The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge

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The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge Page 8

by Lucia N Davis

Defeated, Preston turns and heads for the door. When he opens it, Lauren’s voice, sharp as steel, spells out the verdict. “I want a divorce.”

  He stops and nods briefly, not looking back. “You’ll have it,” he says, and leaves the room.

  As Lauren’s shoulders start to shake, the room fades to black.

  Chapter 11

  When Sara woke up, it was already nine in the morning. She pulled the covers a little higher. There was no need to get up early, since she had been given the day off. Last night during dinner, Ryan had convinced Preston to take Dawn and Bailey skiing for the day.

  “What’s one more day of vacation, right?” Ryan had said jovially while downing his third glass of wine. Ryan and Dawn, back from their honeymoon, were a lively couple, full of wild tales about their trip to the Fiji Islands, which sounded lovely. Ryan proved to be an incredible storyteller. His voice was spellbinding, his vocabulary vast, and his articulation close to perfect—being an English teacher, Sara was experiencing a serious crush. Bailey seemed happy with the distraction Ryan and Dawn provided, but Preston looked tired. Sara had noticed he drank little and talked even less.

  It must have been hard for him to hear their stories, she thought, mulling over last night’s dream. After all, his own marriage had been in shambles. It had been interesting hearing more about him last night. Preston might have been quiet, but Ryan gushed eagerly about his friend’s accomplishments. She learned that Preston was the CEO of a fairly successful biotechnology company, a long-held dream. What exactly the company did was beyond her; she had zoned out after hearing terms like “immunology” and “genome sequencing.” A true child prodigy, he had rushed through graduate and postgraduate programs, after which he had started his own company. Finding the cure for several devastating diseases was the ultimate goal—for now. Maybe a Nobel Prize at some point. He was nothing if not ambitious.

  Thinking of Preston reminded her of something he had said to Lauren in the dream. About the threats—hadn’t Bailey said something similar? Nick had claimed he offered protection—was there more to their situation than wealth?

  In the distance, water was running—Bailey was up and in the shower. Shrugging off her contemplations, Sara ventured out of bed. Now she had today off, she could see if David had some spare time.

  Down in the kitchen, Cassie busied herself with breakfast. At the table, a hungover Ryan looked like death, whereas Dawn, as chipper as the day before, was chatting animatedly with Bailey.

  As Cassie placed some plates of scrambled eggs on the table, Ryan turned a deeper shade of green.

  “None for me, thank you, Cassie.” He pushed his plate away. Even his voice had lost some of its luster this morning.

  “I’ll take it, thanks,” Sara said, rescuing the eggs from their fate in the garbage disposal. In her haste, she bumped the plate against her coffee mug, spilling coffee on the table. “Oops, sorry.”

  As she got up to grab some paper towels, she tripped over Peaches, who had quietly stretched herself out beneath Sara’s chair. “Ouch!” Sara fell forward, and her knee made painful contact with the floor. “Sorry, Peaches.”

  Dawn watched Sara’s antics with some amusement. “I guess Ryan’s not the only one who drank too much last night.”

  “No, she’s always this clumsy,” Bailey said with a dismissive wave while attacking her breakfast. She was clearly impatient to get going. “Uncle Ryan, you think you can make it?” Both she and Dawn giggled.

  Ryan grunted something inaudible and lifted his head, which he had been resting on his arms. “Hold on, sweetheart. Dawn, get me an ibuprofen, will you? My head’s killing me.”

  Dawn dug around in her purse, proudly produced a bottle, and handed it to her husband.

  While Ryan nursed his headache with pills and water, the rest finished their breakfast. Dawn nudged Ryan into action. “The mountain air will make you feel better, baby,” she said in a soothing tone. Stalling, he watched them leave the kitchen, then slowly rose from his seat. “The young are so annoying sometimes…” he said. Sara guessed he was referring to his wife’s quick recovery from last night’s inebriety. With a painful grimace, he shuffled out of the room.

