Nora put on her best hobbit voice; “It’s a dangerous business, Nicko, going out your door.”
I grinned. “You’re right about that, sis.”
I lay back on the bed and wondered what the days ahead were going to hold.
Chapter Two
“He must be planning on climbing a mountain.”
I pointed to the mound of luggage as I spoke. Ropes and karabiners dangled from the sides of Brett Sanders’ well-stuffed and complicated-looking backpack.
Nora gave me a sceptical look. “The mountains are too far away. I heard him say he’s planning to climb the limestone cliffs upriver. Apparently, they’re five hundred feet tall.”
The house guests were already walking the short distance up to the house with their hand luggage, leaving the heavier stuff for Nora and me to load onto some vehicle that was going to be sent down. When we were done bringing everything up on deck, Nora made iced lemonade and we sat sipping it on deck, backpacks and suitcases near our feet.
“I hope this thing doesn’t sink before we get off,” I said.
“Don’t worry. I see someone coming.”
A vehicle resembling an elongated, high-powered golf cart rolled down from the house toward the boat. I imagined a uniformed chauffeur in a peaked cap driving it but as it drew closer I made out a white-haired man behind the wheel. He pulled up and reversed expertly onto the narrow jetty, jumped out and walked up to us. I made some instant judgements as he approached; old guy, but fit, strong, not to be argued with, probably as loyal as hell to Wheeler.
“Nora and Nick, isn’t it? I'm Peterman, Mr. Wheeler’s lodge manager. Load on the luggage and I’ll take you up to the house now.” His accent was distinctively German.
He didn’t wait for us but came aboard and grabbed a couple of the heaviest cases himself. Nora and I followed suit, making several trips up and down the ramp. I could see why Wheeler would need to have a caretaker – in Wheeler’s corporate world this would have the fancier title ‘lodge manager’ – living up here throughout the year in this remote place. Peterman seemed perfect for the job and gave out a sort of ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe that was both off-putting and a bit mysterious at the same time.
When everything was loaded, we drove up to the house at a sedate pace over rough, sloping ground. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but there were no electrified fences or high security electronic gates, just two big, rough looking concrete pillars serving as the focal point for entrance to the lodge grounds. Past these pale grey columns, the ground became flat and even and the building in front of us was anything but understated. My completely untrained eye took in the impressive architectural details of the house; a straightforward rectangular design but massive for such a remote location, standing three floors high. Off to one side, and elevated on a concrete platform, was a round helipad with a limp windsock hanging nearby.
The entire building was constructed from long, straight logs, each one the trunk of a full size tree, that would have needed some kind of crane to lift and set in place. I had a sudden mental image of them all falling down on top of me in the middle of the night. What struck me most about the design of the house were the big windows, some of which extended almost from floor to ceiling in the ground floor rooms. Peterman pulled up right in front of one.
We stepped inside, and the opulence of the place made Nora gasp. My own eyes must have widened too. The overall impression was of gleaming, heavily varnished wood everywhere. Great round wooden columns ran from floor to ceiling. At the staircase leading to the upper floors several more of these beams lay on their sides, supporting a sort of balcony overlooking the entrance hallway. Somehow in the immensely solid-looking upright columns – I had no idea how it was done – the constructors had installed the electrical circuitry, with light switches placed midway up several of the massive wooden beams. I stepped over to the nearest one and pressed the light switch. Yes, they really worked.
Nora was similarly awed and simply said, “This is a wonderful place,” as if we had stepped into a fairy tale. We had, sort of, and Peterman showed no surprise at our reaction.
“Yes,” he said, beginning what sounded like a well practised routine, “It took Mr. Wheeler ten years of hard work and great personal expense to build this retreat. It's designed in the Californian log manor style. As you can see, the interiors are furnished with wide plank red fir floors, stone accents, Swedish cope walls, walnut doors and B.C. hand-peeled logs.”
