Afraid

by Jo Gibson

  Julie jumped as the door opened suddenly and Red Dawson stepped out into the shop. His bulk filled the doorway, and he was wearing a canvas apron that was covered with stains and bits of hair and fur.

  “Julie. I thought I heard someone out here.”

  Red didn’t look friendly. She’d probably interrupted his work. Julie tried to smile, but it was difficult. “Aunt Caroline sent me to pick up your invoices.”

  “They’re in that folder.” Red pointed at a manila folder on the counter. “Tell her the bear rug is finished, and I’ll ship it out tomorrow.”

  Julie nodded, and picked up the folder. “Thanks, Red. I’ll tell her.”

  “You want to see it?”

  “Uh . . . sure.” Julie kept a smile on her face, even though she didn’t have the slightest desire to see the bear rug. “Where is it?”

  “In the back room. Come on.”

  Julie took a deep breath as she followed Red into the back room. A combination of harsh smells assaulted her as she stepped into the huge work space, and she wrinkled up her nose.

  “You get used to the smell after a while.” Red turned to grin at her expression. “You want me to turn on the fan?”

  Julie shook her head. “No, that’s all right. It reminds me of biology class, that’s all.”

  “That’s what Vicki used to say.” Red’s grin disappeared. “She didn’t like it down here, either.”

  Julie’s eyes widened as she glanced around the workroom. Banks of fluorescent lights hung over a row of wide tables that appeared to be made out of giant planks of wood several inches thick. Their surfaces were scrubbed clean, but Julie could still see stains. An impressively large array of knives hung in a rack over the tables, and there were molds in the shapes of animals stacked up against the wall. Even though the workroom was clean and well lighted, it still reminded Julie of Dr. Frankenstein’s basement laboratory.

  “What do you think of my grinning bear?” Red lifted a heavy bundle up to one of the tables and spread it out.

  Julie gasped as she stared down at the huge bear rug. The bear’s head was still attached, and its mouth was open. Its eyes gleamed yellow in the reflected light and its teeth were long and sharp. Red seemed to think that the bear was grinning, but it looked more like a snarl to Julie.

  “That’s . . . uh . . . very impressive,” she said.

  Red reached out to stroke the coarse fur. “Can you see any holes?”

  “No I don’t see any.”

  “Good. He’s patched in eleven places. I used up almost all the scrap fur to get a match.”

  Julie nodded. “Well, I can’t see where you patched him. You did a wonderful job, Red.”

  “Vicki used to help me sometimes. She had a good eye for things like that. She seemed to be really interested in taxidermy . . . for a while.”

  Julie hesitated. Should she ask what had happened? Red seemed to be in a mellow mood, and she was curious. “Did Vicki lose interest?”

  “You could say that.” An expression of pain flickered across Red’s face, but it was gone so quickly Julie wondered if she’d imagined it. “Are you interested in taxidermy?”

  Julie hesitated again. She wasn’t, not really, but she didn’t want to hurt Red’s feelings. “I think it’s fascinating. But it’s also kind of . . . uh . . .”

  “Creepy?” Red smiled, and he looked friendly again.

  “Yes. Your animals are beautiful, in a savage sort of way. But don’t you get a little nervous, working here alone at night?”

  Red threw back his head and laughed. It was a good sound in the big, silent basement room, and Julie joined him. Then he slipped an arm around Julie’s shoulder and hugged her. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. These animals are dead, and they’re perfectly harmless. It’s just like people. It’s only the live ones that can hurt you.”

  On the way up from the basement in the elevator, Julie thought about Red. From what he’d told her, it was clear that Vicki had dumped him. The comment Red had made about dead animals and dead people stuck in her mind, and Julie shivered slightly. Had he been talking about Vicki? Vicki had hurt Red while she was alive, but now that she was dead, she was harmless.

  The elevator doors opened, and Julie stepped out into the lobby. It was still early, only six-thirty, and guests wouldn’t be arriving for dinner until seven. This was a perfect time to find Donna and see how they’d decorated the private dining room.

