Richly textured wallpaper covered the walls, and old-fashioned lamps cast a warm, golden glow over the entire area. A vintage radio occupied a nearby table, its dials and knobs worn with age. The sound of “Lovely Day” by Bill Withers was transmitted at low volume. An ornate grandfather clock stood in the corner, ticking away the minutes with reassuring regularity. An antique telephone, its receiver attached by a thick, coiled cord, beckoned to be picked up and used. Hannah couldn’t help but marvel at the antiques and curios scattered throughout the lobby, each telling a story of a bygone era.

  There was a sturdy wooden boot rack with two tiers of horizontal rods that held a variety of boots and shoes and had a rubber mat beneath it. The wood was worn and polished from years of use, and the scent of leather and waxed canvas lingered in the air. A tall, slender coat rack stood next to it, with ten prongs branching out at the top, each one ending in a decorative, curving hook. The stand was black and ornate, with intricate swirls and twists that gave it an old-fashioned charm. Hooks supported the coats and jackets, their woolen textures and quilted linings creating a cozy contrast to the sleek, cold metal. She was surprised to see a gray, gold, and white Pittsburgh Steelers scarf hanging on the stand. She had never met anyone from Michigan who rooted for that team.

  A faded sign above the rack read, “Check your coats and boots here,” with an arrow pointing down. The sign looked as though it had been there for decades, with its peeling paint and slightly crooked letters, but it was clear that the rack and the sign had done their job fairly well, as the floor around them was free of any debris or wet footprints.

  As Hannah gazed around the lobby of The Wildwood Inn, she felt a sense of wonder wash over her. It was a space frozen in time, a place where the past and present coexisted in perfect harmony.

  After she stamped the snow off her boots on the entrance rug, she stepped up to the check-in counter and rang the call bell. She glanced idly at the brochure rack for various snow-related activities. There were also several flyers for a local magician named The Spectacular Swansini.

  A slight, willowy woman hurried over to her.

  “Welcome to Wildwood Lodge and Boardinghouse. How can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asked in a warm, cheerful voice that matched her friendly smile.

  She had frizzy, brown hair and wore a chunky wool sweater. A delicate silver chain peeked out from the knitted collar, wrapping around the woman’s neck. The pendant hung unseen beneath the bulky sweater, but Hannah imagined it was most likely to be a crucifix.

  Hannah smiled back.

  “I’d like a room for the night,” Hannah said.

  “That’s no problem.”

  Hannah quickly filled out the registration form and slid it across the counter. The clerk, in return, slid a key with an attached plastic fob back across the counter. She noticed the name of the inn, along with the address, phone number, and room number, printed on the fob. It made her think of spies sitting down on a park bench sliding a sealed envelope across the bench.

  “That was kind of strange,” she remarked.

  “What was?”

  “Oh, nothing.” She laughed briefly, feeling a little silly. Nevertheless, she explained: “It just felt like we were in The Godfather or a Bond movie for a second there.”

  The frizzy-haired girl smiled and whispered conspiratorially, “The locusts are taking the train.”

  “The pink elephant is listening.” Hannah touched the side of her nose with an index finger, a gesture she’d seen from The Sting.

  Three

  After a much-needed nap and a trip to the restroom, Hannah awoke in her rented room. It was darker than she had anticipated. She had closed the curtains before lying down to diminish the glare from the reflective snow. She crossed the room and opened the curtains. A typical leaden January sky and a plethora of flurries greeted her vision. While she had slept, the snow had decided to come down like confetti from the ceiling at a New Year’s Eve party.

  The room she was staying in overlooked the rear of the inn. There seemed to be an endless forest nearby. The landscape of the extensive lawn behind the inn dipped down and touched the south end of Lake Intermediate. It was dotted with a few ice fishing shanties nearer to The Wildwood shoreline. To the left stood a white barn in good order. Off to the right side of the inn looked to be an out-of-season vegetable garden with tall stakes for growing tomatoes.

