The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge Read online

  The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge

  A Dunnhill Mystery

  By

  Lucia N. Davis

  Copyright © 2018 Lucia N. Davis. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing by Leah Wohl-Pollack (Invisible Ink Editing)

  Cover Design by Alchemy Book Covers

  Published by Orange Vine Publishing

  To Jonathan, Elizabeth and Emmaline

  Keep reading;

  unlike the world,

  your imagination

  has no boundaries...

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Lucia N. Davis

  Chapter 1

  The low-hanging clouds seemed to sag all the way to the earth, transforming the whole landscape into a bland mixture of grey and white. The snowy hill, devoid of the shadows which would normally reveal the now hidden bumps, had morphed into an even more treacherous surface. Sara carefully descended the slope, clutching her poles like an octogenarian behind a steering wheel—not going all that fast, but still feeling dangerously out of control—when one of her skis caught a bump, changed direction, and made her lose her balance. The ski broke free from her foot and with a short exclamation of surprise, she tumbled into the snow for what felt like the millionth time that day.

  She silently cursed her boyfriend for having such ridiculous hobbies. With a grimace, she rubbed her right thigh—another bruise to add to her collection. At least her limbs were still attached. She got up and precariously moved her legs, one with a ski on and one without. A few feet below her, her missing ski slowly but surely glided down, as if giving her the middle finger. After a few more moments it stopped, some twenty feet away.

  “Sara! Are you coming down?” David’s voice from down the hill was just a touch impatient.

  “Soon,” she called back, attempting to hobble gracefully to her lost ski without breaking her neck. When she reached it, she tried to put her boot back in, but there was so much snow piled up in the binding she couldn’t get it closed. After cleaning it out with her gloved hand, she finally managed to lock her boot in. Not that it made her feel any better.

  “Sara? I’m growing roots down here…”

  Oh, shut up, she thought. It was bad enough David had glided down the hill like an Olympic slalom champion, as if he had been born with skis attached to his feet. Which of course he had, sort of, having grown up here. There was no need for him to comment. She knew she was slow; her posture was all wrong and she was incapable of keeping track of her skis most of the time. Each one seemed to have a will of its own.

  Groaning, she skidded forward. She hated skiing, she had decided. Completing three more curves, every muscle in her body tensed up like screeching violin strings, she finally reached David and crashed right into him.

  “Whoa,” he said, bracing her, “it’s a good thing you go so slow.”

  She pushed him away. Tired from the exertion—both mental and physical—she found the bodily contact did not stir up as strong a response as it normally did. “Sorry, still having trouble with the brakes,” she said, panting, while untangling her skis. “And thanks for that last bit. I’m trying, you know.”

  “I do know. You’re doing great.” He smiled at her, the corners of his mouth sticking out above his scarf. The rest of his face was hidden by goggles and a helmet. “It’s cold, though. I’d like to keep moving.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m moving more than enough.” All these acrobatics were keeping her plenty warm, and her goggles were annoyingly itchy. She moved them a little, jiggling the strap. “Couldn’t we have picked a sunny day?”

  “A real skier doesn’t only ski when it’s sunny. But you’re right, it’s getting ugly.”

  The snowstorm had picked up again, large fluffy flakes coming down fast.

  “Let’s go back,” he said. “No need to ski in these conditions—we’ve got all winter.” He pushed off and moved slowly ahead, waiting for her to follow.

  “All winter. I can’t wait,” she muttered under her breath while moving forward. “‘A real skier doesn’t only ski when it’s sunny…’ Who said I wanted to be a skier at all?”

  It was quiet on the hill—it seemed most people had already decided this weather was best enjoyed from behind a window somewhere, perhaps next to a warm fireplace, drink in hand. But David was a little obsessed with skiing. And this was the first week the slopes had been open, after a number of days of “good” snow… whatever that meant. So the season had started early, which no one here seemed to mind, except for Sara. David had devoted all his free time to giving her a crash course in skiing. Sara loved spending time with David. She just wasn’t too enthused about how they were currently spending it.

  The snow was falling steadily now, and it was getting hard to see in front of her. She tried to follow David as best as she could, but her goggles were fogging up, and she had to stop to clear her view. “David,” she yelled, “hold on, wait for me!”

  There was no answer. Or maybe there was and she just didn’t hear it—the snow was blocking out any sound, drawing everything into its silent world.

  “David?”

  A faint reply carried up from below.

  Her fear intensifying, she set off again, blindly making her way through a mist of white dots. She had a vague idea of where she needed to go. Down, obviously—but also to the left a little. On trembling legs, she took a few more curves before stopping and yelling for David again.

  She could hear a voice, she thought, from below and perhaps to her right. Carefully she skied a bit farther down, steering more to the right this time.

