J.R. Jones folded his arms on the backrest between Barnaby and Betty, and gazed worriedly through the windshield of his cousin�s Lincoln Continental. The wipers flapped rhythmically back and forth in an attempt to clear the glass of the rapidly accumulating snow, but their only noticeable accomplishment was to pack the snow into a solid mass at the bottom that severely restricted the blades� reach. The atmosphere was dusky, even though it was mid-afternoon, and the car�s headlights barely penetrated the heavy snowfall.
It had started snowing an hour ago, minor flurries at first that drifted lazily toward the earth, but then, as they proceeded into the higher elevations, the snowfall had steadily increased until now visibility was deteriorating at an alarming rate. The huge flakes were falling so thickly that Barnaby could hardly see fifteen feet in front of the car, which crept slowly along the narrow paved road between the stands of leafless trees which stood on either side like ghostly shadows.
The car radio was turned on to a local radio station, and the weatherman�s voice droned, � . . . the storm has drifted farther south than previously expected . . . very dangerous driving conditions . . . �
�Yeah, no kidding,� J.R. agreed, sarcastically.
� . . . advised to remain indoors . . . �
Betty turned her head to smile at him. �Well, look at it this way; we�ll have lots of fresh snow to ski on and go snowmobiling.�
�Yes, yes, there is that, provided we don�t fall into a drift and disappear until spring!�
�If we do, maybe they�ll send out the St. Bernards for us.�
� . . . all ski slopes and outdoor activities in the area have been shut down for the duration of the storm . . .� the weatherman�s voice informed them, drawing a deeply discouraged sigh from J.R.
�They�ll reopen,� Betty assured him.
�I just wish I could see where the road is,� Barnaby complained. �I�d hate to roll into a ditch.� He reached down to turn up the defroster, which was struggling to clear the glass of the fog on the windows, then he glanced in the rear view mirror at the younger man. �That was good foresight, Jedediah, bringing along those tire chains.�
�I wasn�t sure what we�d find up here,� J.R. replied. �I almost threw them away when I moved to L.A. from Chicago. Figured I�d never need them again. They�ve been in my trunk all this time.� He paused, wishing once again that his father�s elderly cousin would allow him to drive, since he was more familiar with driving on snow, but bit back the request. He had already suggested it, but Barnaby had declined the offer.
They were on their way to a mountain resort near Tahoe, their first family vacation since J.R. had joined the investigative office five years earlier. Convincing Barnaby to close the office for a full week had been difficult enough, but convincing the aging detective to agree on a trip to a winter resort had been even harder. Their ideas of a perfect vacation differed vastly from Barnaby�s preferences, so it had taken the combined effort of Betty and J.R. to convince him that he would enjoy a trip into snow country.
The weather reports they had checked before leaving Los Angeles had indicated partly cloudy skies in the region, with a chance of flurries on the southern edge of a storm that was expected to track north of the resort. To their surprise and dismay, the flurries had quickly turned into the heaviest snowfall any of them had ever seen, and now, estimating that they were only a few miles from the lodge, the car was floundering in the deepening drifts and they were in danger of becoming stranded.
As they went around a curve in the road, the tires skidded sideways on a particularly slick spot before the chains found traction again, and J.R. gripped the seat back, resisting the urge to offer to take over the wheel again.
Barnaby eased off the gas, and they continued to move forward at a crawl. Glancing to his right, J.R. saw that Betty�s face had tensed, and her complexion was almost as pale as the white fleece pillbox hat that covered her auburn hair.
