by Skylar Finn
“Mr. Hawkins, this conversation isn’t over,” said the second man. “I’m not satisfied with the police’s investigation. I’m not afraid to open up a court case. If you leave—”
“It’s Detective Hawkins,” said the first man. He snatched his jacket from the other man and strode across the lobby toward the exit. “And this conversation is over, Mr. Watson.”
Mr. Watson—Oliver—rushed after him. He was a short man, a few inches below Jazmin, with beefy hands and feet too big for his body. His faded dress shirt was too wide in the shoulders and too narrow in the waist, as if he’d bought it years ago before he lost the motivation to work out. The buttons strained against the fabric to hold his belly in. His wiry neck and forearms indicated a previous athleticism, like he was an avid skier before he took full responsibility of King and Queens, at which point his active hobby went by the wayside.
“Detective Hawkins, please,” Oliver said, cutting off the taller man on his way to the door. “It’s my wife. How would you feel in my shoes?”
Detective Hawkins rested his hands on his hips as he looked down at Oliver, fingers brushing the gun at his side. “Mr. Watson, I’m very sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine how terrible it must be to have lost your wife and the mother of your children. I understand all of this is very fresh for you.” He patted Oliver on his shoulder. “But her death was a result of the chair lift’s faulty mechanism. There was no foul play here.”
“My ski lift went through the regulatory safety checks at the beginning of the season,” said Oliver. “It was in perfect condition. Don’t you see? Someone sabotaged it!”
“There’s no evidence of that,” Hawkins said, his exasperation blatant in the flat tone of his voice. They’d been through this circle of reasoning before. “This is the third time you’ve called me out here this week to investigate something that doesn’t warrant investigation. Please don’t contact the station again unless you have a real emergency.” Hawkins stepped around Oliver and bumped into me. “Pardon me.”
As the detective took his leave, Oliver approached the front desk, attempting to turn his forlorn expression into a customer service smile. “Can I help you ladies? Did you book a reservation with us?”
I lowered the camera, confused. “I’m Madame Lucia,” I said in my normal voice. It felt stupid to do the accent in the middle of the resort lobby. It would echo. “You invited me here.”
“Ah, yes, of course!” Oliver said. “You look different without all the—” He flipped an imaginary kimono from side to side. “You know what I mean. Welcome to King and Queens! Who’s your lovely friend?”
“Jazmin,” she said, shaking Oliver’s hand. “But I’m not staying. I should go if I want to get home in time to finish up some work.” She turned to me. “You sure you’re going to be okay out here on your own?”
“I’ll be fine,” I promised. “Drive safe.”
She hugged me and kissed my cheek. “Call me every day.”
“I will.”
Then she was gone, leaving me alone with Oliver and Trey in the vast resort lobby. Oliver clapped his hands together and tried for a grin, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. After his argument with Detective Hawkins, he wasn’t in the mood to be hospitable. Bless his heart though, he tried.
“How about a tour?” he asked.
“That would be great,” I said. “Do you mind if I film it?”
“Not at all. Trey, would you mind taking Madame Lucia’s things up to her room?”
“Yes, sir.”
As Trey lugged my belongings toward the elevator, Oliver looked me up and down. “I have to admit, you’re not quite as exuberant in person as I was expecting.”
“You mean strange?” I said. “I dress for my audience, but I didn’t think all of that was necessary for this job. And you don’t have to call me Madame. Lucia is fine.”
“Lucia then. Shall we begin?”
“Lead the way.”
Oliver guided me across the lobby, his hands folded politely behind his back. He projected his voice as if he were a museum curator speaking to a crowd of illiterate heathens with no appreciation for the arts. “King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort was built in 1938 and officially opened for business the following year in ‘39,” he said. “It was the first official ski resort to be built in Vermont and one of the first ever ski resorts in the United States. My family, the Watsons, have owned King and Queens since its conception. We’re a small family business, and we pride ourselves on our honesty, loyalty, and passion for the sport. We prioritize our guests’ experience above everything else.”
