Crap. “I didn’t mean—”
“Sure you did. Just look out the window and go to sleep, babe. We’ve got a long drive ahead and I don’t want to debate public personas and musical taste with you.”
“Rude, much?” she muttered, but turned her head to stare at the passing countryside. Great, what a way to start off the next few days being stuck together at Champagne. The clouds had completely filled the sky now and the dry gravel and scrubby bushes on the side of the highway were being blown about by the wind. When the first few drops of rain splattered on the windshield, Nell resigned herself to a miserable and frustrating site visit. Even with rain and Eamonn being a bear, it was better than being stuck in the office.
The buttery smooth jazz music soothed her. Just the right thing for a road trip and rain. Eamonn’s big truck was comfortable and well-insulated, keeping out the engine and traffic noise. As the windshield wipers began to swish away the rain, she found herself nodding off. She’d had no intention of falling asleep, especially after he’d suggested twice that she might, but the glass of wine with dinner had taken the edge off her resolve and the jazz music and rain were doing the rest.
I’m just Easy, Smidge’s bastard ex-bassist. His voice echoed in her half-asleep mind. Ex-bassist? She wondered, remembering that she’d asked him about what he was doing at Wildforest. If you have to ask, do you think we could talk about it somewhere more private? He’d sounded bitter, troubled, and she hadn’t pried. Had he quit, or been kicked out? The temptation to search the internet for answers warred with a conviction that she ought to grant him the respect of privacy. And she slept.
He woke her on the outskirts of Winthrop. “Sorry to wake you, Nell. Where now?”
“Agh. What time is it?” She rubbed her eyes and looked out the window. Dusk had fallen, and through the rain, she could see that they were in a parking lot in front of something called Pardner’s Mini Market that had gas pumps and looked like a general store.
“Just after ten.”
“Right.” Sleepily, she dug out the sheet of printed directions from her pocket — she always took printed travel directions with her in case cell service was a problem — and unfolded it. He switched on the truck’s cabin light for her. “North on Chewuch River Road,” she read. “Should be less than ten minutes away, I think. I wrote down seven miles? Then we should turn onto a private road called Bereche Avenue, and we’re there.”
“Might be a little more than ten minutes. Road conditions aren’t great.”
“Yeah.”
Eamonn reached up to switch off the cabin light, then put the big truck into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Visibility wasn’t great, even with high beam headlights on, and it was closer to fifteen minutes before they saw the turn sign for Bereche Avenue and a billboard showing the delights of Champagne Cascades — Romantic Cottages at the Prettiest Falls In The Northwest. A smaller sign said Private Road: Guests Only and an ornate metal gate stood open but could clearly be used to close the road. Lucky that’s not closed.
Eamonn didn’t turn into the lot marked Guest Parking, but continued along the grand circular driveway to pull right up under the portico of the building with the carved wooden sign reading Site Office. Being in the Pacific Northwest, presumably it rained a fair bit of the time even at the Prettiest Falls Ever, so a drive-up portico had been a clever and necessary part of the building’s design. “Come on,” said Nell. “Let’s go in and see what we can find.”
The office was locked, naturally, but she’d brought keys with her. Inside, it was tidy and looked normal — a few papers in the in and out trays, the computer in sleep mode, a pink fluffy sweater over the back of the desk chair, and a half-full mug of stone-cold coffee with pink lipstick on the rim sitting on the desk. Concern prickled in her mind more strongly than before. Whatever had happened to Jessalyn, she hadn’t meant to abandon the office. She’d started a cup of coffee and had expected to drink the rest of it.
Nell noticed an insulated lunch bag tucked under the counter, and when she peeked inside, she saw a sandwich and muffin. “Well, I think we can say for sure that Jessalyn didn’t just bail on the job because she got another one she liked better. It looks like she was here at some point relatively recently — maybe early this morning?”
“Are there guests who might have seen her? Seen what happened to her?” Eamonn asked.
“Maybe. Let me look at the guest register — and we can also pick where we’re going to stay.”
“I assumed there’d be staff sleeping accommodations,” Eamonn said.
“There’s a bunk room for staff behind the store, and the site manager has an apartment upstairs in this building. But we’re management; we’re supposed to act like bosses. We get cottage accommodation if they’re not fully booked, and meals in the dining room.”
“The lap of luxury,” he said, his tone dry, and she thought about the five-star hotels he’d undoubtedly stayed in and how much of a come-down even the nicest of Wildforest’s properties must seem to him.
“You know, we should probably go up and have a look at the apartment, in case…” She didn’t want to voice the horrible thought she’d had, that Jessalyn might be up there, injured and trapped somehow, in a coma or dead.
But he knew what she meant without her having to spell it out. “You want me to go up and look around? You can get on with the computer stuff here.”
“Thanks. That would be helpful. Here’s the key, the one with the purple cap.” She held out her key