On the radio, the weatherman�s voice continued his weather advisory. � . . . visibility continues to decrease as the storm advances . . . accumulations of two feet or more are expected in the lower elevations with an additional one to two feet in higher elevations . . . avoid driving if at all possible . . . �
Leaning forward in her seat, Betty reached for the radio and turned it off. �He isn�t telling us much that we don�t already know,� she said. �Except for the heavy accumulations, which I could have lived without knowing!�
�He was getting on my nerves anyway,� J.R. agreed. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. �We�re going to make it, Betty. It shouldn�t be much farther.�
�We�re coming up to an intersection,� Barnaby said. �I don�t want to come to a complete stop on this, so see if either of you can read that sign. I�m hoping it�s our turnoff.�
Peering through the space on the windshield that had been cleared by the continuous motion of the wipers, Betty and J.R. both leaned forward and tried to focus on the rectangular shaped brown sign that had materialized just ahead of the red octagon shaped STOP sign at the intersection. A white building was stenciled on the sign along with white lettering and an arrow pointing to the right.
�I can�t make it out,� Betty said.
�It says . . . Mount Royal Lodge, one mile,� J.R. read. �The arrow points to the right.�
�You have good eyes, J.R.,� Betty said, admiringly.
�Well, I�ve had lots of experience getting around in the snow,� he replied, casting a meaningful glance at his father�s cousin.
Barnaby ignored the implication. He would not have stopped at this point, even if he had wanted to, for it would have increased the risk of getting stranded in the snow. Even with the tire chains, he wasn�t convinced they could get the car rolling again.
Turning the wheel carefully to the right, he eased the car through the intersection, and they proceeded toward the lodge.
�One mile isn�t that far,� Betty said, cheering considerably with the confirmation that they were nearing their destination. �Even if we got stranded now, we could hike the rest of the way and come back with snowmobiles to get the luggage.�
J.R. was shaking his head, negatively. �A mile in snow this deep is a lot harder than you�d think. You�d be exhausted before you got halfway there.�
�You just have to look at the dark side, don�t you?� she teased.
�Well, the good side is that there is no wind. The wind in Chicago makes it seem a lot colder than it is. However, if worse comes to worst, being the youngest, I suppose I could hike up to the lodge and send back help.�
Betty exchanged amused glances with her father in law. �Somehow, he made that sound like an insult!�
J.R. laughed. �No, no I didn�t mean like that.�
The woods that crowded close on each side of the vehicle were becoming noticeably thinner, and they fell silent, gazing expectantly through the windshield, hoping that, at any moment, they would see indications that they were nearing the resort. Finally, they emerged from the wooded area into an open space, and directly ahead of them, they could see a large dark shadow through the snow that was the lodge.
�We made it,� J.R. said with so much relief that Barnaby glanced at him in the rear-view mirror.
�Did you have any doubt?�
�Well, I . . . just . . . � He let his voice trail off, preferring not to commit himself to an answer.
Barnaby was smiling, feeling a great deal more relieved than he wanted to admit. Carefully, trying to avoid the snow covered curbs that he knew were there but could not see, he pulled into the parking area in front of the lodge.
�Look at the cars,� Betty exclaimed, indicating the vehicles that were parked in the lot. They could not determine exactly how many vehicles were parked in rows in the lot, but every one of them were covered so thickly with snow that they looked like huge snow drifts with only small portions of color showing through gaps where the snow on top of the cars and beside them did not quite meet. �It must have been snowing for quite some time before we drove into it.�
�Yeah, looks like it,� J.R. agreed. �Must be fifteen inches or more already on the ground. They could easily get that two additional feet they were predicting.�
�I�m going to pull up to the door, so we can unload our suitcases without falling into a drift, as Jedediah would say,� Barnaby said. �Maybe they will have a valet who will park the car for us.�
Slowly and carefully, he maneuvered the Lincoln between two rows of snow covered shrubs that designated the boundaries of the oval drive which led to the covered port at the entrance, and finally pulled beneath the shelter. The chains clattered on the bare pavement as the car came to a halt near the door. Barnaby turned off the ignition, halting the wipers mid-swipe.
