For several long moments, J.R., Betty, and Barnaby all stood in silence and gazed at one another, indecisively. Finally, Barnaby, standing just inside the door, reached for the light switch on the wall, and flipped it to the �on� position. Light from the ceiling lamps illuminated the large room.
�Well, at least we have power,� he said, opting for a positive tone.
�And heat,� J.R. added as they heard the blowers from the central heating and air-conditioning unit kick in.
�I wonder why the lights were off,� Betty said, walking a short distance away from the others to look around the large room. �Everything seems to be working. Turning the lights out is something you do when you leave the premises, especially when you know you�re going to be gone for a while. But why would everyone go at the same time?�
�Not to mention, where would they go in this weather?� J.R. added. He glanced at his watch. �It�s after three o�clock, so they can�t all be in the dining room having lunch.�
�Even if they were all in the dining room, I don�t think they would have turned out the lights,� Betty reminded him.
�Right,� he agreed. �There�s a blizzard outside, so it�s highly unlikely that they�re on the slopes. Unless they went to the slopes and got stranded.�
�There should still be some staff, even if they did go to the slopes,� Barnaby said. �Besides, they would have been watching the weather reports.�
�The storm wasn�t supposed to go this far south,� J.R. said. He paused briefly, his gaze moving slowly around the room. �Where is everyone?� he asked again.
When no one else moved and no one else offered an answer, J.R. went to the check-in counter and found the round metal ringer sitting on the countertop. Placing his hand over it, he pounded it a couple of times to announce their presence. The ringer was loud in the quiet of the deserted resort, and Betty�s body flinched noticeably at the suddenness of it. They looked around expectantly, waiting for an attendant to come running from a back room, explaining that he was understaffed due to the weather.
When no one appeared, Barnaby suggested in a calm voice, �Betty, check the switchboard. See if it is operational.�
Betty hesitated, disinclined to invade the workspace belonging to a business that was not her employer. �Barnaby, are you sure I should?�
�No one is here to object, that�s for certain,� he told her. �If the phones are working, I think maybe we should notify the police that something is amiss here. Someone should be here.�
�What, you think we�ve stumbled onto a crime scene?� J.R. asked, casting another wary glance around the room.
�I don�t think we should jump to conclusions, but something very clearly has happened here. A resort hotel is never deserted in peak season, yet this one appears to be. There are cars in the parking lot, but no one is here. The front door was unlocked, yet the lights have been turned off as if no one was expected. The question is, where have they all gone? And why?�
�Well, all right,� Betty replied, reluctantly.
Placing her purse atop the counter, she went to the door that led into the business offices and attempted to turn the knob, ignoring the square red sign that read Employees only. Her hand met complete resistance from the knob.
�It�s locked,� she announced.
�It can probably be opened from the inside,� J.R. said. �I can take care of that.�
Removing his heavy winter coat, he placed it and his duffel bag on a roughly hewn wooden bench near the door, then carefully hopped up onto the counter in a seated position and swung his legs around to the other side. He then slid off into the reception area.
Typical of every hotel reception area he had ever seen, this one contained the usual typewriter, calculator, mail slots, registry books, ledgers, and other miscellaneous items necessary to run a business. A soda can was lying on a bed of crumpled paper and discarded envelopes in the waste basket beside the desk, and he paused briefly.
�Barnaby, doesn�t the cleaning crew usually empty waste baskets overnight or at the end of the business day?�
�Yes. Why?�
�Just curious. The waste baskets are about half full.�
�So, either the cleaning crew did not come in last night, or business was operating normally this morning. If we can�t find any clues to what�s going on here, we�ll examine the waste baskets later. Maybe we can find some useful information there.�
Moving to the closed door, J.R. turned the knob and pulled it open for Betty to enter. It opened inward, presumably to avoid whacking some unsuspecting guest who happened to be walking past.
�While you were in there, you could have just checked the switchboard yourself, you know,� Betty scolded him.
He looked surprised. �Oh. I didn�t think of that.� He gave an exaggerated shrug. �Well, I probably don�t know how to work this kind anyway.�
She patted his cheek, teasingly. �You�re probably right.�
While he held the door open, she slipped inside and went to the reception area. The switchboard was not visible, so she proceeded into the small alcove adjoining the check in area where the switchboard was located.
While she was doing that, J.R. allowed the door to close behind him as he passed through it and wandered around the large common room. On the right of the front entrance was a large picture window overlooking the snowy meadow. He paused briefly to look outside, but the snow was still falling too heavily to see very far, so he turned toward the fireplace. It was huge, constructed of native stone, and dominated the wall in which it was set. The hearth was cold; the remnants of the last logs were a pile of gray ashes and blackened slivers of wood that had fallen through the grate. The adjacent wall was wood paneled with a large picture of a snow scene positioned over the sofa. Magazines and brochures were stacked neatly on the corners of the coffee tables. A few glasses were sitting in coasters where guests had left them and the maid had not picked them up. Traces of orange liquid remained in the bottoms.