  The snow blanketed the boughs of the pine trees and tested their strength. It reminded Hannah of her mother’s penchant for overdecorating their Sears Christmas tree each year with an avalanche of decorations. Just like the branches outside her window, their artificial tree had struggled under the weight of numerous ornaments and strings of Christmas lights. Her mom had a ‘more is more’ decorating philosophy. That tree could have given a disco ball a run for its money.

  Large flakes of snow fell to the smooth curves of the already-formed snowdrifts. While somewhat picturesque, the winter view was preferable from the comfort of a cozy heated room. It felt like winter would go on forever. Of course, that was never the case, but it felt like that every winter in Michigan.

  Her stomach grumbled loudly. It sounded like an angry bear trapped in a tiny cave. She glanced down at the watch on her wrist. It was past eleven o’clock. She had slept longer than she expected or intended. The bed had been so inviting, she hadn’t even bothered to change her clothes. Feeling much more refreshed, Hannah changed into a fresh t-shirt and bell-bottom jeans, then headed downstairs in search of dinner.

  The frizzy-haired girl was still behind the check-in desk, but now she was joined by an older woman in her late forties with blondish-white hair and tired eyes. They had enough of a resemblance that it was clear they were mother and daughter. The older woman dressed very fastidiously, her clothing wrinkle-free and of a classic style. Even her hair was as neat as a pin. Her daughter dressed more casually, like Hannah herself, in a t-shirt and bell-bottom jeans. Near the counter, an Australian Shepherd lay half-dozing on the floor, content despite a much smaller black-and-white dog chewing on his ear and generally being disruptive to the larger dog’s relaxations.

  “Can I?” Hannah asked, gesturing to the dogs.

  The girl’s face, which had seemed somewhat bland and commonplace at their earlier meeting, brightened considerably and almost made her beautiful. By the pride Hannah registered on the girl’s face, she knew that these were the younger woman’s dogs and that she was pleased that Hannah had taken an interest in them. She hunkered down and petted both of the dogs at the same time.

  She had always been fond of both dogs and cats. Her family had always owned them throughout her early childhood. However, Jeremiah had been allergic to both cats and dogs. Or rather, that was what he had claimed. She had discovered later in their marriage that he had been untruthful regarding that and a myriad of other things. He simply hadn’t liked animals. In hindsight, that really should have been a major red flag.

  She swiftly shut out thoughts of her ex-husband. It felt like playing an intensely strategic mental game of Whac-A-Mole. For a little over a year now, those sneaky moles had mastered the art of guerilla warfare.

  “What are their names?” she asked.

  “The mellow guy here,” the girl replied, indicating the larger dog with its piercing blue eyes. “This is Klaus. The little Pekingese is Elsie.”

  At her name, little Elsie trotted over to Beth and wagged her tail fiercely. Hannah would have liked to spend the rest of her evening giving out pets and ear scratches, but her appetite was calling.

  “Do you serve lunch?” she asked.

  The older woman beside Beth said, “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Lunch is at noon. Breakfast ends at 10:30, but I can ask our cook to make you something to hold you over.”

  “Bless you. I really did not want to go back outside today,” Hannah replied.

  “Oh, it’s awful out today, ain’t it? I don’t want to go back outside again any time soon this winter!” The older woman let out a hearty laugh. “How long will you be staying at The Wildwood, miss?”

  “Just tonight.” She extended her hand across the counter and shook the woman’s hand. “Oh, I’m Hannah.”

  “I’m Margaret,” she said. “This is my daughter, Beth. And of course, you’ve met the dogs.”

  “Nice to meet both of you, though I did meet Beth earlier when I checked in.” She turned her gaze down toward the dogs. “And nice to meet you guys too!”

  “Margaret! Margaret!” The voice was feminine and pierced the air with a sharpness remarkably similar to the screech of a seagull disturbing a tranquil day at the beach. The voice belonged to a birdlike woman who strode forcefully up to the reception counter.

  “There is a dog hair in my soup! What are you going to do about it?” This was said with a rather clipped and hostile tone of voice.

