“It doesn’t do any good,” Burt said. “The fire isn’t real, those cookies aren’t real and neither are you.”
The woman looked hurt. “I assure you, sir, that I am real, and I just baked the cookies. Your rudeness is appalling.”
“What do you expect of your prisoners, cordiality?”
“I think you’ve outstayed your welcome. I’ll have your bill waiting for you at the front desk,” she said, pushing past him and walking out the door.
Burt stepped out into the hall and watched her retreat down the corridor towards the stairs. “Well, it’s worth a try,” he said, gathering his overnight bag. His investigative backpack and computer bag had long ago disappeared. He lost track of them right after he arrived. He was sure he placed both bags on the chair in the corner, but when he went looking for them, he found them missing. When he had brought this up to the hostess, she raised her hands and mentioned that a man his age ought to take better care of his things.
He walked down the stairs and into the foyer that served as the inn’s lobby. He looked around and didn’t see anyone at the massive oak desk. The front door opened behind him, and he felt the cold breeze of winter snake along the floor, chilling his ankles. He turned around to see the hostess brushing off a few snowflakes from her shoulders.
“Sorry, for the wait. I thought I would clear the snow from the porch. Can I help you?” she asked sweetly.
“I was told my bill would be waiting for me at the desk.”
The woman looked puzzled, walked over, sat down, and moved through the papers looking for said bill. “Your name?”
“Burt Hicks,” he supplied, surprised by her not seeming to know him.
“Oh yes, here it is. I have a reservation for Burt Hicks. I believe you asked for a queen size bed with an attached bathroom. I’m Mrs. Brewster, if you have any questions…”
“I have plenty of questions,” Burt began. “But let me get something I forgot from the car.” Burt ran over to the door, and it opened with ease. A blast of sunshine greeted him as he headed for the steps.
“Careful, Mr. Hicks, that second step could kill you,” Mrs. Brewster said from behind him.
Burt looked down horrified to see the second step was now hundreds of feet below the inn, again. The cold he felt upon her entering the inn was gone. Instead, he faced a summer landscape of fields of wheat. He felt the strong hand of the hostess on his shoulder. The creepy feeling of déjà vu filled him. He could almost chorus Mrs. Brewster’s next words.
“Why don’t you just sit over here and enjoy the sunshine.”
Mia navigated her truck slowly down the country lane. She had plowed the road earlier in the morning, but an inch of snow had fallen since, making the track slippery. Living in the isolated hollow had its disadvantages in the winter time. It was a dangerous route for a mail truck to manage. The county rarely entered the area to plow its maze of roads. Ted had arranged to have their mail held at the Big Bear Lake post office for the winter. They would pick up their personal correspondence and anything addressed to PEEPs when they were in town.
The only vehicles they encountered after the snow fell in the hollow were snowmobiles. They kept mostly to the tracts of land east of the farm where the trees were sparse and the land level.
“I don’t blame Burt for not attempting this drive in that old beater of his,” Cid commented.
“He really should take the van and use it during the winter,” Mia said as she navigated the turn onto the county road.
“He’s stubborn. Thinks it’s taking advantage or something.”
“It’s not like PEEPs is a publicly traded company.”
“Not yet,” Cid said. “When it is, I’m going to retire.”
This brought fits of giggles from Mia. “The day a ghost hunting group makes enough money to interest Wall Street investors is the day I have Murphy’s name tattooed on my butt.”
“Ted wouldn’t like that.”
“I know. That’s how sure I am that you better look into other ways of reaching your goal of retiring early.”
They stopped at the post office, and Cid ran in while Mia kept the truck running. He was back within minutes with two rubber-banded stacks of mail. He began to sort through them as Mia drove, skirting the perimeter of the town.
He held up a large envelope, scrutinizing the return address. “Looks like Ted’s got a contract of some kind.”
“Do you always read other people’s mail?” Mia asked dryly.
“Only if it’s interesting. You’ve got one from Arizona.”
“Really? I wonder who I know out there.”
“Want me to open it?”
“No. Read your own mail.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Aren’t you occupant?”
“That’s cruel. I’ll look through…” he stopped talking as Mia pulled up to what used to be her home. The gates were shut, and the drive hadn’t been plowed. Her sanctuary looked deserted. She opened the window, reached for the intercom and pressed the buzzer. “I wonder if he’s ill?” After receiving no reply, she opened the gate remotely, commenting, “Being the landlord has its privileges.” She pulled the truck in and accessed the garage door. It rose, exposing an empty space where Burt’s car should have been parked. “Well, that answers that. He’s gone.”
“By the amount of unmoved snow, I’d say at least twenty-four hours,” Cid said.
“Why don’t you hop inside and exercise your investigative skills to find out where he went, while I’ll clear his drive,” Mia suggested. She detached the key to the house from her key ring. “Security code is on the key.”
“Does Burt know you have this?”
“It’s my house. He’s renting it. I have landlord privilege,” Mia said smugly.
“Do you have a key to my place?”
“Ted does.”
“Oh,” Cid said, sliding out of the truck. He slogged his way to the door, thinking about the rights of renters until he realized he had yet to pay Ted any rent. “There must be a loophole,” he said aloud as he unlocked Burt’s door.
Mia cleared the drive and raised the plow before she took a hand shovel and cleared her way to Burt’s door. She walked inside and smelled coffee brewing. “Talk about making yourself at home,” she called as she took off her boots and outer clothing.
“I thought you may want a cup before you see this,” Cid answered, walking out of Burt’s guestroom.
Mia headed for the room. Cid blocked her way and pointed to Burt’s antique Mr. Coffee. “Brew first,” he insisted.
Mia knew that she may as well do as he instructed. When Cid got a bee in his bonnet, there wasn’t much that you could do to sway him. Mia accepted the rich black coffee and sipped it. She looked around at the changes Burt had made to her former home. It definitely looked and smelled like a bachelor pad. The only difference was that it was immaculate. Ever since she had known Burt, she marveled at how neat he was. There may be books everywhere, but they were in neat stacks. The kitchen was clean and shone from top to bottom. Even the carpet bore marks of a recent vacuuming. The only clues to his bachelor existence were the fast food wrappers bulging from the waste basket and the air which held the odor of bacon grease.
Mia set her empty cup down. “Now take me to your mystery, Poirot.”
“Follow me. I didn’t see it at first,” Cid said, walking into the room. He waited for Mia before asking, “Follow me into the closet?”
Mia lifted an eyebrow. If she didn’t know Cid as well as she did, she would have protested. Instead, she followed him into the walk-in closet.
Cid flipped on the light.