We climbed one set of the double staircase and arrived at the restaurant. The tables were dressed for lunch, but not one of them was occupied. A full bar ran the length of the enormous window. The bartender sat on the counter, playing on her phone. When she saw us coming up the stairs, she hopped down and pretended to wipe off the glasses.
“This is the Eagle’s View Restaurant and Lounge,” Oliver announced. “We serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all of which is included in your stay. Feel free to eat in or order room service. We also deliver to the outdoor seating area closer to the slopes if you feel like a hot meal after a day in the snow. The chair lift should be operational later today if you’d like to ski.”
“I’m not much of a skier,” I admitted.
“Snowboarding then?”
“To be honest, I don’t do well with anything strapped to my feet.”
Oliver chuckled. “It’s not for everyone.”
The tour went on for a good hour. We visited the indoor swimming pool where steam rose from the heated water; the resort’s state-of-the-art gym complete with cryotherapy booths and enough treadmills to accommodate guests who, like myself, weren’t particularly keen to get out on the slopes; the spa and massage parlor, which offered everything from cupping to hot rocks to mud baths to acupuncture; and the library that boasted yet another phenomenal view of the mountain but made me worry for the faded covers of the sun-soaked books. According to Oliver, when we circled around and returned to the lobby, we had only covered a small portion of the resort.
“The rest is mostly rooms and smaller versions of our main attractions,” he said. “We have another restaurant in the East wing, but it’s closed right now since business is slow.”
“I couldn’t help but notice that King and Queens is a bit sparse,” I said. “I’m surprised. Isn’t skiing season in full swing? I expected this place to be bursting with tourists.”
Oliver sighed through his nose, producing a high-pitched wheeze that spoke of nasal passages scarred by dry winters. “I suppose you overheard my conversation with Detective Hawkins earlier?”
“Yes.” I scuffed my boot sheepishly against the marble floor. “Sorry about that.”
“No apology necessary,” said Oliver. “It was unprofessional of me to tote my personal business around the lobby like that. Anyway, as you might have gathered, my wife passed away last week.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you,” he said. “We’re dealing with it as best as we can, but the incident unfortunately scared away all of our guests. Thelma—that was her name—was killed when her chair detached from the ski lift. She might have survived the fall, but the chair landed on top of her too.”
I swallowed a horrified gasp. “That’s awful.”
“It was indeed,” Oliver agreed. “The paramedics said it was quick. She didn’t suffer. Anyway, we had to shut down the ski lift, and when the news spread, our guests stampeded out of here. It’s been quiet ever since.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said again since I couldn’t think of anything else. “How are you holding up?”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he replied. “It’s Riley. Would you like to see your room now?”
“Sure.”
He pushed the call button for the glass elevators. The center one opened, and we stepped inside. Oliver pressed the button for the twentieth floor, the
very top, and the elevator zoomed upward. The lobby shrunk to doll sizes below us.
“Riley was always a quiet kid.” Oliver stared at the floor counter as he spoke, watching the numbers spin by. “She’s shy and reserved, but she’s smart. She’s a lot like her mother in that way. An observer. She watches everyone and everything, but no one notices her.”
“Like a little spy,” I noted.
“Yes, she enjoys collecting secrets from our guests,” he said. “She loves to study human interaction. Once, she stole a psychology textbook from a university student who worked at the resort. She read the whole thing.”
“How did she react to her mother’s death? How did she find out about it? If you don’t mind me asking.”
The elevator let out a cheerful ding as we reached the twentieth floor, opening its doors to a long, extravagant corridor lined with lush crimson carpet and golden sconces.
“Riley was the one who found Thelma’s body,” Oliver said. “What she was doing up there—all alone near the top of the mountain—I have no idea. I don’t know how she managed to get up there without riding the chair lift, but she was the first one to reach Thelma. She put in the emergency call.”
“That must have been terrible for her.”
