The Haunting of Silver Creek Lodge Read online

  “They won’t let us move here if they think we’re crazy!” I said, grasping Simon’s shoulder to keep from slipping on an icy patch.

  That only made him sing louder, but when the last verse switched to Italian slang, he made up similar-sounding gibberish that was nowhere close to the original words.

  “A café!”

  I shoved him through the door, and the bell chimed overhead. As Simon stumbled over the doormat, he finished off the song with a resounding vibrato, but the speakers inside didn’t echo the music outside. Simon ended up belting his last hee-haw! to a room full of confused coffee drinkers as lo-fi remixed holiday songs played softly in the background.

  Everyone turned to look. I patted Simon’s chest as his cheeks turned bright red.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  The locals went back to their work, though not as focused as before. As we ordered at the counter, I kept making accidental eye contact with random people. It wasn’t my fault. Every other second, I noticed someone glance at us from the corner of their eye. When I looked at them, they pretended to go back to whatever they were doing before.

  “This place is weird,” I murmured to Simon as we moved past the register to wait for our order. “Why is everyone staring at us?”

  “It’s because no one knows you,” the barista said as she steamed milk. She was tall and lean, with blond hair and blue eyes. She wore a bright-yellow Silver Creek High School Varsity Volleyball sweatshirt beneath her café apron. “We don’t get a whole lot of visitors here, not since the Lodge stopped taking bookings a few years ago. Where are you two from anyway?”

  “The Denver area,” Simon answered.

  “Wow, big city people.” She expertly arranged a foam heart on top of a cappuccino. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

  “Actually, we’re thinking about buying the Lodge and fixing it up,” Simon said.

  The barista’s eyes sparkled. “Really? That’d be so cool! That place deserves some new owners. It’s been looking pretty pathetic.”

  “Have you ever been there?” I asked her.

  “Nope,” she replied. “It’s kinda gross, right? But my older sister said it used to be a cool place to hang out when it got too cold on the slopes. When do you think you’ll be finished rebuilding it?”

  I answered before Simon could. “We’re not entirely sure we’re going to buy it yet.”

  “You should!” the barista insisted. She slid the cappuccino across the bar and added a muffin we never ordered. “Free muffins if you give me a discount on chair lift passes.”

  Simon laughed and took the plate. “You drive a hard bargain. What was your name?”

  “Cassie,” she said, wiping her hand to shake Simon’s. “Please buy the place. We need some excitement around here.”

  “We’re thinking about it,” he promised. “Nice to meet you.”

  We sat at the only free table, in the front corner by the door. I didn’t take off my coat. Every time someone came inside, a gust of freezing wind and a handful of snow came with them. I hunched my shoulders and sipped my coffee.

  “This is a cute place.” Simon, on the opposite side of the table, wasn’t getting as much backdraft. He shook off his coat and hung it over his chair. As he ran his hands through his damp curls, a table of teenaged girls giggled and stared. Simon, oblivious, squinted at the menu written in chalk above the register. “They have breakfast in the mornings. Farm-fresh eggs. We should try that sometime.”

  “It is cute,” I agreed. “The coffee’s good, too.”

  “There you go,” he said. “Good coffee. Good muffin. I’m sensing a pattern.”

  “You could never sell cars,” I commented. “Too heavy-handed. People would think you’re trying to rip them off.”

  He laughed and gently stepped on the toe of my boot. “Can’t I be excited about a new opportunity? Admit it; you can picture us living here. It’s what you always told me you wanted for us. A small town where everyone knows each other, local businesses, places to take the kids—”

  “Minus the kids,” I said abruptly.

  Simon’s grin fell. He reached across the table to tickle my knuckles. “We could adopt, you know. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  Thankfully, someone knocked into my chair, putting an end to the conversation. My coffee sloshed over the lip of my cup as the culprit—an older woman with adorable pink earmuffs and a matching scarf—turned toward us.