  Julie let herself in through the double French doors and walked through the deserted restaurant to the small private dining room. One wall was glass, and it had a lovely view of the snow-covered grounds, which were lighted at night with low spotlights. The other walls were wood paneled, and there was a huge stone fireplace with a portrait of the founders of the lodge, Julie’s great-great-grandparents, hanging over it.

  Julie walked over to the long table which was set up in the middle of the room, surrounded by twenty red leather chairs. Ten standing ice buckets were lined up nearby, champagne chilling in each of them. Julie recognized the distinctive label—Dom Perignon. This must be a very important dinner party. She’d noticed that Dom Perignon was the most expensive champagne on the menu, over a hundred dollars a bottle!

  There was a smile on Julie’s face as she glanced at the table itself. Three bouquets of fresh flowers had been arranged on the white linen cloth, red roses peeking out from lacy white baby’s breath and delicate green ferns. Aunt Caroline had told Julie she’d taken a class in flower arrangement so she could do the centerpieces for the tables.

  Silver gleamed and crystal wineglasses sparkled under the soft glow from the recessed lighting overhead. And to add a touch of warmth and comfort, someone had started a cheery blaze in the stone fireplace.

  “Nice, huh?” Donna came in, carrying a stack of china plates. “We always go all out for one of Mr. Stratford’s parties. You never know who might be coming. I’ve waited on senators, and movie stars, and a bunch of millionaires. Of course, none of them bring their wives.”

  “Why not?”

  “Dick Stratford supplies the women.”

  “Dick? That’s short for Richard, isn’t it?”

  Julie frowned as Donna nodded. Another R. There were so many, she’d have to start keeping a list. Ross, “Rock,” Ryan, Richard Stratford, Red Dawson, and even Uncle Bob, since his name was Robert!

  “Dick Stratford’s got a whole phonebook full of gorgeous young girls.” Donna looked amused. “And they all want to be invited to one of his parties. You’ll see what I mean when they get here.”

  Julie nodded. She should have guessed. Ryan was smooth, and he’d obviously had plenty of practice with his father’s women. “What does Mr. Stratford do?”

  “You mean besides drink, and sleep with gorgeous women, and throw money away?”

  Julie laughed. “Yes. What does he do for work?”

  “He doesn’t. Oh, he flies to New York every week or so to check on his magazine, but that’s it.”

  “Which magazine?”

  “Fantasy. Have you heard of Playboy, or Penthouse?”

  Julie nodded. “Of course. Mr. Stratford’s magazine is like that?”

  “Sort of. Except it has less articles. Paul’s got a stack of them under his bed, and it’s mostly just pictures of naked girls.”

  “And those are the girls Mr. Stratford brings to his parties?”

  “You got it.” Donna began putting out the plates. “At least he doesn’t bring them in naked. Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t let him. They’re dressed . . . but barely.”

  Julie raised her eyebrows. “Who’s helping you serve tonight?”

  “Mrs. Larkin. Your aunt won’t let the boys work Mr. Stratford’s dinners anymore.”

  Donna was grinning, and Julie had to ask. “Why not?”

  “Because Paul dropped a whole bowl of creamed spinach last year, when he recognized September’s top model.”

  The two girls burst into laughter, but they quickly sobered when Julie’s uncle came into t
he room. He was frowning.

  “Isn’t that table set yet?”

  “It’s almost ready, Mr. Hudson. All I’ve got left are the water glasses.”

  Donna set out the rest of the plates and hurried back to the kitchen. The moment she was gone, Uncle Bob turned to face Julie sternly. “Don’t bother Donna when she’s working. She’s slow enough as it is.”

  “Yes, Uncle Bob.” Julie’s eyes flashed with protest, and she quickly dropped her gaze. Donna wasn’t slow. Aunt Caroline had said she was the best waitress at the lodge.

  “I need you on the switchboard, Julie. One of our guests wants to place a call to France.”

  “All right, Uncle Bob.” Julie turned and hurried to the lobby. There was something wrong with Uncle Bob tonight. He was just as crabby as the day she’d arrived, and this time there were no German guests to frustrate him.