  Sara stayed behind, scratching Peaches behind the ears. “I’m not always that clumsy, right, Peaches? I just didn’t see you.” Bailey’s comment had stung a little, even if it was true. Sara would love to be as coordinated as the teenager. She couldn’t help it that her body didn’t always obey her brain’s commands.

  Her phone beeped. David, free this afternoon, wanted to meet her for lunch and was hoping to take her skiing after. She let out a long sigh. There was no escaping this absurd winter sport. With some melancholy, she thought back to San Francisco, where the winters were mild and the most activity she had ever done were a few half-hearted runs along the Embarcadero. She could say no, of course, but she wanted to spend time with David, and skiing seemed to make him happy.

  She decided she might as well grab her equipment now and load it into her car. Inside the ski room, Ryan, still sallow-faced, was putting on his ski boots while the girls talked outside. A strong, almost sickly flowery scent hit Sara on the way in, and an image of her parents’ backyard in Los Angeles flashed in her mind’s eye. A small lawn of dry grass ending at a fence, which was covered by a climbing shrub full of little white starry flowers. Their fragrance was most extravagant in the evening. With a sharp twinge in her chest, she remembered the many evenings she’d spent with her parents on the patio, the air suffused with the flowers’ sweet perfume.

  “Now what was the name of that flower?” she mumbled, a little too loud.

  “Pardon?” Ryan looked up, briefly distracted from his misery.

  “The flowers I keep smelling in here. It’s so familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  Ryan blinked a few times, seemingly trying to decide whether she was messing with him. “I’m sorry, flowers?”

  Sara smiled apologetically. “Don’t worry, no one else seems to smell it either. Just me.” She shrugged. “There must be something wrong with my nose.”

  Ryan sniffed a few times, his cheeks even pastier than before. “I smell all sorts of things, none of them flowery.”

  “Yeah, as I said.” She grabbed her skis. “I don’t mind smelling flowers—it brings back all sorts of wonderful memories.”

  He gave her a curious look.

  Realizing he must be thinking her battery wasn’t fully charged, she decided a quick exit was best. “Well, have fun skiing. Hope your head feels better soon!” Lugging her skis and boots with her, she made for her car. Great, now Ryan was going to tell her boss she was smelling things. That would surely increase his confidence in her.

  After loading up her car, she went back to the main house. Returning to the kitchen for another cup of coffee, she ran into Ruth.

  “Good morning,” Sara said brightly. “Where’s Cassie?”

  “I don’t know. Out for groceries, maybe.”

  Sara poured herself some coffee. She observed Ruth quietly; the woman was dressed in her usual dreary outfit. Her face was plain, without makeup, except maybe a hint of mascara. An affair with Preston? Or a one-night stand? Ruth just didn’t seem the type.

  She tried another question. “I haven’t seen Preston this morning. Is he still sleeping?”

  A quick, calculating look came her way. “No,” Ruth answered slowly. “He’s working. Do you need him for something?”

  “No. I just wondered, that’s all. I hardly see him. Whereas you see him all the time.”

  “We work together. I assume that’s what you mean.”

  “Right.” Sara took a deep breath. Giving in to the impulse before she could change her mind, she asked, “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  Ruth didn’t answer.

  She forged ahead. “Are you and Preston, um, involved?”

  Ruth’s hands, holding a piece of toast she just had meticulously covered with a thin layer of jam, froze in front of her half-open m
outh. She stayed like that for a few seconds, as if her ears needed time to process the question. Slowly she put the toast down on her plate. “What? What did you just ask me?” Her voice was cold.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just wondering if you and Preston are, you know, seeing each other?”

  “Yes, I understand what being involved means. Wonder away. I don’t see how it’s any of your damn business.”

  Sara didn’t back down. “Maybe it’s not. But I live here. And I take care of his daughter. It would help me to know more about the dynamics of this household.”

  “Did she put you up to this? Bailey?”

  Sara thought it best to keep things vague. “Not exactly.”

  “I knew it.” Ruth narrowed her eyes, giving Sara a nasty look.

