The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge

by Lucia N Davis

  “Of course. I don’t know much about the company structure.”

  “It’s not all that complicated. You learn quickly enough once you’re in it.”

  “I thought the board of directors did the financial stuff. Shows how much I know…” Sara shrugged.

  “No, the board of directors is like the boss of the company—major shareholders and such. Preston is part of it, as CEO and founder. The board does have financial oversight; some members are part of the audit committee, so you’re not completely off.”

  “I see. And what does the audit committee do?”

  “They’re responsible for financial oversight. Kind of like making sure the money gets spent wisely.”

  “Wasn’t Lauren part of the board?”

  “Yeah, she was. Part of the audit committee as well. She was really good at financial stuff.” From Ruth’s tone, it seemed like the only redeeming quality she could find in Lauren.

  Sara pulled a face. “That must’ve been challenging after their separation.”

  Ruth nodded. “You bet. Apparently she was causing a stir. I think she was just trying to piss Preston off.”

  “You sure know a lot about the going-ons inside the company…”

  “Preston lets me handle a lot of things. He should be the one dealing with them, I guess, but he’d rather spend his time reading about new biotech research. He has great vision, and plenty of exciting ideas, but the day-to-day stuff bores him. Between you and me, he’s not very organized. Whereas I could organize a bowl of spaghetti—at least that’s what he keeps telling me.” The smile on her face was a bitter one, as if she could think of plenty of other compliments she’d rather get from him.

  “Well, at least you get to take a vacation soon. That will be nice.”

  Ruth didn’t look all that excited. “I’m going home to Iowa, to my mom. She has Alzheimer’s.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Ruth looked at her watch. “I do have to finish this, if you don’t mind.”

  Sara took the hint and quickly said goodbye, wishing Ruth a Merry Christmas. After wishing Preston and Bailey a wonderful stay with family, she walked out to her car. It had started snowing again. It would be her first white Christmas, she realized. And the second one without her parents. The realization caused a sharp pang in her chest. The hole inside her carved out by her parents’ death was particularly sore during the holidays. She loaded up her car and drove off, the haunting image of the lodge dominating her rearview mirror, until she turned onto the road and it disappeared from view.

  Sara and David picked up Margaret on Christmas Eve. David’s mother was tired from her journey, but her eyes sparkled in a way Sara hadn’t seen before. The next day, the three of them celebrated Christmas at David’s apartment, a warm but subdued affair. David gave Sara a beautiful necklace, which brightened her mood, but couldn’t fully lift the shadow hanging over her. The holidays were a powerful reminder that all was not as it should be—that the people who should be there were not. She wasn’t the only one suffering from melancholy, either. For David and Margaret, the holidays were not the same without Pops. Still, Margaret was full of stories about her adventures in Italy, which were a welcome distraction. She revealed little about her friend, despite a not-insignificant number of prompts from both David and Sara. They left it alone; when Margaret was ready to share, she would.

  After Christmas, Sara visited her aunt and uncle in Seattle—some reminiscing helped her share the burden of loss, but the pain remained. It was almost better not to think about her parents, to tuck the memories away. She thought back to the advice she had given Bailey: talking helps. Maybe it didn’t work for everyone.

  She still had recurring dreams, but no new ones, and sleeping with David somehow threw her antenna off; the dreams were less vivid, less urgent. Yet they persisted, a silent, stubborn reminder that her task was not yet finished. Sara had a few more days of vacation left, but after the holiday, David’s clients started taking up his time again. When he was free he often asked her to come skiing. The snow conditions were perfect, and her foot was no longer a deterrent from hitting the slopes. Her research into Lauren’s death, however, was always a valid excuse, and so she managed to avoid most of the hazardous activity without looking like a complete wuss.

  For starters, she looked up the company Lauren had circled on the sheet of paper. JSK Marketing had a website that listed contact information in California. She called the number, but no one answered, so she left her cell phone number and asked them to call her back. She wasn’t sure what to say when they did, but she figured she could always make some random inquiries about their services.

