The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge
Page 4
She lugged the heavy suitcase through the fresh layer of snow that had fallen overnight. Her electricity had been restored, but she didn’t mind leaving the cabin for a while. If only she were going to a more joyful place. David, eager to win his bet, had called it cheating, of course. No such thing, she had argued. After all, work is work. He wasn’t all that excited about her new occupation, pointing out how unusual the job requirements were. She knew he was right, but Sara laughed it off, pretending to be braver than she felt. She now wished she had asked for more time to consider Preston’s offer. The thought of the motherless girl clouded her judgment, and her desire to help Bailey in this difficult time had overcome her apprehension. And, if she was honest, the money Preston was willing to pay had not hurt his offer either.
Thinking back to those few minutes she had spent with the driver, Nick, who had needed information to complete her background check, gave her the shivers. His prying, pale blue eyes never wavered from hers during the whole process, as if already peeling back the layers of her private life, ready to discover any stashed-away secrets. Not a big talker, he had grunted the bare necessities in a harsh East Coast accent. It hadn’t taken her long to decide she would avoid Nick as much as possible.
Back at the lodge, it was again Ruth who opened the door. She was dressed in a similar drab black outfit, this time accented with a black shawl resembling a short cape.
Sara smiled brightly at the stern woman. “Hello again.”
“Welcome,” Ruth said in a tone that wasn’t particularly welcoming. She pressed her thin lips together while stepping aside to let Sara in. “You can leave your luggage here. Nick will bring it up.”
“Great.” Sara suppressed a shudder as she entered the dark hall.
Just like the previous time, Ruth took Sara’s coat and waited for her to take off her boots. “Bailey is in the kitchen. Follow me.”
Walking along the hallway, Sara caught herself stooping a little, the darkness pressing an unseen weight down on her. She had the vague impression that someone was watching her, prickling the nape of her neck. The hallway seemed longer than she remembered.
The bright kitchen was like a breath of fresh air. Half expecting to see Nick at the table, she was relieved to find only a slender girl sitting there. A middle-aged woman was standing in front of the stove. When the woman saw Ruth and Sara come in, she quickly wiped her hands on a towel. She was wearing an apron stretched over her enormous bosom, which wiggled with every movement. Her dark hair, streaked with grey, was sloppily tucked into a bun, with some strands sticking to her shiny forehead, sweaty from tending to the steaming pans on the stove.
“Welcome, welcome!” The cook’s booming voice echoed through the room. She gave Sara a friendly smile as she shook her hand. “How wonderful to meet you.”
This time Sara felt the welcome was meaningful.
“Nice to meet you too. You must be Cassie?”
“In the flesh. If you need anything, just holler. I’ll keep you well fed. Looks like you need it too.” Cassie shook her head at Sara’s slim figure. “Girls these days.”
The girl at the table hadn’t moved. “You must be Bailey,” Sara said, walking toward her. “I’m Sara. Nice to meet you.”
Close up, the first thing that struck Sara was the girl’s eyes. Surrounded by dark rings, they looked dull and hollow in the daylight, their expression old and weary. The second thing Sara noticed was the short hair. Dark brown, and perhaps a bit curly, although it was hard to tell—it appeared to have been cut with a pair of hedge scissors, with big chunks missing here and there. In some places it was almost cut to the scalp.
“Hi.” The girl’s voice was soft and monotone. She extended a hand with fingernails bitten to the quick. “I’m so happy you’re here. I mean, what would I do without a proper education?”
Sara, still feeling the twinge in her chest from taking in Bailey’s appearance, grimaced at that last remark. Obviously bonding would take some time.
“Yes, well, I’m hoping we can find some things you’ll enjoy learning about,” Sara said brightly.
“Doubtful.” Bailey sat back down in and picked up her iPhone. The pointy bones of her shoulders were visible through her shirt. “I’m going out today.” She said it without looking at Sara. “Lots of fresh snow. I figure you need a day to settle in.”
