The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge

by Lucia N Davis

  David nodded pensively. “Yeah, that’s the big cabin up the hill. My father sold them the lot—I remember it was one of his last sales before he got sick. The Sinclairs,” he said to Sara, “are a wealthy family from the Seattle area. He owns a company; I forgot what kind. They built this big cabin, the Sinclair Lodge, for their skiing vacations. I guess they use it on and off, only in the winter, and mostly to entertain other rich people. Actually, I think it’s the wife who’s fond of skiing, not the husband.”

  “Was,” Terrence said, looking smug. “She ain’t skiing anymore.”

  “How so?” David asked.

  “She died, not too long ago.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Suicide. Shot herself.” He put his finger to his temple, forming the shape of a gun with his hand.

  Irritated, Sara said, “That’s not funny, if you were trying to be. The poor woman—how tragic!”

  Terrence shrugged. “She was as rich as the Queen of Sheba. All I’m saying is, she could’ve afforded a therapist.”

  Sara cringed at his crudeness. She was tempted to ask Terrence if he even knew who the Queen of Sheba was. Instead she nudged David under the table, hoping they could leave.

  David, however, was glued to his seat. “She did?” he asked, a little shocked. “I think I met her once or twice. She was very nice. What was her name again…?” His face scrunched into a frown.

  That was more than enough encouragement for Terrence. “Lauren,” he said. “Lauren and Preston Sinclair.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Lauren. Geez, that’s so sad.”

  A shadow crossed Terrence’s face. “I guess you never know what demons people fight, you know, inside?”

  Sara, who had just taken a big bite out of her hamburger, stopped chewing. Terrence wasn’t usually this insightful. The moment didn’t last long. Some girls entered the bar and Terrence observed them carefully. That was another thing she had noticed about him—he had shifty eyes. They were always moving around the room, checking people out.

  “Anyway,” Terrence continued, refocusing his attention on the conversation. “That’s why they had a tutor coming to the lodge. They have a child. I guess Mr. Sinclair was planning to stay here for a while, with the child. The tutor arrived ahead of time. Wanted to try out the slopes. That’s what you get for ducking the ropes.” He shook his head as if berating the poor woman. “Too hasty… Haste will get you killed. I’ve always believed that.”

  Sara raised an eyebrow. “Funny you should say that. I always thought alcohol was the thing that got people killed.”

  “Sometimes…” He pointed to her beer, giving her a predatory smile. “Have another one, it’s on the house.”

  Sara shot him a dark look.

  “As I was saying,” he went on, “no one noticed she was missing until today. So when talk of a dead lady went around town, the Sinclairs contacted the police.” He winked at Jerry. “That would be you.”

  “How do you know all this?” Jerry asked, a little askance. “You seem to have an awful lot of information about this poor woman’s death.”

  Terrence shrugged, unconcerned. “Every town has a gossip mill, Jerry, and you’re standing in it—as you well know. The Sinclairs’ driver came in today for a drink. I know the guy; I’ve delivered supplies now and then to the lodge, whenever the family is expecting guests. It’ll be in the papers soon enough. No big deal. I’ll say, though, that’s one unlucky family. Not sure I’d wanna be working for them.”

  Don’t worry, Sara thought. Neither would they.

  “How about we change the subject,” Jerry said. “David, I can’t believe you made your girlfriend ski in this weather. You’re insane.”

  “Thank you,” Sara said, rolling her eyes and stretching out her sore legs.

  “Yes, maybe it was a bit too much. I’m sorry, babe. I tend to get over-excited when it starts snowing.” David squeezed her knee. “But Sara here is a trooper. You know she’s still living in the cabin?”

  Oh no, Sara thought. She had rather not have him boasting about that. To leave the cabin now would be admitting defeat.

  Terrence snorted, having lost interest. He got up, mumbled an excuse, and left, parking himself at the table with the newly arrived group of young women.

