When he finished his call, she jumped up from her chair and nestled herself in his arms, her head resting on his broad chest. If he wouldn’t take initiative, maybe she could coax it out of him.
“I’ve got news.” Her voice was smothered against his sweater.
“What’s that? Let me guess. You’ve got power.”
“Power?” She looked up, confused. If anything, she was feeling powerless these days.
“The cabin.” David bent down and gave her a kiss. “Remember?” he said. “Your power was out.”
“Oh. I forgot about that,” she murmured, kissing him back, until he broke away. “I’ve been at the coffee shop.”
“Seriously, I can get you a new apartment in no time.”
“Ha!” Sara wagged her finger. “I see what you’re doing. Don’t count on it, mister—I won’t be so easily swayed. I think having a private cook for a month sounds fabulous.”
“I’m actually a pretty bad cook.”
“Better start learning then.”
“Very well,” he said. “What’s this news of yours then?”
She pulled away slightly. “I may have found a job. As a tutor.”
“A tutor?” David frowned slightly. “Where have I heard that word before? Wasn’t the lady we found a tutor?’
“Yes.” Sara leaned forward on the desk, picked up a pen, and started scribbling on the paper pad. “It was supposed to be her job—tutoring the Sinclair girl.”
She felt David staring at her.
“You’re kidding, right?” he said. “You’re taking the dead woman’s job?”
“Why not?”
“For one, she’s dead. Second, Lauren Sinclair killed herself a couple of months ago. Terrence is right—they do seem to be an unlucky family.” He placed a hand underneath Sara’s chin, forcing her to look at him. “And with your gift being what it is… don’t you feel uneasy about that?”
“A little.”
“Sara, you dream about dead people who have unfinished business. They seem to find you easily enough—why go looking for them?”
“I don’t want to go looking for them.” Sara sighed. “But I can’t really avoid them either. Besides, I’m hoping it’ll just go away. I lived my life just fine without any ghosts before last spring. Maybe it will stop on its own.”
David grunted something indiscernible.
“Look,” she said, “I have an appointment tomorrow with Preston Sinclair. He asked me, and I said yes. I can always decline if it doesn’t feel right.” She placed her hands on David’s cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. And I really could use some cash flow in my bank account.”
“You don’t have to convince me—I don’t make your decisions for you. I just want to make sure you’ve thought it over, that’s all.” He smiled at her. “Let’s talk about something else. What are your plans for tonight?”
“Making sure the woodstove works. What about you?”
“I have to go to my mom’s. She has something she wants to talk about. I think living without Pops is hard on her. Want to come?”
Sara embraced him, noticing how his eyes had turned sad. “I’d love to, but I think I should prepare for tomorrow. You know where to find me if you want company.”
When Sara finally returned to her cabin, it had cooled off significantly. It took a while before she had the woodstove going again. She was grateful she didn’t get cold easily—it was something she and her father had had in common. Her mother, who had been the opposite, had always complained about their Viking blood whenever she thought the air conditioning was too frosty. Her father had often joked that Sara would have liked living in Sweden, his homeland. But he had been an avid outdoorsman, and they both knew Sara’s outdoorsiness ended with her tolerance of extreme temperatures. Her father would have approved of David, she thought, blinking away the mist in her eyes. She still thought it was remarkable that her mother had convinced her father to stay in Los Angeles, which was, in her mind, about as different from Sweden as possible. She thought back to her snow-shoveling session this morning, and memories of LA filled her heart with longing. Granted the traffic in SoCal was a disaster, but the beach was a lot less hazardous than the ski slopes.
Chapter 3
The next morning power still hadn’t been restored to her cabin. Last night she had discovered the woodstove, although charming, was a lot trickier to operate than anticipated. The cabin warmed up quickly, but soon became uncomfortably hot, making sleeping impossible. After some tossing and turning, she had opened the window a crack, but then toward the morning, the temperature had plummeted. Her warm blanket had barely been enough to keep the chill off, and getting out of bed had taken a serious amount of willpower.