  “David, can you ye—whoa!” The slope in front of her suddenly gave way to a steep incline and she catapulted down, gaining speed. “Help!” She was trying hard to slow down, but whatever she was trying had little effect. This was not a prepared slope and the deep snow was pushing against her skies, making maneuvering even more difficult. She tried to remember this stretch, whether there were any trees on it. The answer presented itself when a branch slapped her in the face and the silhouette of its owner flew by in her peripheral vision. Then her right ski hit something and she flew forward, doing a complete somersault in the soft snow.

  Bewildered, she lay still for a few seconds, trying to ascertain whether her body was still in one piece. Despite the hard fall, she didn’t register any pain. Cold snowflakes landed on her cheeks. Each panting breath released a little cloud of steam in the air. It dawned on her that this was probably not a good place to hang out—away from the groomed slopes, temperatures below freezing, and with the weather turning. “David!” she yelled again. “Help! I’m lost!”

  Slowly she sat up. Both her skis were out. One was right next to her; the other one was three feet away next to a tree, somehow lodged deeply into the snow, with only its tip sticking o
ut. How on earth had it gotten there? She stared at the big tree. Yikes. She had been lucky not to hit it. She struggled to her feet, the snow coming up to just below her knee, and with the help of her poles, she trudged her way over to the buried ski.

  “Sara?” A faint cry came from the direction of the slope.

  “David, I’m here,” she yelled back. She grabbed her ski and pulled it, but it countered her effort with unanticipated resistance. “What the—?” She pulled again. It was stuck. This time she grabbed it with both hands and pulled hard. The moment she started pulling, she realized two things: one, this wasn’t her ski. Two, there was a foot attached to it.

  Screaming, she let go, tumbling backward into a deep drift of snow. There, sticking out of the white fluff, was a ski with a boot. Attached to the boot was a leg covered in navy blue snow pants, the thigh hidden under the snow. That meant the owner of the leg was down there somewhere. And that was not a good thing.

  She screamed again, telling David to get down here. Frantically she started digging in the snow where she estimated the person would be. Flashes of navy blue became visible—a winter jacket. She moved up, digging furiously, and found a helmet. Carefully she brushed the snow away.

  The helmet was still on the person’s head. Not that she needed it anymore. Sara knew what dead people looked like. And this woman was absolutely, positively dead.

  “Holy shit, what happened?” David, who had found his way down, asked as he undid his skis.

  Sara looked up. “My guess? She died.” Sara lifted the woman’s goggles off her blueish face. Dark brown curly locks were stuck to her cheek. Her eyes stared into nothingness, but they still expressed the fear the woman must have felt during her last moments.

  “Do you recognize her?”

  “No, thank God.” David knelt down. “How awful.”

  They both stared at the dead woman, at a loss for words.

  After a minute, David spoke up. “We should alert the authorities.”

  “And leave her here?”

  He pointed at her body still half-hidden under the snow. “She’s been here all night. Not to be disrespectful, but a few hours more won’t hurt her.” He pulled Sara up. “Let’s find your skis and get you home.”

  The rest of the day was a blur. After what Sara considered another dreadful descent, they managed to get back to the village and call the police. Dunnhill was a quiet town, slow-paced and peaceful. People came here to unwind, not to cause trouble, and certainly not to look for any. Situated within the Northern Cascades, it was shielded from big-city problems like crime or violence, but every now and again, nature proved to be just as unforgiving as humans. The news of the dead woman spread fast among villagers and tourists alike.

  Sara returned to David’s apartment while he took the police to the body. The heavy snowfall deterred her from going back to her own little cabin outside the village proper. She had been staying there on and off since last spring. It was how she had first met David, a real estate agent here in town, and owner of the cabin. Before coming to Dunnhill, Sara had lived in San Francisco, and she was still getting used to the change from the big city to living in a small mountain town. But after both her parents had died in a car crash a little over a year ago, she had needed to get away from it all. And so far, the town had proven to be anything but boring. When things began to feel more than just friendly between her and David, she had decided to stick around.

  While her small, bare bones cabin had been a perfectly charming getaway in the warmer months, the winter had proven to be a bit of a challenge. Despite her own misgivings, and David’s warnings, Sara had been stubborn about maintaining her residence, desperate to prove she could handle roughing it to an extent. She disliked sleeping in tents and anything else to do with camping, so this was about as rough as she was willing to go.

  David’s apartment, on the other hand, was anything but rough; new and modern, situated on the resort side of Dunnhill, it was far more to her taste. This was the part of town where the tourists hung out. Many people from Seattle and other nearby cities came here to ski or snowboard. The place was packed most weekends, starting as early as Thursday afternoon, before teetering down again on Monday. This weekend, though, had been quiet so far, the bad weather discouraging to travelers.

