Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

Charlie

D riving down the mountain in the waning evening light, I felt sick to my stomach. Bess’s phone, still dead as a dodo, sat heavy in my pocket, reminding me of what a horrible human I was. But once the first lie had left my mouth, I had to keep going. I had to commit. Otherwise, she would have never believed it. And now I had her for two more days, incommunicado. Well, I could hope. Even if she used her mom’s phone, Wilde Creative required everyone to generate complex passwords and store them with a password manager. Without access to that, she probably wouldn’t remember the login details to her email.

Was it worth it? Could any of this be worth it? Because the phone wasn’t the only thing I’d lied about. I didn’t have a place to stay. I only had the addresses of one inn and one motel, as well as the knowledge that every Airbnb in town was fully booked. It wasn’t looking good.

When I arrived, darkness had fallen. Main Street glowed under rows of old-fashioned streetlights, decorated with hanging baskets of mums. The Fall Festival preparations were clearly underway, bunting flapping in the gentle breeze and hay bales piled up on the sidewalk. For a moment, I felt as though I had stumbled onto a historical film set where the buildings were mere facades, with nothing behind the charming paneled doors.

That illusion was broken as I reached the inn. Finding the front door unlocked, I stepped inside the time capsule of heavy drapes and floral patterns. The sweet smell of baking added to its homey feel. I introduced myself to a woman dressed in shiny fabrics, laden with jewelry. She looked like she was on her way to a gala in the 80s—which might have been her heyday.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Ruth Hickey, the owner.” She circled the reception desk to shake my hand.

“Do you have any available rooms?”

“For tonight?” Her eyebrows shot up in shock and sympathy. “No. We’re booked solid for the next two months.”

I nodded. “Oh, okay. Do you know any other place that might have availability? Anything at all?”

She cocked her head. “Levi Carmichel has a place that he’s meant to be renting but who knows what’s going on with that guy. One minute he’s a recluse, the next minute he’s got some pretty young thing up there.”

“That’s okay. I’ll check the motel.”

I made for the door, but she blocked my way. “Stay for a cup of tea? On the house. I hate disappointing people.” She took me by the arm and seated me in the corner of the small waiting area. “Let me order for you.”

“It’s really not necessary?—”

“Nonsense.” She called out to someone, ordering the tea, then took a seat across the small table.

“So, where are you from, Charlie?”

“Denver.”

“Oh… That’s nice.” She made it sound like it certainly wasn’t.

“Not as nice as Cozy Creek,” I conceded.

“Of course not. And what do you do?”

“Advertising, mostly. I’m a Creative Director.”

She cocked her head, studying me with even more interest. “Would you consider relocating? We could use someone with your skill set. I mean, the town really sells itself, but it doesn’t hurt to put the word out there, does it?”

“I suppose not.”

It was the most laid-back attitude to advertising I’d ever heard. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine having a client like that and almost laughed out loud.

My tea arrived, and I sipped it quickly, answering Ruth’s questions and listening to her elaborate sales pitch for Cozy Creek. Who needed advertising when you had a lady like this in your corner? She seemed to have her fingers in every pie around town. If I ever decided to leave my troubles behind and relocate to the mountains, she’d be my first port of call.

“Thank you.” I set down my empty cup and stood up. “I better go check that motel.”

“Best of luck, dear! It’s the Fall Festival week, so the town gets a bit crowded. If everything falls through, come back. I’ll make room in my bed.” She winked. “Oh, don’t look so shocked! I’m only joking.”

I gave her an awkward smile and deliberately slowed my pace so it didn’t look like I was running out the door.

Holding onto hope, I drove to the motel, a little outside of town. It looked dark. Too dark. When I got to the front door, I saw the notice. The building was closed for renovations.

I was about to leave when I noticed the small figure stepping out of the side door. The movement activated an overhead light, revealing a hunched woman holding a pack of cigarettes. “We’re not open!” she called in a raspy voice.

She didn’t sound friendly, but I was desperate. I took a step closer, raising my hand in greeting. “Hi! Would you happen to know any place in town, anything at all? I really need to find something for tonight. I’m not picky. Happy to pay what’s fair.”

She let out an audible sigh, lighting her cigarette. “You picked the worst time of year. You won’t find anything. And you look like you’re used to something a bit nicer?” She glanced at my latest model electric Porsche, a gleam in her eyes.

I sensed a glimmer of hope.

“You’re right. If I have to, I’ll sleep in my car. But it’s not that comfortable, so if there’s anything even slightly better, I’ll make it worth your while.”

I might as well have said ‘please rip me off’.

“Let me make a call.” She put out her cigarette, saving the rest of it, and stepped back inside.

I waited. After a couple of minutes, she reappeared with a piece of paper. “Go to this address. It’s my son’s house. He has accommodation at the back of his property. It’s not conventional, or strictly legal, but it works. There’s heating, but no running water. It used to be on Airbnb, but some idiots complained, and they took down his listing.” She coughed for a while as if purging her body of the horrors of Airbnb.

“Perfect!” I feigned excitement. I could already tell this wouldn’t be perfect.

The address was only a two-minute drive away, but down a windy dirt road that seemed to get narrower at every turn. When I reached the mailbox, I paused for a moment. Would sleeping in my car be that bad? It was the sport model, so not that spacious, but if I laid down the back seat, there might be enough room. No, there wasn’t. Unless I wanted to sleep with my feet hanging out the window. And the nights were freezing. I already knew that much.