“Oh,” Sara said. “I was hoping we could look at some of the material together today.”
“Not interested.”
“Bailey,” Ruth cut in, “you’re being rude.”
Bailey sighed. “Whatever. You’re not my mother.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.
“Very well,” Sara said slowly. “How about tomorrow? Maybe we can work out a schedule that will suit both of us.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“I’m just talking about making the schedule, not doing any work. And I think it would be good for us to get to know each other a little better…”
Bailey didn’t answer.
“While Bailey tries to find her manners, Sara, let me show you to your room.” Ruth gestured for Sara to follow her.
Sara’s suitcase had miraculously found its way up to her. Nick was nothing if not expedient, at least.
“Why don’t you unpack,” Ruth suggested. “When you’re done, you can come back to the kitchen. Bailey will be out by then.”
“What happened to her hair?” Sara asked.
“What does it look like? She cut it.” Ruth hesitated in the doorway. “Bailey’s a good girl, you know. I hope you’ll be gentle with her.” Then she left.
A little flummoxed, Sara stared at the empty doorway. What did Ruth think she would do with Bailey? Whip her into submission? Was Bailey really so out of control? A little perturbed, she closed the door. At least it seemed like Ruth cared.
Sara shifted her attention to her suitcase, and with a loud groan, she lifted it onto the queen-sized bed. Sitting down beside it, she noticed someone had put a small bouquet of red flowers in a little vase on her nightstand. They matched the accent pillows on the bed. Furniture was sparse, but there was a large set of drawers she could use for her clothes as well as a big closet. A small desk and a few empty bookshelves had been placed close to the window, which faced the front of the house. She gave a sigh of relief. It wasn’t nearly as gloomy up here as it was downstairs.
After unpacking, she inspected the bathroom. The place was absolutely spotless. It almost felt like a hotel, despite Preston’s insistence that he wasn’t running one. Fresh towels hung over the edge of the tub, and small tubes of shampoo and soap on the counter. The floor was warm; someone must have turned on the floor heating. Sara rubbed her feet over the tiles. This she could get used to.
When she returned to the kitchen, Cassie was the only one there. The woman handed her a steaming mug of coffee.
“I made it fresh. Thought you could use some.”
Sara took the mug and immediately spilled some hot coffee on her hand, causing her to jerk and slosh more coffee onto the floor. She quickly put the cup down on the table, apologizing profusely while grabbing some paper towels to clean up the mess. When she finally sat down, she had offered Cassie enough evidence of her clumsy nature that the woman was eyeing her with some weariness.
“How long have you worked here?” Sara asked in an attempt at small talk.
“Oh, since the beginning—when they built this place.” Cassie poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down in front of Sara. “Let me see. That was eight years ago, give or take. Things were very different then.”
“Eight years ago? Bailey must’ve been about four?”
Cassie smiled. “Yes, that’s about right. Sweet little girl. Determined, though. Lauren, her mother, would take her up the hill to teach her how to ski, and she was up for it. No fear, that girl.” Her smile faded a little. “They were happy together here. Mother and daughter.”
Sara bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Sara feigned surprise, not wanting to disclose that she had heard the rumors. “Oh, how terrible! Here?”
“No—good gracious, that’d be something! In Seattle, dear. That’s why they’re here. Bailey can’t bear to be in that house anymore. I don’t know about Mr. Sinclair. He’s a cool one—hard to tell what goes on in his head. But I suspect it must be hard for him too…” She didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t have to. “Although I doubt it,” was written plainly on Cassie’s face. The cook seemed none too charmed by her employer.
Sara wondered about that, but decided not to go there on her first day. Instead she asked, “Can you tell me a little about Bailey’s mother?”