�Someone�s been here recently,� J.R. said, breaking the silence. He pointed to the glasses, but did not touch them. �Looks like orange juice, so they must have been here for breakfast.�
Betty returned to the check-in counter a moment later.
�The phones are dead,� she announced. �No one can call in or out.�
J.R. glanced apprehensively at Barnaby. �Could the lines have been cut?�
Barnaby gazed back at him for a long moment. Both of them were already treating the resort as a crime scene, when there could also be a logical explanation that they had not discovered yet. �Could be the storm has interrupted the service,� he reminded them.
�Yeah, could be,� J.R. agreed, but he and Betty were exchanging worried looks, spooked by the fact that they were totally isolated from the rest of the world.
�So, what are we going to do?� Betty asked. �We can�t call for help, and we obviously, we can�t go back out in this weather.�
�We�ll have to stay here,� Barnaby replied in a calm voice of reason. �You�ve worked in a hotel before. We should have three rooms waiting for us, so you should be able to get us checked in.�
Betty gave him a reproachful glance, but she did not argue. For a moment, her experienced eyes scanned the journals and ledgers that were lying on the workstation beneath the check-in counter. Finally, she spotted the large black ledger stenciled with the words �Guest registry, 1981�, and opened it. The names, addresses, telephone numbers, and room numbers of the resort guests were written across the pages, every page in the same meticulous print. The guest�s signatures, mostly illegible scrawls, were placed in the final space. She thumbed through the first few pages until she reached the current date, Saturday, January 10.
�Here we are,� she announced. �We�re the only arriving guests expected today, but it looks like there are about . . . � She paused to count the names. � . . . twenty six other guests who have checked in, but have not checked out. Several more are expected tomorrow.�
�Twenty six current guests,� J.R. mused. �They can�t have disappeared, so, they�ve got to be around here somewhere.� Glancing at Barnaby, he added, �Don�t they?�
�One would think so,� Barnaby answered. �And the staff, too. There doesn�t even appear to be a caretaker around.�
�We�ve been written in the ledger, and the room numbers have already been inserted.� Her eyes traveled along the wall, searching for something. �Keys . . . keys . . . keys,� she mumbled to herself. �Ah! Here they are.� She reached under the counter and produced three keys with a numbered plastic tab. �J.R.? You�re in room number 205.� She presented him with his key. �If you would be so kind?� She turned the ledger around on the counter and presented him with a pen.
With a smile, J.R. took the pen and signed his name. �You�re pretty good at this.�
She smiled in response to his praise. �Barnaby, you�re next.�
Barnaby signed his name in the space indicated and accepted his key, then Betty signed the space beside her name. �Okay, we�re all checked in. Now what?�
�Now, we take our luggage up to our rooms and get settled in, then we�ll try to solve this mystery that has been dropped in our laps,� Barnaby replied.
J.R. returned to the bench at the front door to collect his duffel bag and his coat. He could see Barnaby�s vehicle through the window, still parked under the port. �Well, since no one seems to be here, I guess there is no reason to move the car,� he said.
�If they come back, we can move it later,� Barnaby agreed.
J.R. straightened up, duffel bag in hand, and looked at him with concerned eyes. He had not failed to noticed the �if they come back� in his cousin�s phrase. Shifting his gaze to Betty, he saw that she was looking back at him with an expression that mirrored his own.
After a moment, she made her way back through the offices and exited the locked door, and retrieved her purse from the countertop, and picked up her red suitcase.
Since no one seemed eager to take the initiative, Barnaby smiled inwardly and led the way to the attractive, rustic staircase and started up. J.R. fell in step behind him, and Betty, casting a worried glance behind her, as though fearful of being followed by some unseen malevolent being, brought up the rear.
�I don�t suppose either of you have seen �The Shining�, have you?� she asked.
�No,� Barnaby replied, patiently. �Was it good?�
J.R. glanced over his shoulder at Betty as he answered Barnaby�s question. �Well, if you had seen it, you wouldn�t need to ask why it comes to mind.�
The staircase was solid and well constructed with no apparent creaks or groans; the only sounds heard were the thumping of their heavy winter shoes and the swishing sounds of their clothing as they made their way up to the second story landing. There, the staircase made a sharp turn as it proceeded up to the third and final floor.
�This is lovely,� Betty said as the trio paused at the second story landing to gaze down the long corridor. While the common room downstairs was rustic and decidedly �western� in appearance, the guest accommodations promised to be more upscale, as evidenced by the hallway d�cor. Fine carpeting covered the floor, and the walls were papered in a stylish pattern. Keeping with the western theme, paintings depicting wildlife and mountain scenery were hung on the walls between many of the rooms, while ornate light fixtures were affixed between others at intervals.
�Yeah, kind of an interesting cross between pastoral and posh,� J.R. agreed. �I like it.�
�I�d like it better with other people here,� Betty added, glancing over her shoulder again to look down the long staircase. Following her lead, J.R. looked down the staircase also, but the only thing that could be seen was the steps and a small portion of the downstairs floor at the bottom. �I admit, I�m a little creeped out by this,� Betty continued.
�We�ll get to the bottom of it,� Barnaby promised.