“I thought so too, but when we found her, she was sitting on the bumper of the ambulance totally fine,” Oliver said. “The paramedics said she was in shock, but I’m not sure. She didn’t seem to be affected at all. Here we are. Room twenty-thirteen. After you.”
I swiped the key card and went inside. Trey had left my luggage in the dark entryway. I almost tripped over the suitcases. When I flipped on the lights, I let out a gasp. It wasn’t a room. It was a suite. The main section boasted a full kitchen and living room, complete with everything I would ever need to make a home-cooked meal or host a Superbowl party. The television was bigger than the window in the apartment I’d been kicked out of two days before. Through a set of double doors, a king-sized bed dressed with the fluffiest pillows and the fattest duvet cover I’d ever seen awaited my afternoon nap. The bathroom was the size of a small throne room. It had a double-headed shower with massaging water effects and a Jacuzzi tub big enough to swim laps in.
“I put you on the top floor because our nicest rooms are up here,” Oliver said. “You have the biggest balcony and the best view of the mountain.” He crossed the room to throw open the curtains, revealing a snow-covered terrace and the cloudy white heavens. “Will this be all right?”
“All right?” I said. “Oliver, I’ve never stayed at a place like this in my entire life, and I probably never will again. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he said. “After all, you’re doing me such a favor by coming all the way out here to see Riley. Do you feel anything?”
I was too busy pressing my face to the satin pillowcases to realize what he was asking. “Hmm?”
Oliver struggled to find the right words. “Can you sense any others?”
“Oh!” For a second, I forgot why I’d ended up at Kings and Queens in the first place, but this was a job, not an all-expenses paid vacation. “Yes, I felt a presence as soon as I walked into the lobby.”
“You did?”
I pulled Madame Lucia’s accent out of hiding. “Oh, yes. Your resort is laden with otherworldly forces, but not to worry! Old buildings are often subject to hauntings. So much history, you see? It doesn’t necessarily mean you have evil spirits.” I opened up my suitcase, unpacked a bushel of sage, and brandished it about. “I can cleanse this place for you, especially the rooms where the forces are strongest.”
Oliver leaned back to avoid me as I swept by with the sage. “You should probably know I don’t believe in ghosts or forces or whatever.”
“No need!” I replied. “Skeptics are found far and wide. They’ve never stopped us spiritualists before. What matters is the girl. When can I meet her? We should begin working as quickly as possible before the forces within her draw her deeper into their depths.”
“Riley tends to disappear during the day,” Oliver said. “She knows you’re coming, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until she introduces herself to you. Until then, feel free to get settled, and if you need anything, you can call the front desk or let one of the staff members know. Oh, and before I forget—” He withdrew a billfold from his pocket and counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills. “That’s for you. Explore the town if you like. There are some delightful little shops on the avenue.”
He left me to it. I unpacked, dumping the contents of my suitcases into the dresser drawers at random. I stuffed the five hundred dollars out of sight behind the coffee pot. I didn’t plan on spending it in town. I needed it for whenever I returned home. I set up my video equipment next, spreading my laptop and everything else across the desk in the corner of the room. As I plugged in the camera battery to charge, something prickled on the back of my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement flicker in the bathroom. I swung around. The bathroom was empty. I was alone. Why was my heart pounding so hard?
“Get a grip, Lucia,” I muttered. “It’s just your mind playing games.”
I jumped as someone rapped on the door.
“Coming!” I called. I freed myself from the mess of cables on the desk, leapt over my empty suitcases, and pressed my eye to the peephole. There was no one there. I pulled the door open and stuck my head out into the hallway.
The corridor was empty. No one was visible in either direction.
3
The knock sounded so real, but it must have been the vacancy of the lodge toying with my mind. The top floor, devoid of other guests, felt miles above the lobby, where at least the employees stood in as proof of life. I unpacked the rest of my things as quickly as possible. The desire for a nap burned out of me as the silence of the top floor settled in. Up here, all I could hear was the wailing wind and, off in the distance, the steady chug of White Oak’s chair lift as it rounded the mountain. I thought of Jazmin, who was a good hour and a half into her drive home by now, and wished she’d been able to stay. She could fill the massive suite with her sensibility and reason in a heartbeat.