“Sure thing. She was the nicest lady. Pretty. Dark hair like Bailey. Athletic. Very clever. She worked with money, lots of numbers—not my thing. But she was very good at it. Could do these crazy calculations in her head. Bailey used to ask her the most difficult questions and then check her answers with a calculator. She was always right. Without fail.” Cassie stared off into the distance. “But it wasn’t always fun. She had these horrible migraines that would last for days. And… I guess she was depressed. Must’ve been. Poor soul.”
“Can I ask… How did she kill herself?”
Cassie sighed. “With a gun. I still can’t believe it. That’s not easy to do, y’know. And to leave all that mess… Poor Bailey.”
For all his gossiping, it seemed Terrence had been right. A gruesome image popped into Sara’s brain, turning her stomach. “Did—did Bailey find her?”
Cassie shook her head. “No, he did. Bailey was spared that scene, thankfully.”
The he was Preston, Sara presumed. “That must’ve been such a shock. The poor girl.”
Cassie pulled a tissue from her apron and swiped it under her eyes.
Sara, desperate for a change in subject, asked, “What does Mr. Sinclair do that he’s away so often?”
“He runs a company,” Cassie said. She finished her coffee and placed her cup back on the table with a loud bang. “Something medical. He should spend more time with Bailey, if you ask me. He’s avoiding her. And Bailey’s only sinking deeper into the hole.” She looked at Sara. “Maybe your being here will do her some good.”
Sara nodded, a little discouraged. Bailey certainly didn’t seem to think her being here would make anything better. Cassie was glancing at the stove, prompting Sara to ask one more question. “Did you meet the previous tutor? Ms. Jenkins?”
“I sure did—what an unfortunate event that was! Poor woman. I met her only briefly. Hardly talked, really. She arrived, changed into her snowsuit, and was out the door before I could offer her anything to eat or drink. Not one for chitchat, though she seemed friendly. I warned her against going out—the weather, y’know—but she just laughed it off.” Cassie shook her head. “Silliness, if you ask me. No common sense. There was no need for her to die. And so young. Good thing the family wasn’t here yet…” She got up and returned to her pots and pans. “I’ve got more work to do, if you don’t mind. You’re welcome to stay, or you could explore the house…”
Sara thanked Cassie for the coffee and excused herself. As soon as she entered the dark hallway she almost turned back to the kitchen. Instead she kept walking, past Preston’s study, where she could hear a one-sided conversation. He was probably on the phone.
She went into the living room. The lights were dimmed, the room hiding so many dark corners that Sara felt a little tingle go down her spine. The fire was on, flickering and dancing, casting eerie shadows. Instantly Sara reached out for the light switch next to the door and turned the knob. As the room lit up, she walked to the windows and opened the sheer curtains.
“Is that really necessary?”
Sara turned. To her left was a nook she hadn’t spotted before, filled with bookshelves and a few comfortable chairs. In one of the chairs sat Ruth, her shawl folded around her like a pair of wings.
“Oh, I didn’t see you. Do you always sit in the dark?” Sara said, not bothering to hide her surprise.
Ruth arched her eyebrows. “No, of course not. But today I felt like sitting here in the dark.”
Sara suppressed a smirk. Ruth seemed determined to make that bat comparison stick. Let’s hope she doesn’t sleep upside down in a cave, she thought. “The room looked so somber. I just wanted to let some light in, that’s all.” She made an attempt to smile.
“The room is somber. It was perfect for her. On good days, it would be light, like this. On bad days, it would be as it was when you walked in. The bad days always won. You should see their bedroom. No wonder Preston often sleeps in the guest wing. They say don’t speak ill of the dead, but she was suffocating everything and everyone.”
Sara had a vision of a strand of ivy, tenaciously holding on, smothering everything underneath while hiding its destruction with glossy leaves. She shifted her feet. “Um, who are we talking about here?”
Ruth got up from her chair. “Lauren, Bailey’s mother. Who else?”
“I see. I don’t know much about her.”
“She was depressed. But also needy, mean, and manipulative. She really didn’t need to commit suicide for that poor girl to have childhood trauma.” It came out with such vehemence, Sara took a step back.