  “Well, that was interesting.” David finished his fries and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Maybe Mia wanted to go off-piste—it is the shortcut down to the main lift area. She could’ve hit a tree, lost consciousness, and the cold did the rest.”

  “Like I said, don’t go skiing in such poor conditions.” Jerry gave David a disapproving look. “You should know better. No wonder you’ve never gotten a girl to stick around.”

  “You would know, I guess.” David smirked. “How is Sharon, by the way?”

  “Doing great! Thirty-five weeks and counting. The third Hunter will be out and about before you know it.” Jerry nodded so eagerly, Sara was afraid his ears would set sail.

  David laughed. “Can’t wait. You’ve got great kids, Jerry. And a wonderful wife, since she’s willing to put up with you.”

  “I know, I’m one lucky guy.” He got up from his seat, straightening his uniform. “Speaking of the wife, I better give her a call. It’s going to be a long night. So long, you two!”

  David and Sara left shortly after and plowed their way through the snow drifts back to David’s apartment.

  “Would you like to stay over?” David asked. “You may have trouble getting back tonight, not to mention getting inside. Or out, for that matter, in the morning. There’s more snow coming.”

  “Sure.” There was a slight jitter in her voice. “I don’t think I’d want to be alone tonight anyway, after… you know.” Though it wasn’t the only reason she was nervous. They had only recently started dating and had taken things slowly, still hesitant to demand too much of each other’s time. When David’s grandfather passed away, David had been so preoccupied, she had given him plenty of space, not sure how much he needed or wanted her around. It was almost as if their physical relationship had been placed on the backburner. Thus far, he hadn’t asked her to spend the night—and she hadn’t offered.

  Inside David’s apartment, they gladly shed their winter gear.

  “I really hope this Mia Jenkins had no unfinished business before she died,” David said, keeping his tone neutral. “I’d hate for you to start having those strange dreams again.”

  “I didn’t feel anything when I touched her.” Sara, who also had no desire for a deeper acquaintance with the woman, had to admit she had wondered the same thing. Twice now she had experienced strange, vivid dreams about people long gone. She saw snippets of their lives, but it was never quite clear what they wanted from her at first. The trick was to figure out what needed resolving and unfortunately, that was where she came in. It was like being forced to act as a private investigator for the deceased: involuntary, pro bono, and high on the creepiness scale.

  Initially the dreams hadn’t been so bad, but the second time around, they had pestered her incessantly. It was almost as if her gift, or whatever it was, was getting stronger. Besides the dreams, she would see and feel things other people couldn’t, which was terrifying, not to mention a cruel reminder the last year had left its mark on her. Few people knew about her newly acquired talents, and she wanted to keep it that way. She doubted her otherworldly encounters would be the best conversation starters at social events.

  “You want to use the bathroom first?” David asked, a little hesitantly. He handed her a spare toothbrush and one of his T-shirts.

  Alone, she took a quick shower and brushed her teeth. Then she crawled into his bed and waited for him to do the same.

  When he finally scooted in beside her, he was wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt. He reached out and caressed her shoulder, but didn’t pull her close.

  “Hey, you,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  He turned onto his back. They both stared at the ceiling.

  “This will be our first night together
,” she finally ventured. First nights were something to pay attention to, even if David was horribly overdressed for the occasion.

  “Quite right. Um, I should tell you… I’m just not, you know, really in the mood. Like, today is maybe not the best day… You know.”

  Sara agreed; encountering dead bodies did have a funny way of snuffing out your passion. Although, she reflected, David’s passion had been rather feeble lately in general, but tonight probably wasn’t the best time to mention it. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m not really in the mood either. I keep seeing that lady’s face—it’s freaking me out. Our first time should be special, right?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking, we’ve got all the time in the world, right? No rush.”

  “Right... no rush.” Sara had only had a couple of boyfriends before, but taking their time had not been part of their repertoire. Her unease was building. She turned her head toward David, taking in his profile. He was so close—it was hard to resist the urge to touch him. Maybe tonight wasn’t the night, but some form of intimacy would be nice. She wanted to say something, but no coherent sentence presented itself.