  Next she focused on Summer, who seemed to somehow play an integral part in the whole Lauren mystery. The blonde was a prominent feature in Sara’s dreams, and the few clues Lauren had provided involved Summer as well—maybe Sara was supposed to track her down. That was easier said than done, since Summer obviously didn’t want to be found. Assuming Summer had taken Ryan’s last name after they married, Sara started searching online, but it got her nowhere. Only when she combined her search for “Summer Dempsey” with the name of Preston’s company did she find any mention of the mysterious woman, but only a couple of times—and they were old references, from before she’d vanished. Sara tried social media sites next, without success. There were websites that would take Sara’s money in exchange for more information, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to go that far yet.

  She could ask Jerry, but she had already asked him for a favor. Plus, he was busy with a newborn, and she was hesitant to get him more involved. Disillusioned, she gave up. Maybe Lauren would dig up another item that could be of use. But David’s apartment wasn’t likely to provide her with anything. For the remainder of her vacation, she would have to put her research on hold.

  They celebrated New Year’s Eve at the Hideout. The next morning she woke up in David’s apartment, in an empty bed, with a pounding headache. She vaguely remembered too much time with Terrence and consequently, too many cocktails being passed her way. She smacked her lips—her mouth tasted like an animal had died in it. Disgusted, she lifted her head up to take a sip of water from the glass on her nightstand. A bottle of Tylenol was neatly placed next to the glass. It seemed David had anticipated her needs. She managed to take one pill out and swallow it. Exhausted, she plopped back down.

  She could hear David in the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards and clanging some pans. Grunting, she placed a pillow over her head. Soon the faint smell of fried eggs and bacon drifted into the bedroom, and her stomach did a double flip. Feeling a decade older, she stumbled to the bathroom, located her toothbrush, and took a long shower.

  She emerged from the steamy room in slightly better shape, and headed for the kitchen. The smell of fried eggs was less daunting than before, and the thought of coffee actually seemed appealing. David had already finished his plate—last night’s party hadn’t affected him, she observed, a little irritated.

  “Good morning,” he said, chuckling. “I was wondering whether you would make it out of bed today.”

  “Funny. I don’t remember much.” She slumped down at the kitchen table.

  He placed a mug of coffee in front of her. “I warned you not to take the shots Terrence offered you.”

  “What shots?”

  “Exactly. You were determined to prove to him you could hold your drink. I told you it was a bad idea.”

  Her dislike multiplied ten-fold. So Terrence had just been trying to get her drunk. She shook her head in disgust. “Ugh. I honestly don’t recall. Next time just pick me up and drag me out, will you?”

  David’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, ma’am. Although, I will say, you were very affectionate after we got home.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Until you passed out, that is.”

  Sara hid her face, groaning. She really hoped she hadn’t done or said anything overly embarrassing. “Sorry.”

  “No need. You want some eggs
?”

  Sara’s stomach lurched. “No, thanks. I think I’ll head back to bed.” While getting up, she knocked over a pile of last week’s mail. “Shoot, sorry.” She knelt down, swallowing back the acidic taste in her mouth, and picked up the mess while David protested.

  “It’s all right, I got it,” she said. As she picked up the stack, a card fell out. On it was a picture of a woman.

  Picking it up, she examined it closely. The woman looked familiar. Medium-length dark hair, pretty face, nice smile… Sara stared at it. “Why do I feel like I know her?” she asked.

  David looked over her shoulder. “Oh, look at the back, you’ll see. It’s the poor tutor we found. Mia Jenkins. Her family sent me that memorial card. Her mother called me, did I tell you that? She just wanted to know how—how we found her.”

  “No, you didn’t tell me,” Sara mumbled. She barely recognized the dead woman in this picture. This woman was smiling and—well—not dead. She looked so familiar. Sara could have sworn she had seen her somewhere before when she was alive.