  It took only a few moments to place the call. Julie spoke to the international operator in English and the Paris operator in French. At least her foreign language skills were helpful. Uncle Bob couldn’t complain that she wasn’t pulling her weight here at the lodge.

  Julie had just finished answering several reservation calls when Donna rushed into the lobby. She looked up with a smile as Donna darted around the back of the desk and set down a small plate.

  “Louisiana Crab Cakes. They’re our special appetizer tonight. But don’t let your uncle see them. He doesn’t let anybody eat at the desk.”

  “Thanks.” Julie moved a piece of paper over to hide the plate. “What’s wrong with Uncle Bob tonight? He’s really cranky.”

  Donna moved closer and lowered her voice. “I think he’s drinking again. He went on a real bender after Vicki died, and he hasn’t been the same since. Ross says he wanders around late at night, and every couple of months he goes off in the mountains all alone and doesn’t come back for days.”

  “That’s awful.” Julie frowned. “It must be very hard on Aunt Caroline.”

  Donna nodded. “I know it is. She told me she’s been trying to get him to go back to AA, so he can straighten out his life.”

  Julie stared after Donna as she hurried back into the restaurant. She’d thought she’d smelled liquor on Uncle Bob’s breath this afternoon, but she hadn’t been sure. And Donna’s comment had explained a lot. She’d wondered why her aunt waved the wine bottle away at dinner, and now she knew: Uncle Bob was an alcoholic. That was why the liquor cabinet in their living room was filled with nothing but soft drinks. And it also explained why Uncle Bob had been so crabby. If he was drinking again, he was probably feeling guilty about his lapse.

  Donna’s words had jarred some memory, just below the surface. Julie sighed and shut her eyes, trying to remember back to the time when her aunt had visited them in Tokyo. She’d been sent off to bed while the grownups stayed up late to talk. But she’d been curious, and she’d slipped back down the stairs to listen.

  Aunt Caroline had cried, and said she was leaving Uncle Bob. Julie remembered that. She’d said something about another woman, and how Uncle Bob had been drinking too much. Julie’s parents had recommended Alcoholics Anonymous, and it must have worked, because Aunt Caroline and Uncle Bob had stayed together.

  Before Julie could dredge up any more memories, the front door opened and a crowd of people came in. One glance at them and Julie knew exactly who they were. The men looked rich and successful, and they were dressed in expensive casual wear. And the women were exactly as Donna had described . . . and then some! The last time Julie bad seen so much bare skin was on a nude beach in the South of France.

  The women were young and beautiful. Their hair was perfect, their makeup was faultless, and they were all smiling up at their dates with identical adoring expressions on their faces. They were dressed in low-cut evening gowns, and to use the new slang phrase Donna had taught her, they all had bodies to die for. Julie thought they looked like they didn’t have a brain among them, but they were gorgeous.

  The man in the lead was dressed in slacks and a black silk shirt, open at the neck. His jacket was slung casually over his shoulder, and he looked like he’d stepped right out of the pages of a men’s fashion advertisement. He had dark, curly hair and a deeply tanned face. Julie recognized him immediately—Dick Stratford. His eyes were the same shade of slate gray as Ryan’s.

  He strode toward the desk with the bearing of a man who knew exactly where he was going and why. But he stopped cold as he saw Julie.

  “Mr. Stratford?” Julie smiled, and her heart beat a little faster. His eyes were every bit as compelling as his son’s.

  “Yes.” His voice was deep and intimate, and Julie shivered. It was a bedroom voice, a voice that would whisper sweet, sexy things in some woman’s ear. He stared at Julie, blinked hard, and then smiled. “Ah, yes. The little cousin. Julie, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Julie took a deep breath. “Your table is ready. If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll call for the hostess to show you the way.”

  “That’s not necessary. We’ve been here before. Come on, Bunny. Let’s go.” Dick Stratford tucked his date’s hand under his arm, and escorted her toward the private dining room.

  Julie stifled a giggle as she watched them leave. Dick Stratford’s date was aptly named. She had long, honey-colored hair and huge brown eyes with impossibly long eyelashes. Her lips were pouty, and her walk was a sexy wiggle. Julie could imagine how a powder puff tail would bounce if someone pinned it to the back of her gold cocktail dress.