  Before Margaret could address this complaint, a rotund woman with carrot-colored hair—which was barely restrained under a folded bandana—rushed into the lobby. She was out of breath and her cheeks were flushed. Hannah figured she was the aforementioned cook.

  “Why are you gonna go lying to Miss Margaret? There wasn’t no dog hair in your soup, just like there weren’t any in your spaghetti yesterday!”

  Margaret gestured for calm with her hands. However, both of the quarrelsome women in front of the counter completely ignored it. Beth looked down at her dogs. Her nose crinkled and she bit at her lower lip. The dogs gazed back at their owner, happy and oblivious.

  “Are you calling me a liar, Sylvia Templeton?”

  The larger woman folded her hands across her ample chest and stretched her body to its full height. “You can bet your bonnet I am! You’ve done nothing but make a laundry list of complaints since you got here! If it’s so bad here, the door is right there!” The red-haired woman pointed with her head toward the front door.

  The smaller, birdlike woman gave Sylvia a flat, unwavering look. “I would gladly be at home were it possible. I’m thinking perhaps my husband and I will be contacting a different heating company. How would your brother like that?”

  Sylvia dropped her eyes to the floor, uncertainty in her expression.

  The woman turned with a haughty manner and then addressed her comments toward Margaret. “If I am paying good money for a service, I expect that service to be performed to my satisfaction.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Sturdivant.” Margaret nodded dutifully. “Sylvia would be pleased to replace your soup.”

  It hadn’t seemed possible to Hannah, but Sylvia managed to turn a deeper shade of red. The splotches of color in each of her cheeks expanded and darkened.

  “And of course, some of Sylvia’s famous pork medallions with homemade balsamic-honey glaze!” Margaret added.

  Mrs. Sturdivant sniffed and nodded. “That would be nice.” She jabbed a bejeweled finger at the dogs. “In the meantime, perhaps you could keep those creatures from wandering around the kitchen and guest areas.”

  Beth’s mouth dropped open to voice a protest, but her mother quickly put a warning hand on the girl’s arm.

  “Thank you for understanding, Mrs. Sturdivant,” Margaret said graciously.

  Hannah could tell Margaret was holding her temper in check— her ears came down ever so slightly and her temporomandibular joint became more pronounced. It was subtle, but she was definitely clenching her jaw in a fake smile.

  Mrs. Sturdivant, satisfied in getting her way, swept away from the counter and back toward what Hannah presumed to be the dining room. Sylvia made a huffing noise, then turned brusquely and left the lobby as well.

  “I’m quite sorry for that little scene,” Margaret said.

  Hannah waved her off. “Don’t apologize. I’ve worked in customer service. I know how it is. It’s like a secret society, but with less mystery and more irate customers.”

  “Try telling that to Sylvia. If I yelled at every difficult guest or boarder, I wouldn’t have a business to speak of.”

  “Nature of the business. Right, Mom?” Beth said. She then pointed toward a set of doors. “Dining room is through there if Mrs. Sturdivant hasn’t ruined your appetite. I’ll go ask Sylvia to make you something.”

  Hannah gave her thanks and headed in the direction they had indicated.

  An unfortunate side effect of Hannah’s hunger was that it put her in close proximity to Mrs. Sturdivant. Her dining partner—whom Hannah presumed to be Mr. Sturdivant—was seated across from the woman at a table. He wore a finely tailored suit, the fabric gleaming with quality. Mrs. Sturdivant wore a dress that might have cost more than Hannah’s car. Not only did both of them wear high-end, luxurious attire, but they also both had an aura of affluence and superiority.

  The man was approximately the same age as Mrs. Sturdivant. His eyes were a deep brown, his features a touch too sharp, and the tip of his nose a shade too long.

  Hannah felt the man’s gaze linger indiscreetly on her body as she entered the dining room. She felt a shudder run down her. Why did men feel like it was okay to rake women down with their eyes like that, not even bothering to hide their thoughts? She’d seen Jeremiah look at other women in the hospital the same way—patients and staff alike. At the time, she convinced herself that all guys did it and it wasn’t a big deal.