  “Well?”

  “Fine. What do you think? Do I look like Preston’s type?” It came out defiantly, but there was a distinct undertone of pain.

  “I don’t know what his type is.”

  Ruth swallowed something away. “Not me.”

  “The fact that you’re not his type doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Then you don’t know Preston,” Ruth scoffed. “To answer your question, no, I’m not involved with Preston. Never have been. I know Bailey thinks we had an affair. She’s not wrong about the affair—it just wasn’t with me.” Ruth got up. “Thanks for ruining my breakfast.”

  “Hold on. You’re saying Preston was having an affair?”

  “Again, I don’t see how this is any of your business.”

  “It’s not. But Bailey is my business. She’s hurting, Ruth. And I’m a virtual stranger to her. Like I said, it would help me to understand this household a little better.”

  The Bailey argument seemed to be working. Even though she was clearly hesitant to talk, Ruth gave in. “I’m pretty sure it’s over. The affair.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Please,” Ruth said, rolling her eyes. “I schedule his meetings. His haircuts, doctor visits, when he can hit the gym. I order birthday gifts, bouquets for his anniversary—well, used to, anyway. I think I, of all people, can tell when something’s up. He was blocking off chunks of time. And he was trying to hide it from Lauren. But like I said, it stopped.”

  “Do you know who he was having the affair with?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Ruth smirked.

  Sara cocked her head. “You don’t know either, do you? And it bothers you.” Ruth’s irritated expression told her she wasn’t far off.

  “I think I’m done answering your questions.” Ruth slammed the door on her way out.

  “Wait—” Sara had wanted to ask one more thing, but Ruth had left faster than she anticipated.

  She sat down with her coffee. The conversation hadn’t done anything to deepen her relationship with Ruth—if anything, Ruth would probably avoid her like the plague from now on. She thought over the answers she had gotten. She didn’t think Ruth was lying.

  The door to the kitchen opened and Preston walked in. “Good morning, Sara. I see you’re finally up?”

  Finally? Sara blinked. “I’ve been up for a while…”

  Oblivious to her stung expression, he smiled. “I’ve been up since six. I didn’t see you here.”

  “Ah, no, at six I was definitely still in bed. Why were you up so early?”

  “I always am. I read, work out, make phone calls. And now it’s time for breakfast.”

  Sara nodded, unsure why this surprised her. After all, he did run a multimillion-dollar company.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said while putting kale, bananas, and almond milk into a blender.

  “Of course! What did you want to talk about?” She flushed slightly; she didn’t think Ruth would have had time to tell him about their little conversation already, but if she had, these next few moments could prove very awkward.

  “How’s it been going the last couple of days? With Bailey, I mean?”

  “It’s going well, I think. She participates in the lessons and does her homework. She’s a smart girl.” Sara waited a while until he was done blending the rather distasteful mix he had put together, hesitant to proceed. “Did Bailey ever have counseling?” she asked, when the noise of the blender finally died down. “You know, to talk about… her mother’s death?” The last part of the sentence came out softly.

  Preston sat across from her, his face unreadable. “She had some counseling. But she refused to continue. Why? Are you concerned? Nick told me she woke up crying the other night.”

  Nick? Sara frowned. She hadn’t seen much of him during the weekend, nor had she heard him that night. “Bailey had a nightmare. I wasn’t aware Nick noticed.”

  “Nick is aware of everything. That’s what I pay him for.”

  That didn’t sound as reassuring as he had meant it. “It’s just…” Sara’s face turned a deeper crimson. “Bailey doesn’t seem to have much support.”

  Preston clenched his jaws. “Are you accusing me of being a bad parent?” Something in his tone of voice warned her she was on thin ice.

  She fervently shook her head. “No, no. Of course that’s not what I meant. But you have a busy job. And she has no friends, at least that I know of. She seems very isolated, that’s all.”

  “Right.” He looked away. “She’s always been a bit of a loner, although I think Lauren tried to set up social activities for her over the years. I can’t recall if she ever mentioned anybody in particular from school—she never seemed to have a lot of friends. She can be very withdrawn.”