  David seemed oblivious to her inner turmoil. “You know,” he went on, “the cabin will likely be snowed in often this winter. You probably won’t want to stay there—you may want to find a new place to live.”

  Or crash here? she thought. But he made no suggestion of the sort. In a huff, she said, “Really? Is that how you think it will go? I mean, maybe I’ll just tough it out. I can handle a bit of snow.”

  David grinned. “Sure, city girl. You’ll tough it out. If you manage to hold out there for two weeks, I’ll—I’ll cook for you for a whole month.”

  “Deal,” she said.

  “But if I win, you’ll return the favor.”

  “Whatever.” She stuck her chin out. “You better stock your pantry.” The moment the words came out, she realized this bet could cost both of them dearly. She was a terrible cook.

  David leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “You’ll change your mind about the cabin before the week is through. Sleep well.” Still chuckling to himself, he turned onto his other side, leaving her to warm up her side alone.

  Chapter 2

  The coffee shop was slowly filling up with people returning from the slopes. Sara closed her laptop with a sigh. It was hard to concentrate with all these tourists around, but at least there was hot coffee. No such luck at her cabin. When she returned home this morning, she had been unpleasantly surprised to find there had been a power outage sometime during the night. Her small home was freezing and would now depend solely on the woodstove for heating. And the woodstove couldn’t help the lack of hot water.

  She had alerted David, who had called it in, but he warned her it could take a few days before it was fixed. Last night’s weather had taken its toll on a number of houses in the region. David invited her to stay over, but she hadn’t forgotten about last night’s bet, nor his cold sheets. Although she would love nothing more than to stay at his apartment, she declined his offer, determined to prove herself. Her resolve appeared to amuse him. Nevertheless he lit the woodstove for her and set aside an abundant supply of wood next to the backdoor.

  Distracted by the crowd in the coffee shop, Sara gave up on the idea of writing and tucked her laptop away in her backpack. She was trying to get a freelance career off the ground, hoping that with it, together with the money she was earning as a substitute teacher, she could support herself. But so far she was barely making ends meet. There weren’t enough subbing gigs to pay the bills, and writing hardly paid anything. Every month she was forced to dip into her parents’ inheritance, and at this rate, it was dwindling fast. She would need to look for another, steadier job soon.

  Her parents would have straightened her out immediately, had they still been around, she thought. She was a twenty-nine-year-old with a college degree—it really was about time she found permanent employment. A little irritated, she observed the people around her, who all seemed to be having a good time. And why wouldn’t they? They could all afford to be here. Her eyes locked on a man standing near the counter—he had been staring at her. She tried to place him, but decided he didn’t look familiar. His features were angular and strong, accentuated by thick, curly blond hair and a pair of stylish glasses. A little flustered, Sara looked around to see if anyone was making eye contact with the stranger, but no one seemed to be paying attention. She returned her gaze to the counter, but to her shock, the man had already walked up to her table.

  “Is this seat available?” he asked politely, grabbing the chair in front of her. Without waiting for an answer, he draped his puffer jacket over the back of the seat and smiled at her, showing off a row of beautiful straight white teeth.

  In contrast to her financial woes, the man in front of her was in a much better situation, judging by his appearance. But she wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s company, wealthy or not. She replied, “Yes, it is. In fact, the table’s all yours. I was about to leave.”

  “That would be a shame.” The man sat down. “I was hoping to talk to you. You are Sara Eriksson, right?”

  Sara blinked. “Err, yes, that would be me. Who’s asking?”

  “How rude of me.” The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Preston. Preston Sinclair.”

  “I see. Nice to meet you, Preston.” She shook his hand, closely observing the owner of the Sinclair Lodge she’d only recently learned about. Age-wise she would have placed him in his mid-forties. He was lean and casually dressed in well-fitting jeans and a dark woolen V-neck sweater. As he folded his hands together on the table, she noticed a pale indent on his left ring finger, reminding her of his recently deceased wife.