  “So sorry, dear!” she said, dropping a stack of napkins on the table. “I suppose I was too excited. I overheard you say you might buy the Silver Creek Lodge, and I knew I had to introduce myself. I’m Selma Owens. I run the Silver Creek Book Club.”

  “That’s lovely,” Simon said. “What can we do for you?”

  “I wanted to tip you in the right direction,” Selma replied with a wink. “The Lodge served as our cozy book club spot for years. Ever since it shut down, we’ve had to gather at the library, and it’s not the same. We don’t have enough room, and the library doesn’t sell booze. You can see why some of us might be put out.”

  I chuckled. “So, you want us to buy the Lodge and fix it up so you have a nice place to hold your book club meetings again?”

  Selma beamed. “Exactly. We bring in quite the crowd, and my friends are heavy tippers. It would be excellent business for you.”

  “Thanks for letting us know,” Simon said. “I hope we can oblige.”

  “Just in case.” Selma took a bookmark from her coat pocket—printed with her contact information and a cute drawing of an open novel—and placed it on the table. “Give me a call if you get everything sorted. We’d love to have you in town. You’re an adorable couple!”

  “Did you hear that, babe?” Simon wiggled his eyebrows as Selma left. “We’re adorable.”

  “Everyone thinks you’re adorable.” I jerked my head toward the table of teenaged girls. “You’ve already got a fan club here.”

  He rested his elbow over the chair and turned. The spying girls broke into a fresh wave of giggles, blushing as they tried to cover up their blatant staring. Simon faced the front.

  “Would it be weird if I went over there and told them to look me up on Spotify?” he asked. “I need more listeners.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  As he shrugged and took another bite of his muffin, I caught sight of someone else who’d taken an interest in Simon. A handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair sat in the opposite corner of the café, half-hidden behind an open newspaper. In an expensive blue suit and leather loafers, he was the best-dressed person I’d seen in Silver Creek so far. When his piercing blue eyes caught mine, he folded the newspaper and stood, buttoning his suit coat as he came over.

  “Good morning,” he said in a pleasantly melodic voice. “I’m Boyce Driscoll, sort of the unofficial Silver Creek mayor. Did I happen to hear you’re thinking of buying the Lodge down the road?”

  “Apparently, everyone heard,” I grumbled.

  Simon stepped on my toe. “You did indeed,” he told Boyce. “Why?”

  “I thought it’d be unfair not to warn you,” Boyce said. “That property isn’t a good investment. The bank’s been trying to get rid of it for a year. No one will buy it.”

  “I thought it just went up for auction,” I replied. “The bank representative said they have multiple officers on it.”

  “That’s what he said,” Boyce said, chuckling politely. “No doubt to make you more interested in buying it. Trust me. Don’t waste your money. Two young kids like you? You need a starter house. Not a money pit.”

  Simon had gone a bit stiff. “Thanks for letting us know.”

  “Sure thing.” Like Selma, Boyce had something to give us, but instead of pulling a bookmark out of his breast pocket, it was a business card. “Keep in touch. If you have any questions about the town, I’ll be happy to take you to lunch.”

  Since Simon was being weird, I took the card. “Thanks. We’ll do that.”

  Simon was usua
lly quiet on the drive home. As Silver Creek disappeared in the rearview mirror, I found myself not wanting to leave. I turned off the radio.

  “It’s almost six,” I said. “We have to call Dwayne soon.”

  He kept his eyes on the road. “Mm-hmm.”

  “What are we doing to tell him?”

  “Sounds like you’ve already decided we’re not going to buy the Lodge.”

  “Well, Boyce said—”

  “One person,” Simon said. “Everyone else thought it was a great idea. I think we should do it, but I can’t change your mind for you. You call the shots, Max. That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “Are you mad?” I asked, surprised. “We haven’t discussed anything yet!”