  “Perhaps. I—I think she’s lonely. Grieving, hurting, but also lonely.”

  Preston got up rather abruptly, taking the glass of unappetizing green stew with him. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” he asked before turning and heading for the door.

  “I don’t think it works that way, Preston. You hired me to be her teacher. I think she’s aware that friends aren’t typically paid. I keep her company, but I don’t think it’s enough—” By now she was talking to herself, as Preston had left the kitchen. She sighed. That went well. She needed a break from these people.

  At lunchtime, she drove over to David’s office, where she managed to convince him to have lunch somewhere other than the Hideout.

  In between bites of her sandwich, she told David about the previous night and the conversations she had had with the occupants of the lodge.

  “They seem like a weird bunch,” David reflected.

  “An emotionally unavailable father, who seems to attract strange people to work for him. Not sure what that says about me. Poor Bailey. And they all get weirder by the day.”

  “Have you had any more uninvited guests in your bathroom?”

  “No, it’s been quiet, now that you mention it. I wonder who it could’ve been. Nick? Sneaking around is definitely part of his skillset.” She shuddered. “I really hope not.”

  “Maybe that thing… ghost… whatever you’d call it?” David looked at her questioningly. “Do ghosts do such things?”

  “Beats me. I’m not sure what ghosts can or can’t do, but I won’t rule it out. I would almost prefer a ghost over Nick, to tell you the truth. But supposing it is Lauren, I can’t figure out why she’d want me to leave. After all, I’m taking care of her daughter.”

  “Maybe that’s why. Maybe she’s jealous.”

  “Possible. But she loved Bailey. I don’t think she would chase out someone who’s trying to help her only daughter.” She drummed her fingers softly on the table. “You know, Bailey doesn’t think Lauren killed herself.”

  David shrugged. “Of course she doesn’t. It’s her mother. I’m not sure I’d put much stock into her theories about it. Nor would I encourage her suspicions.”

  Sara creased her forehead. “She actually made a pretty good argument.”

  “Sara, don’t get pulled into this.” He leaned over and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sure the police were all over it—a rich lady, an apparent suicide
, a pending divorce, and a cheating husband? I can’t imagine there wasn’t a thorough investigation.”

  “I’m just saying,” Sara protested softly, “Bailey made me wonder, that’s all. Maybe Lauren wants me to help her daughter understand. If she keeps haunting my dreams, I should try and find out. She obviously has something to tell me—even if she seems reluctant to do so.”

  “And how are you going to find out? Call the police and ask?”

  “I doubt that would work. I don’t know how to approach this yet. But I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

  David wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Not today you won’t. We’re going skiing, or did you forget?”

  “I couldn’t if I tried. No one here lets me forget about skiing.” She swore she heard her knees creaking as she got up. “Very well,” she said with an exasperated moan. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 12

  Over the next few days, Bailey and Sara fell back into their routine. Ryan and Dawn had gone back to Seattle, as had Preston and Ruth. Sara was looking forward to the weekend and spending time with David. More snowfall was predicted, which she hoped would deter David from going skiing and leave room for activities she actually enjoyed. It started snowing that Friday. Sara cast anxious glances up at the grey sky as the day progressed. When it stopped snowing later that day, Preston had already called, confirming her suspicion that he would not be able to get back because of bad road conditions. She would have to stay at the lodge that night.

  Sara’s dinner plans, however, were not thwarted by the weather. David’s truck could easily handle a bit of snow. David’s mother, Margaret, had invited them over. It was with a certain sense of relief that she left Bailey and Nick to fend for themselves. Sara was fond of Margaret. She was a petite woman, and Sara, at five foot nine, felt like a giant around her. Despite her short stature, Margaret was larger than life and blessed with quick wit and determination to conquer any obstacle in her path. When she waved Sara and David in from the cold and snow, Sara thought she detected a few new wrinkles in Margaret’s face—at the very least she looked more tired than usual.

 

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