Cover of Night Read online

  “We can handle it,” he said, and they assumed expressions of determination as they each took a handle and grunted as they lifted the bag.

  “Look how strong you are,” her mom said, and their little chests puffed out.

  “Men,” Cate muttered under her breath. “They’re so easy.”

  “When they’re not being difficult,” Sheila added.

  As they climbed the two steps to the porch, Cate looked around. Mr. Layton still hadn’t returned. She didn’t want to charge an extra night to his credit card; since she had no other guest coming in until tomorrow, he wasn’t causing any problem by not checking out at eleven, but she was annoyed. What if he returned after she locked up for the night? She didn’t give keys to her guests, so either he’d have to wake her—and maybe the boys, as well as her mother—or he could damn well climb back in the window the way he’d climbed out. Except she’d closed the window and locked it, so that wasn’t possible. If he did disturb them after they’d gone to bed, she thought, she would definitely charge an extra night to his credit card. Besides, where else would he stay?

  “What’s wrong?” Sheila asked, noticing her expression.

  “A guest left this morning and hasn’t come back to check out.” She lowered her voice so the boys wouldn’t hear her and get ideas. “He climbed out the window.”

  “Running out on his bill?”

  “I have his credit card number, so he can’t. And he left his things here.”

  “That is weird. And he hasn’t called? Not that he could, since cell phones won’t work out here.”

  “There are telephones,” Cate said wearily. “And, no, he hasn’t called.”

  “If he hasn’t gotten in touch by tomorrow,” Sheila said as she followed the boys inside, “pack up his stuff and sell it on eBay.”

  Now, there was a thought, though she should probably give him more than one day to claim his belongings.

  Guests had made strange requests before, but this was the first one to walk off—well, drive off—and leave everything behind. She felt vaguely uneasy, and wondered if maybe she should alert the state police. What if he’d had an accident somewhere, driven off the road? But she didn’t know where he could possibly have gone, and even though there was only one way out, there was an intersection about twenty miles away and he could have gone in any direction. Moreover, he’d climbed out the window, as if he were sneaking out. His absence might be deliberate, and there might be nothing wrong with him at all.

  She had his telephone number on the form he’d filled out when he checked in. If he hadn’t returned by tomorrow, she’d call it. And when this was straightened out, she’d make it plain to him he wouldn’t be staying at her place again. The mysterious—or nutty—Mr. Layton was too much trouble.

  3

  CATE GOT UP AT FIVE AM TO BEGIN PREPARATIONS FOR the day. The first thing she did was look out her side window into the parking area below, to see if Mr. Layton had returned during the night and was perhaps sleeping in his car, since she hadn’t been awakened by any pounding on the front door. The only vehicles there were her red Ford Explorer and her mother’s rental, which meant Mr. Layton was still a no-show. Where on earth was that blasted man? The least he could have done was to call and tell her…something: when he’d be back or, failing that, what to do with his stuff.

  She was so annoyed she decided she would pack up his things and charge him a second night’s stay for her trouble. It wasn’t as if she had a lot of free time on her hands today—or any other day, come to that.

  But first she had to start the coffee and get ready for the morning influx of customers. The big house was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway, and though she had a lot to do, she treasured the peacefulness of these early hours when she was the only one awake and she could be alone. Only this early did she have the opportunity to think without the constant interruptions of children and customers; she could talk to herself if she wanted or listen to music while she worked. Sherry would arrive shortly before seven, and at almost seven thirty on the dot the twins would come galloping downstairs, as hungry as bears emerging from hibernation, but for these two hours she could sneak in a little time for Cate the woman. She even got up a little earlier than she really needed to so she wouldn’t be rushed and could have an extra few minutes to savor.

  As sometimes happened, she found herself wondering if Derek would have approved of her decision to move to Trail Stop.

  He had really liked this area, but as a visitor, not an inhabitant. And they both had adored this B and B when they’d stayed here. The memories of the good times they’d had—going on muscle-burning, treacherous climbs during the day, then coming back here both exhausted and exhilarated and falling into the soft bed, only to discover they weren’t that exhausted after all—had definitely influenced her when she’d been looking for someplace less expensive than Seattle to live.

  She felt close to Derek here. Here, they’d known only happiness. And while she had also been happy with him in Seattle, that was where he had died and it held a host of bleak associations with those last terrible days. Sometimes, when she still lived there, the memories would overwhelm her and she would feel as if she were living the nightmare all over again.

  This street was the one she had driven down on the way to the hospital. There was where she had stopped to pick up his dry cleaning, never dreaming she was picking up the suit he would be buried in. Here was where she’d bought the dress she’d worn to the funeral, the dress she had thrown in the trash as soon as she’d removed it, sobbing and cursing and trying to tear the hateful garment from neck to hem. Their bed was where he’d lain, burning with fever, before he became so sick he agreed to let her take him to the ER—and by then it was too late. After he died, she had never slept in that bed again.

  The memories, as much as sheer economics, had driven her from Seattle. She missed the city, missed the cultural entertainments, the bustle and character, the Puget Sound and the ships. Her family was there, and her friends. But by the time she was able to go back the first time for a visit, she had spent so much time here in Trail Stop, working on the house, getting herself and the boys settled, trying to improve business by every means she could think of, that she had somehow become more of here than of there. She was now a visitor to her home city, and home was…here.

  To the boys, of course, this had always been home. They’d been so young when she moved that they had no memories of living anywhere else. When they were older and the B and B was—please, God!—more successful, she intended to take them to visit her parents more often instead of the other way around. While in Seattle she could take them to concerts, to ball games, to plays and museums, and round out their experiences so they knew there was more to life than this little end-of-the-road community.

  She didn’t dismiss the good aspects of living here. In a place so small that everyone knew everyone else, the boys could safely play outside while she kept an eye on them from the window. Everyone knew her and the boys—knew where they belonged, and wouldn’t hesitate to bring them home if they were seen wandering too far from the house. Their days consisted of one chore—puting away their toys at the end of the day—and hours and hours of playing, finishing up with story time and brief, repetitive lessons on their letters, numbers, and colors and the few short words they could read. Baths at seven thirty, bedtime at eight, and when she tucked the covers around them, she saw little boys who were both tired and contented, and utterly secure. She had worked hard to give them that security and was happy that, right now, they had everything they needed.

  The other big plus of living here was the beauty that surrounded her. The landscape was majestic and awe-inspiring, and almost unbelievably rugged. Trail Stop was, literally, the end of the trail. If you went any farther, you went on foot—and not easily.

  Trail Stop existed on a little spit of land that rose from the sloping valley floor like an anvil. To the right rushed the river, wide and icy an