With no warm water to shower with, she had migrated to David’s place. His warm apartment was a relief, although she would rather bite off her own tongue than tell him that.
Looking into the mirror in David’s bathroom, she applied a touch more mascara, hoping to highlight the deep blue of her eyes and not the bags underneath them.
“You look nice.” David handed Sara a cup of freshly brewed coffee when she came into the kitchen.
“Thanks.” She glanced down at herself. She was wearing a black skirt just above the knee, tights, and a soft purple angora sweater. Her thick blond hair was braided. She looked professional enough, yet not too bland—perfect for a tutor.
When she arrived at Sinclair Lodge, she parked her car at the end of the plowed driveway. Mesmerized, she looked up at the wooden building. It was barely visible from the road, hidden by the tall evergreens around it. David had said the lodge was big, and it was—she had always been under the assumption it was just another apartment complex. However, it was not overly pretentious; instead it was almost sober in style, without frills. The main part of the cabin had several steep-pitched gabled roofs, rising high, the dark wood contrasting with the white snow that had settled on it. From either side of the cabin sprawled a one-story expansion. Sara craned her neck to look up at the main building. The windows on the second floor stared down at her as if passing judgment. Her heart whispered a soft warning, but she shook it off and walked up to the front door.
She rang the doorbell, intimidated by the large, heavy wooden front door, which was decorated with a luxurious Christmas wreath, the sole embellishment to the lodge’s austere exterior. The sound of a dog’s bark, at first muffled but rapidly getting louder, traveled through the woodwork. The door opened on a chain, partially revealing a woman with a mousy face and medium-length straight brown hair. She was dressed in pleated black trousers and a black sweater, accentuating her paleness.
“Yes?” Her voice was soft, almost drowned out by the loud barking. “Quiet, Peaches!” The silence that followed surprised Sara—the woman’s presence exuded little authority.
“Hello,” Sara smiled politely. “I’m Sara Eriksson. I have a meeting with Mr. Sinclair.”
The woman looked Sara up and down and raised an eyebrow. Sighing, she removed the chain and opened the door. “Come in. Please leave your boots here in the hallway.”
Sara felt like she was entering a cave. A faint uneasiness crept over her, settling inside her bones. The hall was dimly lit; her eyes took a minute to adjust after the brightness outside. Just like the exterior, the interior was framed in dark woodwork. In the middle of the hall sat a large Dobermann, blending in with its environment.
“I hope you’re not afraid of dogs,” the woman said rather matter-of-factly.
“No—he doesn’t bite, does he?”
“She. And only when she needs to.”
Without the “need” defined, Sara wasn’t exactly at ease. Apprehensively, she undid the laces of her furry snow boots, keeping one eye on the beast.
“I’ll take your coat.” The woman was hovering quietly behind her, almost fading into the background.
“Thank you.” Sara handed her jacket over and the woman stepped into an opening in the wall Sara was barely able to make out.
“Follow me,” the woman said when she reappeared, still not bothering to introduce herself. She quietly went ahead down the hallway, her movements accompanied only by the faint rustling of her trousers.
The hallway led to a large living room. Sara’s feet sunk deep into a thick carpet.
“Wait here,” the woman said and vanished back into the hallway. To Sara’s alarm, the big Dobermann stayed behind.
“Good girl.” Sara crossed her arms over her chest, not wanting to seduce the dog with any dangling body parts.
The animal sat down, eyes glued on Sara. The dog seemed well trained. What had the woman called her again? Peaches? The name wasn’t befitting—Sara could think of several more suitable ones.
Since Peaches wasn’t moving, Sara dared to look around a little. The dark woodwork sucked all the light away, creating a grim atmosphere. If the intent had been to make the room feel cozy, it had failed to do so, although if pressed, she couldn’t exactly have explained why. Large dark brown leather couches were arranged in a sitting area, in front of a softly burning gas fireplace. An ornate grandfather clock stood against one wall, its pendulum still. Someone needed to wind it. The clock’s hands were stuck at thirty-seven minutes past ten.