  Sara peeled off the layers of clothing she was wearing until she was down to a pair of warm leggings and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She made herself comfortable on David’s couch, stretching out her long, slender limbs. She turned on the TV to watch some mind-numbing show, trying to distract herself from the image of the dead woman burned in her brain, while she waited for David to return.

  When he finally came back, he was hungry, tired, and cold. Sara made him some hot chocolate and snuggled up to him on the couch.

  “Thanks,” he said. “That helps. How are you holding up?”

  “Not sure. I still can’t believe I stumbled upon a dead body—I mean, there are miles and miles of terrain out there. What are the odds?”

  “For you?” David grimaced. “You need only the slightest.”

  “Not funny.” She gave him a playful push with her foot. “I wonder who she was.”

  “A tourist, most likely. I know everyone who lives here, and a lot of the regulars as well. Skiing outside the groomed area can be risky, and the weather yesterday wasn’t ideal, same as today. I guess she wasn’t reported missing, otherwise everyone would’ve been out searching.”

  “That’s a sad thought—that nobody missed her.”

  “True. But maybe she was out here alone, you know?” Tired, he rubbed his stubbly cheeks. “I don’t know how I’ll get her out of my head. There’s been too much death lately.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it’s hard.”

  David nodded, looking away.

  His grandfather, better known as Pops, had passed away only a month ago. Pops had died peacefully but unexpectedly in his sleep. Sara had only known him for six months or so, but she missed the old man dearly. He had been funny, kind, and full of stories. For David, Pops’s death was a real blow. The old man had lived in Dunhill most of his life, and after his son, David’s father, passed away, he had moved in with David’s mother, Margaret. David and his grandfather had been particularly close. Sara knew what it was like to lose a loved one—that particular hole seemed impossible to fill.

  They finished their cocoas in silence. Having no energy to make dinner, they decided to walk over to the Hideout, the local sports bar, for a quick meal. It had stopped snowing by now, and the bar was close by.

  It was loud inside the Hideout, with music on, TV screens blasting, and plenty of people seeking refuge and entertainment. Sara and David found a spot at the bar and ordered some food. Still shaken up by the events of the day, they sat together quietly.

  “Hey, David!” One of David’s friends had spotted them.

  “Jerry,” said David, greeting his friend with a hybrid high five and handshake.

  “Hello, Sara,” Jerry said. “You’re looking as lovely as ever.”

  “Hey, Jerry. Thanks.” Sara gave him a broad smile.

  Jerry Hunter was with the local police department, a rather small affair. Sara liked him. In Jerry’s life, it seemed, there were no rainy days. Jerry and David went way back—they both hailed from Dunnhill and had gone to the same schools. They were about the same age, but that was as far as the similarities went. Jerry was short and a tad overnourished, his protruding ears were a size too big, and his smile was lopsided. Despite his somewhat challenged exterior, as he called it, he always boasted that it had forced him to compensate with character. He posited that his marriage to the beautiful woman who ran the local bakery and the two children who had resulted from the happy union were proof of that.

  “How are you doing?” From the way he asked, it was obvious Jerry was referring to the unpleasant business on the mountain.

  “I’m still numb, really. It was quite a shock,” Sara said.
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  “I can imagine.” Jerry pulled up a barstool, ordered them another round of beers, and got himself a soda. “We had some reinforcements brought in for the occasion, which suits me just—”

  “Well, well, look at this happy crew.” Jerry was interrupted by a tall wiry man who also pulled up a barstool.

  Sara groaned inwardly. Terrence Tulley was the manager of the bar, and Sara was no fan of his. The list of offenses was long, but for starters, he always strutted around like a rooster in the hen house.

  “Glad to see you brought your pretty girlfriend along, David. Much easier on the eyes than you two.” Terrence licked his thin lips, making Sara’s skin crawl.

  David grunted something in response.

  “I heard you two found something interesting today!” Terrence’s eyes were glinting. He was also fond of rumors—if there were none to collect, he would generate them—which was the second biggest thing Sara disliked about him. Stumbling across a dead woman was far from the usual, so obviously, Terrence needed to get to the bottom of it.

  “The lady you found,” Terrence said, “word is, she was from Seattle. Mia Jenkins…” He waited for a response, but David just shrugged.

  “We don’t know her,” David explained.

  “Right, right. Well, let me fill you in,” Terrence continued eagerly. “She was in her forties, don’t recall her exact age, single—what a waste—and here for a tutoring assignment.” He paused.

  “Tutoring?” Sara frowned, pretending Terrence hadn’t just implied he was sorry about the woman’s death only because she happened to be single. “She came all the way up here for tutoring?”

  “Yep! Not just any tutoring, she was here for long-term tutoring. Like a governess… Isn’t that what they call it across the pond?” As he considered this, he scratched his scalp beneath his greasy black hair. “Anyway, she arrived yesterday. She was staying at the lodge—the Sinclair Lodge, you know, David?”