J.R. exhaled a sigh of relief. �We made it.� Reaching out, he affectionately slapped his cousin�s arm. �Good job, Boss.�
Sliding across the seat, he opened the back door and stepped outside. His breath turned to steam in the frigid air, drifting like a wispy cloud around his head as he observed the front of the lodge. The ornate double doors were made of heavy wood, with long vertical wood handles, polished from years of use. Two large planters stood on either side of the door, but the flowers they had held had been removed for the winter. Icicles from a previous thaw hung like long crystal ornaments from the eaves.
While Barnaby opened the trunk of the Lincoln, J.R. shoved his hands into his coat pockets and walked to the edge of the port behind the Lincoln, stopping just short of the curtain of falling snow. His vision was so impaired by the thickly falling snowflakes and foggy atmosphere that he could see very little of the scenery that surrounded the lodge. He could just see the shadowy stand of trees that they had just left moments earlier, and even though he could not see the complete circle, he knew from the photos on the flier he had ordered last summer that the woods surrounded the building on all sides.
But the thing that struck him the most was the complete and total silence. There was no wind, no sound of voices, no engines running. Absolutely nothing. It was the most perfect quiet he had ever experienced. Here, the world seemed to be in perfect peace.
One by one, Barnaby lifted the suitcases and duffel bags out of the trunk and placed them on the curb outside the door, casting a reproachful glance at his young cousin for not helping.
Noticing his intent concentration on the view that could barely be seen, Betty moved closer to him. �J.R.? What is it?� she asked, curiously.
�Listen.�
She cocked her head slightly, listening intently, but no sound came to her. �I don�t hear anything.�
�Exactly. No car horns, no people shouting, no bells ringing. No sirens going off. Just peace and quiet.� He turned to smile happily at her. �This is going to be a great vacation! I have the strange urge to build a snowman!�
Betty laughed softly. �Come on; let�s get inside out of the cold.�
They turned around just as Barnaby slammed the trunk closed. J.R. immediately felt a twinge of guilt. �Barnaby, you should have waited. I�d have helped you with that.�
�It�s done, Jedediah,� he told him.
J.R. picked up his large duffel bag, and moved toward the heavy double doors, noticing as he did that no one had appeared to take the car keys or their belongings. �It�s kind of strange that there is no valet to take the car, and no porter to take the luggage, don�t you think?�
�That is strange,� Barnaby agreed.
�Maybe some of the staff couldn�t make it in because of the heavy snow,� Betty suggested, tucking her clutch purse under her arm as she picked up her suitcase.
�Sounds logical.�
In the lead, J.R. grasped the door handle, pulled it open, and stepped into the lodge.
A huge room with a high beamed ceiling opened up before him. The floors were polished hardwood, and directly opposite the door was the decorative staircase leading up to the second and third floors, constructed of the same wood. On the left was the check-in counter; on the right was a comfortable living-room environment with a huge fireplace and an assortment of chairs and sofas for the guests to enjoy. The only thing that was missing was the human presence always found in hotels and resorts.
�J.R.?� Betty said from behind.
�Oh, sorry,� he apologized as he quickly stepped away from the door to allow his relatives to enter. They filed in, and Barnaby closed the door behind them. �The lights are out,� J.R. said, pointing to the ornate overhead fixtures. �And no one seems to be here.� He turned to glance quizzically at Betty, who had made the reservations. �Are you sure they�re open this season? It�d be just our luck that they�d be closed for repairs or remodeling, or something.�
�They must be open,� Barnaby replied. �The cars in the lot . . . �
�Yeah, that�s true,� J.R. agreed.
�They were open long enough to take our reservations,� Betty told him. She set her suitcase down with a thump, and withdrew the confirmation sheet from her clutch bag. Holding it out for him to view, she pointed with her finger. �See?�
�Okay, okay. So, where are they?�
They looked around the deserted room again, but no one replied, because no one knew the answer.
Betty moved toward the check-in counter, and leaned over it to see into the office behind it. Raising her voice, she called, �Hello? Is anyone here?�
Her voice echoed through the silent, empty building. It was becoming abundantly clear that they were the only living beings inside the building.
Go to Act II