She walked further in, toward the windows on the opposite wall. Peaches followed her like a shadow but did not growl.
Sara eyed the windows curiously. They practically covered the whole wall, reaching up to the high ceiling, and with only sheer curtains in front of them, they should have let in more daylight. She moved one of the curtains for a glimpse outside. Large evergreen trees, half covered in snow, stood close to the window, obstructing Sara’s view.
“I should really cut some of them down, but I can’t bring myself to do it. My wife liked the trees.”
Sara turned at the sound of Preston’s voice, expecting to see him in the doorway, but he wasn’t there. She looked around, somewhat perplexed.
“Up here.”
She looked up. At the other end of the room, tucked up high in one of the corners, was a corridor with a balustrade over which Preston was leaning.
“I’ll come down,” he said.
When he entered the living room, he turned the lights up to a brighter setting. “Too dark,” he said, shaking his head. “Bailey, she likes it dark. Drives me nuts. Her mother often had migraines and would always turn the lights low. Now Bailey’s doing the same.” He opened the curtains. “Makes me feel like a bat.”
Despite the trees blocking much of the direct light, the room appeared friendlier with the curtains open.
“That’s better.” Preston motioned for Sara to sit down on one of the sofas. “Did Ruth get you anything to drink?”
So that was her name. A bat actually wasn’t a bad description, Sara mused. She shook her head and said, “No, she hadn’t gotten around to that, I think. But I’m fine, thank you.”
He nodded. “I see you met Peaches. Peaches, come meet Sara.” He let the dog sniff her, while explaining to Peaches that Sara was good folk. To Sara’s relief, the dog immediately lost interest in her and padded toward a pillow next to the fire.
Preston proceeded to ask Sara some questions about her work experience and showed her the lesson material they had. Her answers seemed to satisfy him, and when they had come to a stopping point, he stood up.
“Come, let me show you around the house.” He waved her along.
Obediently, Sara followed Preston out of the room and back into the dark hallway. Preston took a right, revealing a corridor she hadn’t noticed on her way in. He showed her his office, a gym filled with workout equipment, and the kitchen. In contrast to the living room, the kitchen was bright—white glossy cabinet doors, granite countertops in a light color, and modern, stainless steel appliances. A bald man wearing a black suit stretched tightly over his bulky chest was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper.
“This is Nick, my driver,” Preston said.
Nick looked up briefly, coldly staring Sara up and down, after which he gave a short nod. Without a word, he shifted his attention back to the newspaper. He looked more like a member of a security detail than a driver, she thought. The only thing missing was an ear piece.
“You won’t be seeing him much. He’s mostly with me,” Preston continued. “We also have a cook, Cassie. I don’t know where she is right now. Usually you’ll find her in here, though. She serves three meals a day, if you wish to partake.”
They left the kitchen. Preston pointed to the end of the corridor, which was closed off by a door.
“Through there are our guest quarters, but you’ll have no reason to go in there.”
They walked back to the main hallway and went up the stairs Sara had seen earlier. When they arrived on the second floor, he pointed to the right. “This way is the master bedroom. That way,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction, “is where you’ll find Bailey’s room.”
Sara followed Preston down the hall until he stopped in front of an open door. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark. Preston reached inside the doorway and flipped a switch, bathing the room in light.
“Bailey?” he asked.
The room was empty. The bed was unmade, but otherwise it wasn’t too messy. If anything, it looked rather impersonal for the room of a twelve-year-old girl.
Preston shrugged. “Maybe she’s out with Ruth.”
He continued down the corridor and stopped in front of another door. “This will be your room.” He opened the door to a bright room with a large bed.
“Excuse me?” Sara thought she must have misunderstood. “My room?”