I parked in the driveway and stepped out, filling my lungs with that chilly night air. An outdoor light flicked on and a lithe man in his fifties descended the steps of an old villa. “You must be the Porsche man?” He said brusquely, sticking out his hand.

“Charlie Wilde.”

“Hank…” He started, then decided against adding his last name.

This was going well.

“Your mother said you have a… room to rent for a couple of nights?”

“Not a room. More like a… you’ll see.” He pivoted on his wool slippers, motioning for me to follow. “Five hundred a night. Non-negotiable.”

“Sure,” I said, mentally counting how much cash I had in my wallet. Five hundred might have been pushing it. “I can pay for one night in cash, get you more tomorrow.”

“Okay, fine.”

He led us around his house into a backyard that backed into the forest. A floodlight on his back porch illuminated the row of trees. A rope ladder caught my eye. As my gaze followed it up the trunk of a sturdy maple, I saw a small door. “Is that a treehouse?”

“It’s a luxury treehouse. Glamping.”

Oh, dear.

“Go on, see for yourself. It hasn’t been cleaned recently so some dust may have settled, but it’s perfectly livable and romantic, I’ve been told.”

I set my foot on the first rung of the ladder, wondering if the guy was going to shoot me in the neck and use my skin for binding rare books in his basement. The ladder stretched lower and creaked under my weight, but it held. I climbed to the door and pushed my way in, landing in the low-ceilinged crawling space on all fours. It was exactly as cold inside as it was outside, which didn’t surprise me. I saw the exposed wiring coming up the exterior wall, connecting to a switch. Definitely not legal, I thought, flicking on the light.

There was a bed with sheets on it. It looked unused. Everything else looked well-worn and recycled, from the shelves full of comic books to chipped cups hanging on hooks and a rusty microwave tucked into a corner. I turned around, calling down from the doorway: “Your mom said there’s heating?”

“There’s a space heater on the other side of the bed.”

If I turned it on, I’d risk burning in a fire; If I didn’t, I’d risk hypothermia. I might have been safer on the ground, in my hammock. Was it worth driving back to that ranch to pick it up? It was dark. I was bone tired. Would I even remember the way?

I climbed down the ladder. “Who did the electrical wiring? It doesn’t look kosher.”

“I did,” he said defensively. “Anyway, it’s a small space. Heats quickly and keeps the heat for a while, so you can turn off the heater if you’re too worried.”

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll take it.”

I could always sneak Bess in here to see if she thought it was romantic. I wanted to share this ridiculousness with her. I wanted to share everything with her. But my stupid lies had brought me here, and I was currently enjoying the consequences of my actions. This treehouse would be my punishment. I could only hope the culmination of that punishment was the discomfort of repeatedly hitting my head on the ceiling, not death by fire.

I paid the man and went to my car to get my things, heaving my overnight bag up the ladder. Once I’d made it inside, I investigated the heater. It seemed relatively new—safer than the microwave—and turned on without an issue. The room, or half-a-room, heated in minutes, and I relaxed my muscles.

I waited until the room was toasty warm before turning off the heater and crawling under the blankets. AS I settled in, my phone pinged.

Trevor: Package delivered. She was quite shocked to see me. I told her I’d keep things between us, but maybe you need to have a wee chat with her tomorrow?

I let out a deep sigh, cursing the fact that I couldn’t contact Bess. Not without involving her mom. After a moment of debating, I took out my phone and called Kathy.

“Hi! It’s Charlie Wilde. Can I speak to Bess, please?”

“Hang on a minute.”

I heard a rustling, and after a moment, Bess whispered. “Charlie?”

“I wanted to check in on you. Trevor said he scared you.”

“Scared me? No, I was a bit surprised, that’s all. He knows about us, Charlie!”

“Yes. I couldn’t trust a random stranger with something like this. I wanted to make sure you got that… pill. Did you? Was it the right kind?”

“Yeah.”

She sounded unsure. Sad.

“Does it have bad side effects?”

“I don’t know. There’s usually a long list, but that’s okay.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“I know.”

“I lo—miss you.” I caught my tongue in time, but my tone betrayed me.

The silence stretched between us. I listened to her breathing. It was erratic, with long gaps between sharp intakes and exhales. As erratic as mine.

“I miss you, too,” she finally replied. Her sigh made the phone mic rattle. “I’ll miss you so much.” There was a long pause, then another sharp inhale. “Good night, Charlie.”

She ended the call, leaving me to listen to the treehouse creaking as the wind shook the trees. It was a solid enough construction, and I didn’t feel any draft, but the way the floor shook beneath me was unsettling. Nothing like the gentle swinging of the hammock, but a lot less confined, with an actual bed to spread myself across.

My muscles still felt stiff from the night in the hammock. Carrying Bess on my back added a layer of soreness to the mix, but I found it hard to enjoy the comfort of the mattress. My arms kept stretching out across the bed, searching for her shape and warmth. I wanted Bess more than I wanted a bed to sleep in.

She was considering us, on some level, I told myself. I’d seen it in her eyes. My mind kept returning to those moments in the bathroom, willfully ignoring the unsavory setting, hyper-focusing on her expressions and the way she’d responded to my touch. The truth was somewhere in there. It wasn’t in her words. And it certainly wasn’t in my words, I thought with a pang of disgust. I had to make things right, as soon as possible.

Tomorrow. I’d fix everything tomorrow.