Room 201 was the first door on the right, and on impulse J.R. grasped the knob and turned it to see if it would open. It was locked, as he had known it would be. Turning back to his companions, he saw that Barnaby was looking at him with an amused expression at what he must have deemed a useless gesture. J.R. smiled sheepishly. �Yeah, I know. It was worth a try, though.�
They proceeded down the corridor until J.R. stopped at the door labeled: 205. �This is mine.�
Betty and Barnaby were in 204 and 206 across the hall.
�Looks like I�m all by my lonesome on this side of the hall,� J.R. quipped. Inserting his key in the lock, he began singing the old Paul Anka hit, �I�m just a lonely boy, lonely and blue . . . �
He heard the click as the lock released, and he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The lights were off and the drapes were drawn, leaving the room very dark and shadowy, so he reached for the wall switch and pressed it to the on position.
He was standing in a small entryway, lit by an ornamental brass fixture attached to the wall. The bathroom was directly to his left, so he leaned around the door frame and pressed light switch just inside the door. The lavatory was quite large with the usual tiled floor, white commode and bathtub with shower, but the eye-catching feature was a wall to wall mirror and vanity with a sink in the center and a tremendous amount of counter space on each side. An electrical outlet below the light switch provided power for the guests� electric shavers and hair dryers. Basic white towels of assorted sizes and wash cloths were draped over the towel rack.
�Nice,� he said aloud to himself and he withdrew from the lavatory and began forcing the room key into his front pocket.
As he struggled with the key, the door, which he had been holding open with his foot, slipped free and slammed shut with an echo that resounded down the corridors and sent J.R. spinning around in alarm.
He breathed a sigh of relief and placed his hand on his chest to calm his pounding heart. �Get a hold of yourself, J.R.,� he muttered.
Hefting his duffle bag, he carried it into the room and deposited it on his bed. Then he took a few moments to gaze around the room, taking in the details of what would be his home for the next five days.
It was a standard sized room, large enough to move around with ease while still being small enough to be considered cozy. It held the usual double bed and dresser, and a circular table sat in the corner near the window for guests who preferred to dine in their room. A menu sat in the center of the table for convenience in ordering room service. A television was positioned inside a small entertainment cabinet with doors that concealed it when not in use.
Delaying the dreaded task of unpacking, J.R. opened the cabinet on the entertainment center and turned on the television, then stepped back and sat down on the foot of the bed. The picture was poor because of bad reception, but he could just make out the shape of the weatherman�s face as he spoke of the storm: �This storm has escalated into the worse blizzard we�ve seen in more than twenty years. The wind has increased significantly just in the last few minutes, reducing visibility to almost zero, and snowfall amounts could exceed previous estimates. Again, residents should remain indoors if at all possible, and travelers are advised to seek shelter immediately.�
As if on cue, he heard the windowpane shudder as the wind struck it forcefully. Although he had only just sat down, he immediately stood up again and went to the heavy drapes, designed to hold the morning sun at bay for late-nighters, and pulled them open all the way. Particles of snow scratched at the windowpane, driven by the wind, and at least a foot of snow was drifted against the glass, but beyond that he could see nothing except the solid gray blur that filled the picture window.
Leaning on his hands on the window sill, he pressed his nose against the cold glass and squinted into the grayness, trying to see something, anything, of the mountain scenery that he knew was there, but his eyes were unable to see through that impenetrable curtain of snow. The cold seemed to seep through the glass and creep into the pit of his stomach. Whatever had happened in that resort, they were completely isolated from the rest of the world. There was no way in, and no way out, and they had arrived at the resort just in time to prevent becoming stranded in the automobile.
He shivered inside his heavy knitted sweater, not entirely from the chill that lingered near the window. Behind him, static had obscured the audio on the television, so he left the window and flipped it off.
With nothing else to do, he unzipped his duffel bag and removed the clothing and his personal accessories and stored them in the closet and the dresser drawers. His shaving kit, toothbrush, toothpaste, hair dryer, and hair brush was taken into the bathroom and placed on the countertop beside the sink.
As he emerged from the bathroom, he heard a knock on his door, and leaned over to open it.
Barnaby and Betty stepped inside.
�We�re going back down to see if we can start trying to solve this mystery,� Barnaby said.
�Okay. Did you see the weather report on television?� J.R. asked as they stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind them. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, �They said this is the worst blizzard they�ve seen in twenty years!�
�Just our luck,� Betty said. �Our first-ever family vacation and we�re trapped in this building all alone with raging storm outside and a mystery inside!�
�The storm will pass,� Barnaby said, patiently. �And we�ll get to the bottom of the mystery.�
Betty and J.R. exchanged glances, worried that the storm as well as the mystery would interfere with their vacation.
Barnaby saw the looks that passed between them. �There must be a logical explanation for all this,� he insisted. �I really don�t expect to find that a crime has been committed here. There are absolutely no indications of that.�
�Not yet, anyway,� Betty said. �We really haven�t looked.�
�So, where is everyone?� J.R. asked.
�I have no idea,� Barnaby admitted as they started down the stairs. �But we�ll find out.�
Go to Act III