All that information buzzed around my head, then floated in one ear and out the other. Obviously, I was now expected to gasp in stunned amazement and shower praises on Wheeler the Superman.
“It’s very nice, very restful,” I muttered lamely.
Peterman wasn’t done yet with his spiel. “That was important to Mr. Wheeler. The Swedish cope profile accentuates the natural curvature of the logs and the extra large windows bathe the rooms in natural light.”
“Pretty impressive,” I offered, hoping he’d now shut up.
No such luck. This guy didn’t have a spiel, he had a lecture. “As you can imagine, the hardest problem to solve was the logistics of getting everything up here to this remote location. The wood and furnishings were shipped up; the builders travelled by transport helicopter and lived on-site. You can read about it later.” He actually stuffed a colour leaflet into Nora’s hand. “There’s also a photo album on the coffee table in the living room showing the various construction stages.”
“I guess there’s a generator out back?” Nora asked, ever polite. I gave her a glaring ‘please shut up’ look.
Peterman looked pleased. “We have the latest solar panels on the roof and ground-source heat pumps drawing heat from the soil in summer. We also have a small water turbine in the boathouse supplying electricity along an underground power line up to the house. It’s computerised and highly efficient. For patio cooking and emergency back-up we use propane gas stored in the shed behind the house.”
Nora nodded, pretending she’d understood any of that. “Nice to see Mr. Wheeler’s environmentally aware.”
“Indeed, even our rainwater is harvested for the outside taps.”
I almost physically gagged when he said ‘harvested’ and just managed to turn my laugh into a yawn in time. Peterman gave me a steely look.
“Please follow me and I'll take you up to your rooms.”
I shucked my runners off just in case that was required, and Peterman led the way. Nora and I grabbed a heavy bag under each of our arms when Peterman looked back and frowned.
“Leave those; I’ll bring them up presently.”
“It’s just our personal luggage,” I explained.
“No matter,” he replied. It was a command, not a request, and impossible to ignore. We dropped the bags. A weird thought came into my head; was he going to search them?
We were halfway up the staircase when a tall, slender woman with greying hair, probably in her mid sixties, appeared below. She picked up two large suitcases, both of which were obviously heavy. I wanted to run back to help her and had to check myself from doing so.
Peterman spoke again. “This is Marie, my wife. As you will detect from our accents, we are both from Europe. Marie is French and I am German, Bavarian to be precise."
He led us to adjoining rooms on what he initially referred to as the second floor, before correcting himself.
“Excuse my mistake. I should have said third floor for that is what it is in North America. I’ve lived in Britain for many years and have yet to become accustomed to that particular difference in terminology.”
He opened two doors, revealing small but comfortable bedrooms.
“Marie and I are further along the hallway.” He pointed ahead, then at the floor. “The guests are on the level below. We’ll be serving dinner at seven o'clock so please come down to the dining room at the back of the house at six-thirty sharp to assist with serving. In the meantime if there is anything you need, I’ll be in the kitchen which is at the back.
Feel free to roam around but don’t disturb the guests in their rooms.”
He nodded curtly and descended the stairs.
“I almost expected him to click his heels together before leaving us,” I said.
Nora giggled and went into her room and I went into mine. Without my luggage there wasn’t much I could do so I decided to take a shower and rest before dinner. When I came out of the bathroom my bags were at the foot of the bed so, if they had been searched, the Petermans were quick workers. I unpacked everything into drawers and a big closet, then flopped down on the bed and yawned some more. A glance at my watch told me it was already twenty minutes to six. I’d been on the cabin cruiser for the last five days and hadn’t slept much. A good night’s sleep was what I needed most but a quick doze on top of this bed would do in the meantime. Then I’d have to go down and make small talk to the pushy Petermans while setting up the welcome dinner. The thought of it was depressing.
Chitchat is definitely not my forte. Thank God Nora’s with me.
