Page 7 of The Christmas Lodge
“This looks perfect. Thank you, Matthew.”
Lacy rose, shaking his hand again. “I’ve got a room booked at The Snowy Pine. Is it far from here?”
“It’s just a block up the road, heading toward the town square. You can’t miss it.”
Lacy thanked him again, then wished him a good night. Matthew waved a goodbye at her, already turning back to the mountain of work on his desk as she slipped out the door of the shop. Night had fully fallen during her conversation with Matthew, taking with it the last illusion of warmth the sun could offer. She wheeled her suitcase behind her, dragging it over hardened clumps of icy snow and trying to keep from slipping on slick patches of sidewalk. To her relief, The Snowy Pine hotel was as close as Matthew had told her.
The hotel sat back from the road a bit, and even in her haste Lacy couldn’t help but notice the welcoming New England cottage look of it all. Exposed wooden rafters and a large polished wooden staircase welcomed her in the large front hall, reminding her forcefully of the inn featured inWhite Christmas. A friendly older woman welcomed her, checking her in and handing her a room key. Lacy couldn’t help but smile when the woman told her that a tray of hot cocoa and freshly baked cookies were waiting for her in her room.
As much as I’m prepared to hate this town,I can’t pretend that I’m not already head over heels in love with this hotel. This is like something straight out of a Christmas movie, Lacy thought, admiring her surroundings as she climbed the stairs and made her way to her bedroom.
After unlocking the door, she was greeted by the promised cocoa and cookies sitting on a tray. A large homemade quilt covered the queen-sized four-poster bed, and a rocking chair sat beside an original fireplace in the corner. Thick rugs covered the old hardwood floors and a delicate floral wallpaper made the room feel cozy and feminine.
Lacy set her suitcase down, taking off her coat and drinking in the room. If she was going to have to deal with the ghosts of her grandfather and her past, she couldn’t have asked for a homier place to do it.
She picked up the mug of hot cocoa, settling herself into the rocking chair and looking out the window over the landscape. Even in the dark, the snow made it appear lighter out than it was. She took a sip, savoring the sweet warmth as it rolled over her tongue.
As she sat, her mind kept jumping ahead to her grandfather’s mansion. She had come so far and it was so near. The thought of waiting until the next morning suddenly seemed impossible to her. She had never been one to leave for tomorrow what could be done right away and, with sudden decision, she pulled her coat back on. Pausing only to grab the map and the keys to the mansion, Lacy slipped back out into the night.
Her fashionable city clothes were no match for the New Hampshire cold, and she began to question the prudence of her spontaneous decision as the wind bit at her cheeks and snow worked its way into her boots as her feet sank deeper than she’d planned into snowdrift after snowdrift. Setting her jaw with determination, Lacy tucked her chin lower into the collar of her peacoat and hunched against the wind, trudging doggedly forward. Cold minutes passed, but eventually she found the street that led to Nicholas Spielman’s mansion.
The mansion loomed large and formless in the dark, only taking shape as she trudged up the long tree-lined driveway and got closer. To her surprise, the house was far more beautiful than she’d expected. The Victorian-style mansion was sprawled with turrets, bay windows, a wraparound porch, and artistically detailed woodwork. Other, less beautiful details, quickly forced themselves on her attention as she got closer.
One of the front windows was broken, missing several panes of glass, and had been inexpertly repaired with cardboard and duct tape. Some of the shutters were broken, hanging off their hinges at crazy angles. The woodwork, which must have once been beautifully and colorfully painted, was peeling and worn.
And that’s just the exterior, she thought.I’m sure the interior is in a sorry state as well.
She struggled up the front steps, yelping when a rotted board gave way beneath and shifting her weight just in time. A large fallen branch blocked the top step, and she grunted as she clambered over it, almost falling in the process. Gritting her teeth, she bit back a curse of annoyance.
“Couldn’t be bothered to maintain this house,” she muttered, her early grumpiness flaring again. “I’m not surprised, though.”