  She turned the card around and read the obituary, which wasn’t that interesting. She shrugged and placed the card on the table. “I don’t remember.”

  “Maybe you should sleep off your hangover. That would clear your mind…”

  Sara took his advice and went back to bed. After a long nap, her head had improved drastically, but she couldn’t say the same for her memory. She lay there thinking for a little while until David joined her in the bedroom. Soon after that, Mia Jenkins became the last thing on her mind.

  Chapter 21

  January started at a snail’s pace. Weekends with David were Sara’s beacon—a bright light in the distance—but the clock played evil tricks during those days; the hours disappeared in a blink, the days always too short. During the week, Bailey worked diligently and didn’t give Sara much trouble, but staying at the lodge was wearing Sara out. Lauren’s lurking presence was grating on her, and the recurring dreams, renewed in their vigor now that Sara was back in the house, blunted her thinking. Her dreams continuously interrupted her sleep, keeping her awake as she pondered their significance.

  She had been more generous with the pills, which blessed her with nights of dreamless sleep but left her foggy in the morning. If there were any new clues, they eluded her, and for weeks now she had been in limbo. She worried what would happen if she couldn’t find out who killed Lauren. Would she slowly go insane—or become completely dependent on sleeping pills? Both outcomes were unappealing. When she was alone at night with Bailey, Sara stayed away from the little white tablets, but on any other night, she felt no such hesitation.

  The pills lulled her into a false sense of control that was bound to unravel. The bottle got emptier, until she only had two pills left. The thought of going without them frightened Sara. She could go back to the doctor, of course, but he would start asking questions—and at some point he would deny her. This was not a long-term solution. She needed a breakthrough.

  That afternoon, exhausted from her latest overnight ordeal, she passed out while reading on her bed. It was only a short nap, but without pharmacological suppression, one of the dreams snuck back in. She found herself back at the wedding of Preston and Lauren, waiting with the guests for the bride to arrive, when a familiar face amidst the waves of lavender satin jolted Sara awake.

  “She was at the wedding!” She sat up in bed, wide-eyed with the revelation. This was why the face of the dead tutor on the memorial card had seemed so familiar: Sara had seen her in a dream. Just like Summer, Mia Jenkins had been a bridesmaid! Sara pressed her fingers to her temples. How was that possible? When Preston hired Sara, he had given her the impression he hardly knew Mia. But if she had been a bridesmaid, that must have been a lie.

  Sara fell back onto the bed. It made no sense. Why would he lie about that? He hadn’t been around during the time of Mia’s death, so it wasn’t like he could have been implicated. Of course, if he did know her… Her mind was running in circles. It was hard to think. She pledged a silent vow not to touch the sleeping pills again.

  Excited, she got up. Maybe now she had something to go on. Maybe Mia was somehow connected to all of this. She couldn’t ask Preston, but Ruth might know. Sara made a mental note to ask Ruth when she saw her tonight—if she returned to the lodge, that is. Ruth rarely came back these days. Preston returned every other night or so, sometimes less frequently, and when he did it was usually too late for Sara to want to leave the house. Some days he worked from home, but his presence didn’t bother her—he respected her privacy and left her alone.

  When she was alone with Bailey, Sara felt safe enough knowing Peaches was in the house, and maybe even safer without Nick snooping around. Still, his disappearance was unsettling; she had to admit she had expected him to return by now. But there had been no word from him.

  There wasn’t much she could do about Nick, but she could step up her search for Summer. Sara placed another call to JSK Marketing. Figuring the holidays must have interfered with her message, she left a second one, stating an interest in their services and asking for a call back. With a renewed sense of urgency, she went ahead and placed a paid request online for more information about Summer. Preston was paying her well enough that she could spare a few dollars. It could take a few days, the site informed her. So be it. For now, this was the best she could do.