  “I’m not mad,” he said in a gentler tone, “but you tend to play things safe. We have the money to buy the Lodge and fix it up. Eventually, we’ll make that money back. Take the chance with me. Dive in.”

  “I’m scared it’s not going to work out,” I admitted.

  He held my hand over the center console. “We’ll never know until we try. It could go really well. If it doesn’t, well, we’ll figure something else out. We always have. Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

  I glanced in the side mirror. The snowy peaks rose in the distance. Though we were miles away, I swore I could see the lights of Silver Creek twinkling behind us.

  “Let’s do it,” I said.

  3

  As soon as we closed on the Lodge, we packed our belongings from the condo loft and rented a storage unit closer to Silver Creek to store it all. Until we got the windows fixed and installed new locks at the Lodge, our valuables—like Simon’s recording equipment—needed a safe place to live. Sienna and Christian helped wrap our dishes in newspaper and box up my library of books.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Sienna said for the twelfth time as she carefully arranged our coffee mugs in a padded box so they wouldn’t shatter during the drive. “Are you positive you want to go?”

  “Yeah, this lodge doesn’t sound move-in ready,” Christian added.

  “This was your idea,” I told them, laughing.

  “I know,” Sienna pouted. “I got used to having you here. What am I supposed to do when you’re two hours away?”

  “Call me,” I said. “Or come visit. We’ll need the extra hands.”

  Sienna taped the box shut. “I’ll wait until you get the windows fixed. Aren’t you afraid you’ll freeze to death?”

  “The big room upstairs is intact,” Simon answered, tossing a hastily folded sweater into a suitcase. “First thing on my list is to fix the radiators.”

  “Radiators? How old is this place?”

  “Old.” I refolded the sweater and placed it neatly into the suitcase. “Thankfully, it’s been remodeled a few times. We won’t have to make a ton of updates.”

  “Starting with the radiators,” Christian teased.

  “I think radiators are charming,” Simon countered. “When I was a kid, we would run in from the snow and put our socks and gloves on the radiator to dry. It was a tradition.”

  I smiled and squeezed Simon’s hand. Like me, he didn’t talk much about his childhood. There were too many unhealed wounds to deal with in the past. When he found a happy memory, it was a rare occurrence.

  “I like radiators, too.” Sienna tweaked Christian’s nose. “We’re not all snobby realtors.”

  “Hey, this snobby realtor got this pretty condo for you for half the asking price,” he retorted.

  Sienna rolled her eyes and looked around the loft. “That’s about it. Gosh, what am I supposed to do with all this space?”

  “Take up painting,” I suggested. “Or pottery. You could reenact the scene from Ghost.”

  Simon sat behind me, snaked his arms around me, and guided my hands to tape up another box, singing while he did so. “Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch—”

  I elbowed him in the ribs, and he cut himself off with a dramatized gag. Sienna and Christian cracked up.

  Sienna pushed Simon aside and hugged me. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “What about me?” Simon asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. You too.”

  Christian outstretched his arms to Simon. “Feel the love, brother.”

  Simon howled in fake anguish and ran into Christian’s embrace. “It won’t be the same without you!”

  A few weeks ago, I hated the idea of moving out of the condo, spending a huge chunk of money, and leaving Sienna and Christian. Now that the money was gone, I felt free. Simon and I were onto the next big adventure, whatever that meant.

  As Christian said, the Lodge was nowhere near move-in ready, so we packed the car with an air mattress, heated blankets, battery-powered lanterns, a hot plate, camping utensils, and other leftover gear of Simon’s.

  “Is it weird I’m sometimes grateful for being homeless back then?” Simon asked as he filled a canteen with fresh water and added it to our bags. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to move into the Lodge this quickly.”

  “You’re a regular Jack Kerouac,” I said, hopping into the driver’s seat. “You ready for this?”

  He closed my door for me and kissed me through the window. “You know it.”