  She quickly headed toward the sea of empty tables. The sensation of being watched—particularly her rear end—irritated her. She sat down at an empty table that was as distant from the pair as possible.

  She turned her attention to the large window on the back wall of the dining room. On the other side of the glass, she could see Frank chopping firewood on a block. The axe made a steady whish and thunk as it glided through the air and met its target. Before she knew it, she was hypnotized by the swing and the fall of the axe. The man was quite focused and never lost stride or energy for the task despite the heavy flakes still coming down outside.

  “See something you like, eh?”

  Hannah must have been staring at Frank for some time. The woman before her gave her a knowing look as if she’d caught her ogling the help. Her cheeks heated and she shook her head. “No. No. Just—” She struggled helplessly to find a sensible explanation. “–watching.” Geez, that just reinforced what the woman probably already thought about Hannah.

  “Wouldn’t mind a piece of Frank myself,” the woman commented as she set down a chicken salad, a cloth napkin with cutlery enclosed within it, and a glass of iced tea in front of Hannah. “Sylvia sent me to give you some lunch.”

  “Thank you. And please thank her for me as well.”

  “Will do. If you need anything else, I’m Julia and you can just give me a holler.” She glanced over at the couple at the opposite end of the room and said in a conspiratorial voice. “Well, maybe don’t actually holler.”

  At the sound of clattering dishes nearby, Hannah saw that Margaret had entered the dining room with a gray, plastic bus tub. She began clearing off an empty table. Julia went over to a nearby wooden stand, grabbed a bus tub from beneath it, and joined Margaret in removing drinking glasses, ashtrays, plates, and other assorted items. They swiftly cleared off the unoccupied tables and wiped them down with a damp cloth and cleaning solution, never missing a stray crumb or spilled salt.

  Once finished, they carried their tubs in the direction of the kitchen. The women stopped briefly to greet the two older gentlemen that Hannah had met on M-88. They exited through a nearby door, acknowledged Frank as they passed him, and then continued through the snow. They followed a pre-shifted path in the heavy drifts that had already made a good headway of being filled in by the accumulating snow.

  She enjoyed her lunch while watching the snowfall outside, making sure not to glance at the attractive man chopping the wood.

  After lunch, she headed up to her room and pulled a paperback copy of Salem’s Lot out of her suitcase. She had noticed a bay window on the landing of the staircase with a cushioned bench in front of it. She decided to curl up with her book there. As she read the tale of horror, she barely noticed Ben, Lilah, Frank, and Mrs. Sturdivant making their way up or down the stairs at different times. She felt fully immersed in the life of Ben Mears.

  Before long, she had company in the form of little Elsie, who needed assistance getting up on the bench. She spent the afternoon with the book in one hand and the other stroking an adorable little dog. She didn’t even mind the occasional licks of gratitude.

  Four

  The dining room was a hive of unexpected activity, a bustling crowd that contradicted the desolation of the parking lot. Hannah’s eyes honed in on the Sturdivants, seated alone, mercifully unaware of her presence.

  There was also an elderly woman with silver hair knitting at one of the tables. She was in conversation with a balding, bespectacled man of middling age. A bearded man in his early thirties was sitting with the pair. The old men who had gone to the ice fishing shack—Edgar and Walter—sat at a table near the trio. She briefly wondered about how that unlikely group—an elderly woman, an intense-looking man in his fifties, and the bearded man—had become so familiar with each other. There was also a young couple smiling into each other’s faces at a table close to Hannah’s.

  The room had acquired a bluish haze of cigarette smoke. Many of the occupants appeared to be familiar with each other and she began to feel self-conscious of being “the outsider”.

  “It’s crap and you know it!” This outburst came from the mild-looking man, his mostly garnish-like hair sitting atop his baldpate. He wore horn-rimmed glasses that gave her the impression of an accountant.

 

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