“Yes, you’ll be required to stay here most nights. I’m often gone for work, and Bailey needs people around. This was the arrangement I had made with Ms. Jenkins.”
Sara bit her lip. “Uh, this was Ms. Jenkins’s room?”
“Yes, but she didn’t sleep here even once. She arrived, changed into her snowsuit, and left to go skiing. The rest you know. We sent all her things back to her next of kin. The room was cleaned, obviously,” he added stiffly.
“Oh.” Sara walked into the room. It was nice and big, with a slanted ceiling. The same dark wood lined the walls, but two sides of the room had been painted in a warm off-white, creating a rustic and much-less-oppressive atmosphere. The thick carpet was light cream. The dark bedframe contrasted nicely with its bright surroundings, and the grey–and-cream-colored bedsheets were topped with a few red accent pillows. Attached to the room was a bathroom, beautifully tiled, complete with a whirlpool bathtub and walk-in shower. A far cry from her cabin, that was for sure. Still, she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to spend the night here.
“There are a few more guest rooms up here like this one; Ruth has the one at the end of this hallway, when she stays here. I have two house rules when you’re alone with my daughter—no alcohol and no men. Actually, no men ever—I’m not running a hotel. Nick will stay behind when I leave for the night. Ruth has offered to drive for now—she’s been incredibly supportive during all this. But maybe in the future it won’t be necessary for Nick to be here. You’ll get most weekends off, since I plan to be here on those days. When you’re off, there’s no need to stay here, but if you do, you’ll follow the rules.”
“Okay. Does Nick sleep up here as well?” She tried to keep her tone neutral.
“No, he sleeps downstairs. I assume you have a car if Bailey wants to go somewhere—but feel free to use Nick as well. Cassie will be here during the day, but she’s local and goes home at night. She has Saturday afternoons and Sundays off. Come, let me show you the garage and ski room.”
Sara followed him down the stairs again. He walked back toward the front door and disappeared into the little room where Ruth had hung her jacket. Preston opened a door in the far side wall. “Through here you can get to the garage.” A little corridor led to another building, separate from the main house. When they reached the building, he opened a side door. “You can store your skis here—if you ski, that
is. I’m not a huge fan myself. I prefer running and swimming. Bailey’s very good at skiing, though, just like her mother…” His voice trailed off.
The ski room was as uninspiring as the name suggested. It felt almost like a basement, with pale light flooding the white room. There was space for boots and skis—a few pairs of each were hanging out on one side. Carpet tiles covered the floor, stained here and there, and in the middle was a wooden bench. The room smelled nice, though, Sara observed—flowery. It was familiar somehow.
After showing her the large garage that occupied the main space inside the building, Preston took her back to the living room. “I’d hoped to introduce you to Bailey, but I’m not sure how much it matters. She’s not looking forward to spending time with you, or with anyone, really.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Preston looked like he wanted to say something more but didn’t. He settled for a frown.
Sara gave a nervous cough. “Um, I have a cabin not too far from here. Is it really necessary for me to stay overnight?”
“Yes. I need someone to look after Bailey when I’m gone. Cassie is sweet, but she can’t keep track of the girl, and besides, she has her own family to care for. And childcare isn’t exactly Ruth’s cup of tea. I’ve included the nights in your salary.” He pushed a few sheets of paper toward her on the coffee table.
Sara picked up the contract. It took her a moment to find the amount Preston had written down. Her eyes widened. Holy cow! She looked up at Preston.
He gave a faint smile. “I trust there will be no issue with you staying overnight?”
“No,” Sara stammered, still blinking at the contract. “I think not.”
“Good. That’s settled, then. I was hoping you could move in this weekend.”
Chapter 4
Sara snapped her suitcase closed. She had packed all she would need for a while. Even her skis were loaded up in her car, though she would rather leave them here. She’d received a message from Sinclair Lodge asking whether she could bring them, since Bailey liked skiing so much. In the end, if it would help her to bond with the girl, it was a small price to pay.
The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge Page 3