  “I was told you’re a teacher,” he said.

  Taken aback, she needed a moment to find her voice. “That’s right. Middle school, mostly. English. May I ask who told you?”

  “The police officer, Jerry—Jerry something. A friend of yours? He spoke very highly of you.”

  Sara nodded. “I know him.”

  Preston came right to the point. “I have a daughter. She’s a sixth-grader. We’re planning to live here for a few months, which means I had to take her out of school.” He looked away. “I had arranged for a tutor during that time, but unfortunately, she—she had an accident.” The words came out constricted, as if he was still looking for the appropriate emotion to accompany them.

  “I know,” Sara said softly. “I found her.”

  If Preston was surprised by this, he didn’t show it. Merely blinking a few times, he said, “I’m sorry, that must’ve been unpleasant.”

  “Yes.” Sara wiped a little coffee stain off the table with her napkin. “But I imagine not nearly as unpleasant as it was for her.”

  “Quite right.” He ruffled his curly locks. “Anyway, this means my daughter doesn’t have a tutor for the next few months.” He grimaced. “Since you live here, I was hoping you might be willing to fill Ms. Jenkins’s position. That is, if you possess the required skills and knowledge, and provided you pass a thorough background check.”

  “I see.” Sara’s mind slipped into panic mode. Did this mean he planned to interview her here? She glanced over her winter clothing. She wasn’t prepared for this. She couldn’t even remember if she had combed her hair this morning. Plus, she knew nothing about Preston Sinclair, other than he had a knack for ambushing people in the local coffee shop and his wife and tutor had both left the land of the living prematurely. She wasn’t eager to entertain his request, but she was intrigued, and felt rude sending him off. “It must’ve been hard on your daughter, losing her tutor.”

  Preston gave a tired smile. “Bailey—that’s my daughter—hadn’t met Ms. Jenkins yet. I did, briefly, but honestly, I had my personal assistant manage the whole hiring business. We had a lot going on the last few months…” He stared over her shoulder. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that Bailey isn’t grieving Ms. Jenkins, however sad of an event it may be. She’s also not thri
lled about having a tutor in the first place. Just a fair warning.”

  “Um, can I ask what form of education Bailey had prior to this?”

  “Yes, she was in private school most of the time, but during fifth grade, she was home-schooled by her mother. This last semester she went back to her previous school. She—” He paused, his eyes darkening. “She’d been having some behavioral issues at school. You have to understand, she’s been through a lot. Her mother passed away last summer. The school suggested maybe we try something different for a while. I thought bringing her here, a place with many good memories, would be good for her.”

  Sara frowned. She wondered if Preston had just informed her in euphemistic terms that his daughter had been suspended from school. Tutoring someone who didn’t want to learn wouldn’t be easy. Nevertheless, the girl’s story pulled heavy on her heartstrings. Bailey had just lost her mother—no wonder she was acting out. To her own astonishment, Sara heard herself ask, “What do you need from me to reassure you of my teaching abilities? I can get you references.”

  “Yes, I think references will do. The sooner the better. If you come by our house tomorrow, I can show you the contract, as well as the material you would need to cover with her. Would ten a.m. work?”

  Sara felt a sudden urge to back out, but instead she nodded. “No problem.” It wasn’t like she expected to get much writing done tomorrow.

  Preston got up. “Wonderful. It’s been nice to meet you. See you at ten.” He parted with a curt nod, leaving Sara behind in the crowded coffee shop.

  Soon after, Sara made her way to David’s office, still befuddled by the strange meeting she’d just had. David was on the phone with a client when she walked in and motioned for her to sit down, giving her a crooked grin. She loved his grin. While he discussed open-house dates, she studied his features—he was tall and strong, with tousled light brown hair and three-day stubble—he looked so rugged, so perfectly at home here in the mountains. Just watching him roused a butterfly farm in her abdomen.