* * *
Nora knocked my door at six twenty-five and we went down together. At the end of the hallway and to the left, the dining room was predictably long and spacious. The guests appeared around seven and, despite Peterman urging us to stand behind the chairs and pull them out for each guest, we let them seat themselves. Once we’d carried the dishes in and placed them on the table, Nora and I were told we could sit at a separate small table off to the side and serve ourselves straight from the kitchen pots. Just like on the boat, the guests now treated us as if we were invisible, which suited me just fine. I even had a nice side view of Georgia, sitting at the bottom of the main table, and wearing something low cut and slinky. Perfect.
Wheeler, at the other end, started going on about how they were seated around a solid cherry wood dining table that he’d had specially made in Japan and flown directly to the lodge. Antique silver candlesticks and bone-handled cutlery adorned it, and an ornate wheel-shaped thing called a ‘candelabra’ hung from the ceiling. Throughout the meal, Peterman and Marie stood like statues either side of the arched passageway to the right that connected with the kitchen.
The meal was west coast Canadian – trout and salmon with various half raw vegetables, washed down with the sort of fruity red and sharp white wines my dad likes. I snuck a couple of glasses of the white for myself, ignoring Peterman’s scowl, and soon was a bit more relaxed after knocking them back. As the meal wore on, the guests’ voices grew louder, or maybe I was just able to hone in on them better. Most of the chatter was about the weather forecast, outdoor activities, and the accident with the boat earlier today. Abby Mackie had a long cross-table conversation with Toby Andrews about his family’s business background. I stared at the bottom end of the silvery dress as it slowly crept higher up Georgia’s thighs, and listened in.
“Yes, my dad was a mine blaster,” Toby explained. “He started at the bottom and worked his way up to site manager. He’s the type that always wants to do it for himself, and as soon as he got some money together he started his own company. That’s how Andrews Mining got going.”
“You grew up among lumps of ore and sticks of dynamite?” Abby Mackie asked.
Toby laughed. “Well, my father had stopped doing most of the hands-on work by the time I came along, but when I was young he’d take me to the storeroom and let me handle the blasting caps and fuses and stuff like that.”
“That must have been fun for a boy.”
“Yeah, when you’re that age it’s a big thrill. I bugged him until he actually let me help set up a mine blast once or twice. They’d never allow that today.”
The conversation faded out and Peterman tapped our shoulders to serve the dessert course, which Georgia declined. By the time we sat down again, everyone at the big table was talking over each other and I couldn’t make out any of it.
Twenty minutes later, when Peterman’s back was turned, I nabbed a glass of well-aged cognac off the sideboard and quietly watched the guests’ interactions. Georgia and Ned Mackie leaned close together, almost talking in each other’s ear. Abby Mackie nudged her husband’s elbow and he suddenly straightened up, frowning. Brett Sanders grinned across the table and gave Georgia a knowing look. Then Wheeler pushed back his chair and stood up. He stared at the guests, compelling them to give him their attention. Only Toby Andrews still appeared relaxed, quickly loading another slab of aged cheddar onto his side plate. It must have been the tenth one he’d had, and I wondered where he put it all. Wheeler raised his full glass of cognac and downed it in one swallow.
“Thank you all for accepting my invitation to come up here to my wilderness retreat. I hope you enjoy your surroundings.”
He raised both hands to emphasise the surroundings, drawing attention to the luxury of the house rather than the great outdoors.
“Please make yourselves at home and wander around as you wish. If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask Peterman or Marie. Nick and Nora are also available to assist at all times.”
He smiled at us, as if doing us a favour by recognising our existence. Peterman gave an expressionless nod of agreement and Marie almost curtsied.
“Now to attend to some matters at hand.” Wheeler waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the river. “I’d planned a little trip to take you to see something interesting nearby. Since, due to unforeseen circumstances, we won’t have use of the cruiser, I’ve made an alternative arrangement for tomorrow.”