  Preston had been gone for the day and returned that night. It was Thursday evening, and he planned to stay till Monday. Much to Sara’s disappointment, Ryan had tagged along instead of Ruth. Her questions would have to wait. At least he had come without Dawn, who would be at some fancy girls’ weekend at a spa.

  After Bailey went to bed that night, Sara delayed going upstairs. Ryan had been describing a safari he had taken in South Africa a while back, and it was a story difficult to pull away from. His travels were filled with one adventure after another—that is, if you believed him. Sara, who had heard her father describe plenty of trips, suspected Ryan left more than a few unappealing details out, but she had to give it to him: the man could paint a picture of countries abroad as vivid as a camera, and he was talented at making even the most disgusting creepy-crawlies—which would normally send Sara running out of the room—sound fascinating.

  When Ryan finished, Preston took over before his friend could launch into another tale.

  “Sara, I’ve been meaning to ask you: what do you think of Bailey’s progress? Do you think she could go back to school next year?”

  Sara reluctantly forced her mind away from South Africa and back to reality. A little timid, since she was now in the hot seat, she mulled over her answer. “I think so. She’s certainly not behind. I think school would be good for her. She’s been seeking out the company of other kids here, I’ve noticed.” Bailey regularly spent part of her afternoons on the slopes, usually with other kids from the area who could match her skiing abilities. Basically this meant they dared each other to perform death-defying stunts on the slopes. It was a miracle the girl had so far come home unscathed. Her skis weren’t always so lucky—she’d broken two of them this season. If this concerned Preston, however, he didn’t show it. A new pair of skis had showed up the next day without any questions asked.

  Preston nodded. “Right. I’m glad to hear that. I was thinking about placing her in a boarding school next year. Good supervision, good education…”

  Sara’s eyes went wide. Stunned, she looked from Preston to Ryan, hoping for some input. Ryan looked away, not wanting to interfere, it seemed. She turned back to Preston. “A boarding school? Like, where she would stay overnight?”

  “Yes, that’s typically what a boarding school involves.”

  Anger was building up inside her. “I know what a boarding school is—I was just verifying that you did. I’m not sure boarding school would be in her best interest. I think she would benefit much more from spending time with you, to be frank. Bailey is a wonderful young lady, but she’s still a child. Her mother is gone. How
do you think it would make her feel if the only parent she has left shipped her off to boarding school?”

  “I think Bailey would understand that I am a very busy man. I don’t think I can be the parent you’re referring to. It would be better for her if I could find another—” He broke off. “Someone who could function as a female caretaker.”

  For a second, Sara was speechless. What did he mean by that—“function as a female caretaker”? “You can’t just replace her mother with hired help!” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “It’s not that simple. You are her father; and you may be busy, but you have so many resources other people don’t have. I’m sure you could find a solution to keep her with you.”

  Preston’s face reddened. “I find your tone a little hostile. You’re taking this personally.”

  “I care about Bailey. Of course I’m taking this personally!” She paused. It was more than that, though. It was hard not to let her own experiences cloud her judgment. Her father had been a news photographer, always off to some dangerous place for weeks, even months at a time. There was always another war, another disaster to cover. That was his job—a job he considered important enough to continue doing it, even after he became a parent. When he was home, he had been a great father, and she knew he had loved her to pieces, but she had always resented the fact that at some point he would leave them again for another hazardous assignment. Her mother, who seemed fragile under the weight of potential bereavement, tried her best, but to Sara it always felt like the sword of Damocles was hanging over their house. One day it would come down and split the roof in two.

  She’d spent large chunks of her youth without her father, and that space had been taken up by fear of his demise. How many important events in her life had her father missed because of his job? She had thought that maybe, when he retired, they could make up for lost time, but the car accident had stolen that opportunity from her. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the complexity of her father’s choices, but the wish that he could have made a different choice at some point—to show her she was just as important as his work—never disappeared. It was a struggle she had yet to come to terms with.