  To make the resemblance even more startling, Bunny was also very short. That meant she had to hop a bit to keep up with Dick Stratford’s long strides. As they turned to go into the private dining room, Julie noticed Bunny’s dress, and she bit back another giggle. The gold material clung to her figure like a second skin, and it was slit up both sides. It was lucky that Paul was no longer allowed to work at one of Dick Stratford’s parties. If he’d served Bunny, he’d have dropped much more than a bowl of creamed spinach!

  After Dick Stratford’s dinner guests had left, there was a flurry of calls. Julie answered them quickly, connecting one to the housekeeping desk, another to the long distance operator, and a third and fourth to room service. Mixed in with the in-house calls were several requests for reservations, and one inquiry about a tour group which she referred to Ross.

  The old adage was true—after the storm came the calm. After the brief flurry of calls, there was a long, silent interval when the phone didn’t ring at all. Julie listened to the sounds from the dining room, glasses clinking, silverware clattering, the low hum of polite dinner conversation. That got boring after a while, and she’d just opened her history book to do a little extra reading when the phone rang again.

  “Saddlepeak Lodge. This is Julie speaking. How may I help you?”

  There was silence and Julie frowned. A bad connection? She could hear noise in the background and a crackle of static, but the sounds were faraway and indistinct. She was about to hang up when she heard a muffled, whispery voice.

  “Julie. You look so pretty in that bright red sweater. Don’t do what your wicked cousin did or you’ll wind up dead, too.”

  Then there was nothing but silence again, and the faint indistinct noise in the background. Julie shuddered, and her fingers gripped the receiver so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

  “Hello? Hello? Who is this?”

  But there was no answer, just the faint crackling of a bad connection. And then she heard something that frightened her even more. A low chuckle that grew to an ominous laugh. And then a click. And a dial tone, loud and jarring, as the call was cut off.

  The phone slipped from Julie’s nerveless fingers and dropped back into the cradle with a thump. A wrong number? He’d known her name, but she’d identified herself when she’d answered the phone. It could have been a prank, a childish attempt to scare her. But why? What had she done to make someone want to frighten her?

  She sat behind the desk, face white, hands shaking, trying to imagin
e why anyone would make such a call. The voice had been deep and gruff. A man’s voice. He’d known that she was Vicki’s cousin, but everyone in Crest Ridge knew that.

  Julie reached out for a piece of paper and forced her shaking fingers to write down the words exactly as he’d spoken them. Julie. You look so pretty in that bright red sweater . . .

  She was about to continue when she looked down at the bright red sleeve of her sweater. The pen dropped from her shaking fingers and she gasped in terror. He’d known what she was wearing! Her caller was here, and he was watching her!

  Julie felt the back of her neck prickle. It was the same feeling she’d had at the skating rink, the feeling of being watched by hostile eyes. She swiveled around to stare out the window. The grounds looked lovely and peaceful, a white expanse of freshly fallen snow that glittered under the spotlights. Perfectly beautiful. Perfectly still. But he could be out there somewhere, peering out from the corner of a building, or hiding behind one of the huge pine trees. He could be anywhere, lurking in any of a thousand dark shadows while she sat here shaking, exposed by the bright lobby lights.

  Deliberately, Julie turned her back on the window. She told herself there was nothing out there, no reason to be in such a panic. She’d been sitting at the switchboard for over an hour and there had been a steady stream of guests and employees who had walked through the lobby. Anyone of them might have noticed that she was wearing a red sweater. It was only a prank—a mean, spiteful trick. She should ignore it and go on as if it had never happened.

  Although Julie did her best to push down her fear, nothing she tried had any effect. She could still hear the echoes of that muffled voice, and with each passing second her anxiety grew. Her heart pounded hard and adrenaline surged through her veins. Her mind was flashing a message to her trembling body. Scream. Run to the safety of the restaurant. But how would she explain why she’d left the switchboard? Uncle Bob would think she was crazy to get so upset over a crank phone call.