“I take it you didn’t like her.”
“No one did. Ask Nick, he drove her often.”
Ask Nick? Yeah, right. Sara would be hard-pressed to ask him for directions—let alone a character assessment of their employer’s dead wife.
Ruth wasn’t done with her rant yet. “Besides,” she went on, “what kind of mother kills herself and leaves a child behind like that? Without any explanation whatsoever. Not even a note.”
Sara shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. It sounds like she must have been suffering—dealing with depression is hard,” she added, mumbling.
Ruth gave a loud snort.
Although Sara had never met Lauren, it seemed wrong for Ruth to be trashing her like this, without her able to defend herself. Besides, David had met her, and he had said she was nice. “What about Preston?” she pushed back. “He married her. He must’ve liked her.”
“In the beginning, maybe,” Ruth scoffed. “Poor Preston. He could have done so much better. Lauren was a good catch, I’ll admit. She made tons of money before they married. But they were going through a divorce—the fascination had clearly ended.”
Sara frowned. “I don’t understand—why are you telling me all this?”
“Bailey spent a lot of time with her mother, so I thought it might be useful for you to know what her mother was really like. Bailey’s behavior is alarming. She resembles her mother more and more. You may have a good influence on her. I sure don’t. Bailey doesn’t like me much.” Ruth readjusted her shawl and made her way to the exit. “Good luck,” she said in passing. “Enjoy your stay.”
Sara watched her leave the room. At least she and Bailey agreed on something. She didn’t like Ruth much either.
Chapter 5
When Sara woke, the sun was shining into her room. She could see blue sky through the window—no snow today. She quickly got up, but took her time enjoying the amazing bathroom. As she made her way downstairs, the smell of bacon and eggs pulled her toward the kitchen. Her stomach gave a sharp squeeze. Cassie was a fabulous cook, that much she had discovered last night, though she’d eaten alone. So much for family dinners. Preston had walked in while she was eating to say hello and welcome, but he only stayed for five minutes. Ruth and Nick didn’t show up at all, and Bailey took her plate up to her room.
When Sara entered the kitchen, she was surprised to find Nick in front of the stove.
; “Good morning,” she stammered. “Cassie’s not here today?”
Nick shook his bald head. “Sunday.” He half turned to look at her; he was wearing Cassie’s wildly colored flowery apron. It was tight on his chest as well, for altogether different reasons. Sara’s mouth twitched, but she managed to keep a straight face.
“Right. I forgot.” She walked over to the coffee machine, where a fresh pot was waiting. “Do you mind if I have some?”
Nick shrugged.
“Thanks.” Not really wanting to stay, Sara contemplated going back up to her room with her coffee. Her stomach, however, had different ideas—it growled audibly. Hesitantly, she looked around. Was she expected to grab her own food today? Not that she would mind, if only she knew where to find it.
She sat down gingerly at the table. Maybe one of the others would walk in soon. A shadow fell over her. Alarmed, she looked up straight into Nick’s face.
“You like eggs?” he asked gruffly.
“Um, yes…” Sara managed to squeak out.
He nodded somewhat approvingly and shoved a steaming plate and some silverware in front of her. “Eat.”
Sara stared at the plate with wide eyes. A few pieces of crisp bacon lay on one side next to a tasty-looking omelet, neatly folded. “You shouldn’t have—I mean, thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
Nick, who had returned to the stove, didn’t respond. Sara picked up her fork and took a small bite. The omelet was delicious. Surprised, she looked up at Nick again.
He glanced back at her. “It’s not poisoned.”
Sara’s face heated up. “Right. I wasn’t thinking that. Well, okay, maybe a little. It’s just, you’re rather intimidating.”
Nick snorted. “I get paid to be intimidating.”
“I see.” Sara busied herself with her omelet. “Can I ask why? This is delicious, by the way.”