Then again, what would stoners want with one Coke and a cup of yogurt? Seems like there are more valuable things around here. Namely liquor. But if they are in and out quickly, they might not know about the booze.
I peruse the liquor cabinet we keep stocked for guests. I take two bottles, whiskey and tequila, and place them smack in the center of the kitchen island. I leave on the light over the stove. Anyone looking in through the window in the back door will clearly see the bottles.
Before leaving the kitchen, I do a little purging from the pantry. Call it my mother’s influence, but I always check expiration dates. There’s a loaf of bread about to go bad and a half-full bag of chips that didn’t get sealed properly and are stale. I toss them in the trash. There are three jars of peanut butter; two are unopened. The third is half-full but still good, so I put it back. Everything else is in order. I neatly stack some vegetable cans and close the door.
I settle on the couch with my book. My head bobs as I try to keep my eyes open. I turn on the TV, but I’m not much for watching mindless television, and it almost puts me to sleep. I get up and walk around. I shoot a game of pool. Then I realize the thief won’t come in if they can see or hear me, so I go back to my book.
Seven hours later, I wake up, my back sore from a second night on the couch. I jump up and race to the kitchen. The bottles are still on the counter. And they’re intact. I’m not sure why I feel a twinge of disappointment. Maybe I wanted to catch him after all.
I open the refrigerator. All five Cokes are still there. Could be I was imagining things. I close the door. This is stupid. Those guests were hearing things that clearly weren’t there.
I glance at the trash on my way out. What I put there last night is gone.
Son of a bitch! The loaf of bread is no longer there. Dude came right through a locked door and stole old bread from the trash can. In the pantry, a jar of peanut butter is missing—the open jar. If you’re going to steal, why not take a new one? I scan the rest of the shelves, fairly sure a can of vegetables is missing. What kind, I can’t remember.
I check the doors—still locked. But how hard is it to pick an old lock like this one? I sit at the kitchen table. I might be able to understand the bread and peanut butter. When you’re high and have the munchies, you’ll eat almost anything. But a can of vegetables? Doesn’t make sense.
My third night at the lodge, I get more creative, determined to catch the delinquents. I’ve seen enough movies to know how to do this. Before dark, I close and latch all the windows, then I walk the perimeter. There’s no way anyone is climbing in through any of the windows; they’re too high off the ground. Then I attach a string of bells to the handle of every door to the outside. Even if they get through the lock, they won’t know about the bells. They’ll be busted before they get two steps inside, and I’ll be ready and waiting. I’m quick. They won’t get far.
Just for good measure, I install a video camera I borrowed from Maddox. He bought it when one of the horses kept escaping his stall. I can’t find a good place to hide it in the kitchen, so I tuck it into an artificial flower arrangement in the front hall.
I finish the book at three o’clock in the morning. Still nothing. Then I must drift off, because I’m startled awake by what I think is a toilet flushing. It’s just shy of seven a.m. I hop up, grab my gun, and check every bathroom in the house—all twelve of them. The toilet in guest suite four is running. Great. I wonder how long it’s been doing that. The water bill will be higher than normal; I don’t think anyone has stayed in this suite for weeks. I jiggle the handle and it stops. I must have dreamed about hearing a flush.
When I get a text from Maddox, I rub my eyes. Working on four hours of sleep today will be difficult, but I promised I’d be over there first thing to help with the new stable. He’s got us doing everything but the engineering and structural stuff. Today is sanding or painting—I forget which. I don’t mind, though. Every ounce of sweat I put into this place is an investment.
I go to the fridge for a bottle of water. What I see stuns me. Or rather what I don’t see. I’m as sure as shit there were seven cups of yogurt. After the first night, I counted everything. Yet there are only six.
I check all three doors to the outside. Still locked. I open one, knowing the jangling bells would have woken a bear in hibernation.
My heart pounds. The yogurt, the toilet— “Jesus Christ,” I whisper, looking at the ceiling. “They’re in the fucking house.”
Chapter Four
Devyn
It’s not hard to be invisible. I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the past few years. You just have to watch people. They all have routines. The people who stay at the lodge—they’re predictable. Breakfast is at eight thirty, then out for a riding lesson. Lunch is usually at one, sometimes here, oftentimes not. Then some group activity or more riding. Dinner at six, followed by drinking, rec room games, and then bed.
I typically have the run of the house from about two to six in the morning. That’s when I grab food and maybe a fresh towel. I use the bathroom. If there’s an open guest room, I shower—even when guests are staying here. They assume it’s another guest. I was even spotted by a delivery person the other day. He thought I was part of the group. And if the guests catch me milling about, they’d assume I’m an employee.
Yup, they’re predictable. Until last night. I don’t know why Black-haired Guy is staying here. I knew he was here the night before last; I heard him playing pool. I figured maybe his girlfriend kicked him out, even though I haven’t seen a woman near his place. What I didn’t count on was him being here again last night. Could be he has a bug infestation in his cabin or something. Has he been staying here longer, and I simply didn’t know? I thought I saw him leave, but he must have come back in when I was putting up the window coverings.
I’ve been complacent. For three weeks, I’ve assumed if there are no guests here, the lodge is vacant. I have to be more careful because I was almost caught this morning.
He’s gone now. Drove off on his ATV a while ago in the direction of the main ranch. I assume that means he won’t be back for a while, so I descend the stairs, being sure to skip the creaky steps. I crack the attic door open and sit on the bottom step, listening for several minutes, as I always do, before stepping through. When I’m sure nobody is around, I go to the first floor. I’m on a mission. I swear I heard sleigh bells yesterday and again this morning when Black-haired Guy was here.
It doesn’t take me long to see the string of bells attached to every outside door handle. I throw my head back and sigh. Does this mean I have to leave? Coming and going will be way more complicated now. I jingle them a bit. They’re annoying. And loud. Why would he put these here? You’d think the guests would complain.
Wait a minute. This could work in my favor. They’re loud. I’ll hear them through the upstairs vents like I did earlier. Maybe I can stay a while longer. I like it here. I’ll be more diligent about knowing exactly when people are here.
As I’m downstairs, I look through the refrigerator and the pantry again, hoping it’s been stocked for an upcoming event. It hasn’t.