When I left the room, the thick carpet did nothing to absorb the sound of the door slamming. A hollow echo reached through the hallway, as if the top floor was a void that didn’t adhere to the standard rules of audio science. I felt a little better in the elevator, perhaps because the glass windows opened up to the rest of the resort. Two or three employees, the size of mice from this height, milled about in the lobby below. When I reached the first floor, Trey met me at the elevator.
“Can I get you anything, Miss Star?” he asked. “Some hot chocolate or coffee?”
“No, I’m fine,” I said. “Is the service at King and Queens always this attentive or are you just really bored?”
“A little bit of both.” He gazed into the restaurant and sighed longingly at the view of the mountain. Glimmering golden specks reflected off the white snow. “I’m mostly trying to keep my mind off the weather.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “It looks nice outside.”
“It’s perfect,” Trey agreed. “But I’m stuck inside, and there’s no work to be done. I’ve organized the key cards twice already, and I cleaned the front desk’s keyboard. I’ve never cleaned a keyboard in my life. Did you know that canned compressed air is actually a thing? You can literally buy air.”
“I don’t see the use for a concierge when there aren’t any guests around,” I said. “Oliver won’t let you off your shift early?”
Trey’s laugh was dry and cold, far too cynical for someone his age, but he quickly canned it. “Mr. Watson isn’t the type of manager to give his employees the day off so they can go snowboarding. Plus, I busted my board last week in some deep drifts, so I’d have to rent one, and I can’t afford to buy water at King and Queens, so I definitely wouldn’t be able to swing equipment rental.” He realized he was rambling. “Anyway, you should check out the slopes. It
’s not often Mr. Watson gives all-inclusive passes away. It’s almost as good as winning the lottery.”
“It’s wasted on me,” I said. “I don’t ski.”
“You want lessons?” he offered. “I’ll teach you. It would get me out of the lobby, and then Mr. Watson would have to lend me a board since it’s for work purposes.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “But I promise to come rescue you if I change my mind.”
Trey’s face fell, but he did his best to hide it. “A’ight, Miss Star. You should have a walk outside anyway. It’s too nice not to, and there are some tight hiking paths through the forest. If you take Winder’s Trail, it leads you up to a great bird-watching platform. I know what you’re thinking. ‘Who cares about some dumb birds?’ Trust me, it’s worth it. A bunch of eagles and hawks come to nest around here, although it’s not really nesting season, and I guess most of them have flown south. The view’s still pretty great though—”
“Thanks, Trey,” I said. The poor kid would go on for hours if I let him. Cabin fever was definitely a thing at King and Queens. “I’m going to go check it out right now.”
He reached over the lobby desk for a tri-fold pamphlet. “Here’s a map of the trails. It can be confusing up there, so be careful, and there aren’t many people out to ask for directions. There are signs though. I don’t know why we print so many of these. It’s wasteful. Bad for the environment, don’t you think?”
I saluted him with the pamphlet and left the lobby before he lassoed me into a discussion about King and Queens’s lack of progress in the sustainability department. Now that the sun had risen higher in the sky, it was less cold outside than I expected it to be. I zipped my parka all the way up to the high collar anyway and tucked my chin inside the fleece. My lips were the first things to go in cold weather. If I didn’t take precautionary measures, they would be chapped and bleeding by the end of the day.
No one had cleared the sidewalks around the resort that morning, but a few sets of footprints guided me around to the lodge’s rental store, café, and outdoor seating area. The deep snow crept up the side of my boots and melted through my jeans. Wistfully, I thought of my snow pants crammed into the dresser drawer in room twenty-thirteen on the top floor. Next time, I’d make sure to wear them.