I took another sip of the cognac that I wasn’t supposed to have and tried not to cough. Bet I won’t like this bright idea, whatever it is.
“We have tons of equipment here to do a little canoeing and it means we can still make the trip I planned.” He winked knowingly at the Mackies. “Nothing too strenuous, just a few hours paddling and a short hike to get there; same on the way back. Nick and Nora look pretty fit, so they will come and help with any heavy stuff. We’ll take canoes upriver, tie up at a tributary I know and go exploring in the forest for a few hours. It’ll be lots of fun. How does that sound?”
“Sounds good to me,” Brett Sanders said, “You can make it plenty strenuous. Camp overnight if you like.” He gave Georgia a leering look.
“That won’t be necessary,” Wheeler replied curtly.
“Any particular reason we’re going there?” Georgia asked.
Wheeler paused awkwardly before replying. “As a matter of fact, I do have something in mind. I collect rare artefacts relating to this part of the country. Look around you – they’re on the walls, shelves, all over the place. Old maps, documents, early photographs, also books about pioneer exploration in this region. One of those books contains an interesting account of an event that occurred here back in nineteen-twenty-five.”
He glanced from face to face before continuing. Glasses paused on the way to mouths. Suddenly we were all listening.
“According to a pioneer’s journal, an unusually large meteorite came to ground just a mile or two upriver. There’s only a single account of it, in a self-published book of which there were just twenty-six copies. This meteorite is currently unrecorded by scientists and is reported to be enormous. I thought we might take a look for it tomorrow.”
“Won’t it be like looking for the needle in a haystack?” Toby asked. “Surely our chances of finding it are pretty slim?”
“Not at all,” Wheeler replied, “The book contains a map and a very detailed description of the area. The author’s quite specific where it landed.”
Sanders leaned forward. “I’d be really interested in that,” he said, “I studied meteorites as part of my astronomy degree at university.”
“I know,” Wheeler replied, “That’s why I invited you.”
There was silence. The Mackies exchanged looks and slight headshakes before Abby spoke.
“Ned and I will take a pass if you don’t mind. We’re not hikers or canoeists.”
Wheeler nodded. “No problem. There’s a lot to do around here. Just have a quiet,
relaxing day indoors. Peterman and Marie will be here too. Toby?”
“Count me in,” Toby said, with typical enthusiasm. “Fair warning, though: I haven’t hiked in years and I'll slow you down. But the exercise will do me good, and it sounds like such a noble quest.”
Nora nudged my leg under the table and gave me her wide-eyed, tight lipped stare. Without speaking, I knew exactly what she was saying. He never asked us if we want to go or not. I leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Get some sense! It’ll be great. No house chores all day, just paddling and walking. I can’t wait.”
Nora looked unconvinced.
* * *
After clearing up, Nora and I were told we could hang out with the guests in the living room if we wanted. They didn’t seem to mind, though they didn’t make much effort to include us in conversations either, so we sat bored to tears until just after eleven o’clock when Toby Andrews rose and bid the other guests goodnight. That was my cue. I jumped up quickly and Nora followed suit.
“I’m feeling tired and fuzzy-headed,” Toby explained as we followed him up the stairs. “Wine, then cognac, then brandy and liqueurs afterwards – I need a good sleep before tomorrow.”
Andrews slowly led the way up the stairs, Nora and I following behind, not wanting to push past him. At the top of each flight, he stopped and drank from a bottle of Evian water he was clutching. Something about his mannerisms made me smile, despite the delay. Then I accidently clipped the back of his heel with my toe.
“Sorry, Mr. Andrews.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “Anyway, please call me Toby. You’re feeling better now, I hope?”
I nodded. “Nora makes a good nurse.”
She gave me a gentle dig in the back.
Toby sipped his water as if waiting for me to continue, so I did.
“I guess I nearly drowned,” I said, and instantly regretted it. It sounded a bit melodramatic. Positively girly.
Uninvited Page 2