  No matter how many times Simon reminded me to ease up, I kept letting my foot weigh heavy on the gas pedal. I was excited to return to Silver Creek and its picturesque landscape. The Lodge had grown on me, too, mostly because I’d spent way too much time on Pinterest looking for ideas on how to decorate it once we finished the repairs.

  Due to my speeding, we made it to Silver Creek fifteen minutes early. I hit the brakes as we approached the town, sending Simon’s coffee thermos flying.

  “Easy!” He mopped coffee off the dashboard. “What got into your Wheaties?”

  I turned onto Main Street, smiling instinctively as the twinkling town greeted us. “I don’t want the locals to think I’m a bad driver.”

  “Don’t slam on the brakes then, you nutso.”

  Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the Lodge, and I remembered how much work we had to do before this place was livable. The trash company had already dropped off an industrial-sized dumpster in the front yard. If only we could pick up the entire building and drop it in the enormous trash can. I didn’t let the thought dampen my enthusiasm.

  I dangled the key in front of Simon. “Want to do the honors?”

  “You betcha.”

  When we reached the busted porch steps, Simon swept my feet out from under me and scooped me into his arms. “This is a thing married people do, right?” he grunted. “Carry their betrothed over the threshold of their first home together?”

  “I’ll allow it. Don’t slip.”

  He carefully planted his boots and hauled us both upward. With one hand, he unlocked the door then carried me through. He wrinkled his nose and set me down.

  “Does it smell mustier in here than before?” he asked.

  I sniffed. “Ugh. Mold.”

  “We’ll get rid of it,” he promised. He pulled a pair of heavy-duty work gloves out of his back pocket and handed them to me. “Where should we start?”

  I grinned. “With demolition.”

  Armed with Simon’s power tools, we got straight to work. We ripped up carpets, tore out rotting wallboard, and waged war on old pipes. We unscrewed ugly light fixtures, trashed ruined furniture, and removed termite-eaten doors from their hinges. We knocked out the broken windows in the lobby and covered the gaping holes with heavy black tarp. With every passing hour, the dumpster looked smaller and smaller as we filled it with the guts of the abandoned lodge.

  We worked all through the morning and straight through lunch. When a family of roaches crawled out of the cabinet I’d been hammering off the wall, I screamed and fell backward. Simon rushed in from the next room, the light of his headlamp swinging crazily.

  “What is it?” he demanded. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  The roach
es skittered off.

  “Just bugs,” I said, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead. “They startled me. I’m light-headed.”

  Simon lifted me off the floor. “No wonder. It’s three o’clock. We haven’t eaten in hours. Want to head into town?”

  Since we’d temporarily turned off the Lodge’s plumbing, we did our best to wipe the dirt, sweat, and construction dust off our faces and hands with baby wipes. Despite this, the same material coating our jackets and pants garnered more curious looks from those out and about in Silver Creek.

  “You must be Simon and Maxine!”

  We heard this phrase once every five minutes. We couldn’t walk one block without a different stranger approaching us to introduce themselves and share their opinion of the Silver Creek Lodge. Though everyone was nice and welcoming, it grew old quickly.

  “If one more person tells us what a cute couple we are,” I grumbled, linking my arm through Simon’s.”

  “They’re excited to have new people in town,” he reminded me. “Don’t be mad at them.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m hungry.”

  “With you, it’s the same thing.”

  We visited the same café as before. This time, I noticed it was called Bourbon and Bites. No mention of coffee at all and no sign of bourbon on the menu. Small towns were weird.

  Our friendly neighborhood barista, Cassie, manned the espresso machine. When she spotted us, she beamed. “You’re back! And covered in dust. Does this mean you bought the Lodge?”

  “It sure does,” I said.

  She squealed with joy. “That’s awesome! Your coffee is on the house today.”

  “Thanks, Cassie,” Simon said. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone who might be interested in helping us fix up the place, would you? I underestimated how much work needs to be done.”

  “For free?”