Fumbling with the keys, her fingers stiff with the cold, she finally managed to open the front door. The house was just as cold inside as it was outside, which was to be expected. She tapped blindly at the wall, searching for a light switch. Her fingers finally found one and she flipped it, but nothing happened. With a sigh, she realized that the electricity must have been shut off. Using her teeth, she pulled off one of her leather gloves and then fished her phone from her pocket, turning on its flashlight function.
The light from her phone illuminated a large entryway with a grand, curving staircase. Dust motes floated softly through the air. A large sitting room opened to her right and she crept in, suddenly feeling the need to be quiet.
There was something slightly haunting about walking through the rooms that her own grandfather had so recently inhabited, and she caught herself holding her breath. She moved slowly through the room, studying the beautiful crown molding, the grand fireplace with its sooty marble mantelpiece. There was something romantic, almost magical, about the home, even though she did find it a little haunting in the nighttime.
A large, well-worn armchair rested beside the fireplace, a book sitting open on its seat, as though its occupant was about to return. Out of curiosity, she picked up the book—Crime and Punishment, by Dostoevsky.
Interesting choice,Grandfather,she mused, making a wry face.
She set the book aside and continued exploring the main floor of the house, deciding that the upstairs could wait for morning. She chided herself for being a little afraid, but the dark upper floors felt too spooky to take on without the benefit of the sun’s safety. The kitchen revealed itself to be dated and cluttered and, sure enough, it looked like there was some water damage on the walls. That would certainly require the work of a skilled contractor.
A light flashed in the distance outside the kitchen window and she jumped a little, hurrying to the window to peer out into the night. The light blinked out of sight and then, a few seconds later, blinked back into view. She frowned, puzzled, and hurried down the hall and out of the front door, wanting to investigate. She locked the door behind her and made her way carefully down the stairs before turning around the corner of the house to look for the light again.
Just as she turned the corner, the light appeared again, this time closer. She strained her ears, thinking she heard the sound of bells in the air. The light blinked out again, blocked by the crest of a small hill just behind the house. She walked toward it, her curiosity now fully alive. The sound of bells was getting louder. Lacy held her coat around her tightly, squinting against the icy wind and searching for the curiously moving light.
Suddenly a pack of dogs burst over the crest of the hill, followed instantly by the light, which was now so bright it nearly blinded her. The dogs barreled toward her and Lacy had no time to move. Her arms flew in front of her face to protect herself, a scream ripping itself from her lungs.
CHAPTERFIVE
Derek gripped the handles of the sled hard, yelling a command for his team to stop. With teeth gritted and working with all his might to maintain his balance, the sled swerved to the side as the dogs dug their paws into the snow, skidding to an abrupt halt, spraying a shower of snow over the lone figure illuminated by the lantern attached to the sled. Derek’s breaths came in hard puffs as he slowly let go of the handles and stared at the woman, their eyes locked for the space of several long heartbeats.
As the adrenaline began to fade from his system, his lagging mind caught back up to the present and he finally took in the figure standing frozen in the lamplight. He didn’t recognize her, which meant she likely wasn’t from town—as though her woefully inadequate winter coat and lack of hat or scarf wasn’t already evidence of that. Her mouth still hung open slightly, though she had stopped screaming, and her chest heaved with breaths. One leather-gloved hand clutched at her throat and tendrils of her short brown hair whipped wildly around her flushed face in the wind.
Derek knew he would need to check on the woman, but first he needed to calm his team. They were antsy and restless, clearly anxious to get moving again. This was one of his younger teams, still wet behind the ears and not experienced enough for his students to use for lessons. As such, they needed all the extra practice and training he could give them, which was why he had chosen to squeeze in an extra trail run that night. Most folks were home for the night by now, and he had certainly not expected to find anyone near Nicholas Spielman’s vacant mansion.
“Shh, shh,” he soothed one of the more nervous of his pups, patting its head and crouching beside it to look into its eyes. “Calm down, buddy.”
