke to your father. He assured me he is almost finished and will be out in a moment. I’ll be right back with some water. And where will you be?”

  “Right here.” Mattie thumped a chair.

  “That’s my good Mattie.”

  Mama’s steps clicked out of the waiting area and down the hall.

  All day long, one horse was all Mattie had to play with. He’d cantered and galloped and neighed and jumped fences. There was only so much one horse could do, and this one had reached its limit. Mattie laid it down and tugged at his collar. At home he would not have to wear a tight shirt around his neck and be this hot. And bored. And thirsty. Mama was taking a long time.

  Mattie placed both hands on the polished floor—probably with cleaner that Papa sold to hospitals—and pushed himself up. It would be all right just to look into the hall and see if Mama was on the way back with water yet.

  At the wide opening of the waiting area, there was no real door, just a broad wooden frame like the one in the church hall where Mama sometimes served food with the ladies. Mattie lined up his toes at the edge of the tile squares that met the frame and leaned his head out into the hall. Which way was the water fountain? It didn’t matter, because he didn’t see Mama in either direction. It was a quiet hallway. He’d been here before, on another trip, and Mama had explained it was where the hospital offices were, not where the patients were.