Cold River (2 page)

Mandy noticed that Grange talked out of one side of his mouth.
Like Harry the Horse in
Guys and Dolls, she thought.

“Edith— Mrs. Berman— has your keys laid out for you.” Grange pointed to the key ring on the top of the desk.

“She has us all color coded,” he went on. “The blue one lets you in the front door. Green one is your office. Red is for cupboards. Yellow opens filing cabinets.” He looked around. “I guess that’s all. Oh— the restroom is downstairs. There’s a kitchen down there, too. Midge keeps the coffee pot going, and there’s a fridge and microwave. Oscar, the IT guy, will be in tomorrow to set up your computer and passwords.” He winked again.

“Thank you.” Realizing suddenly that what she thought was a wink was simply Grange’s inability to close one eye, Mandy couldn’t think of anything else to say. She looked away, afraid she might be staring at the frozen left side of his face.

“I guess that’s all,” he said again. “Look around. Settle in. Stay as long as you want tonight, and come as early as you want tomorrow.”

“Thank you for your… uh… introduction. And for the keys. Do we consider this the changing of the guard?”

A rosy tinge crept up Grange’s neck and settled on his cheeks. He looked first at his feet, then at the door, and finally at Mandy. “Yes, the guard has been changed.” He cleared his throat. “Edith usually locks the front door when she leaves, but if you’ll check it on your way out, that would be great. Leave the lights on in the entryway.”

Grange turned to go, but paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Um, I know your name is Amanda. Is that what you would like to be called?”

She picked up the keys and held them in one hand, remembering the cold reception downstairs, so different from the camaraderie she had left behind in Albuquerque, where everyone called her Mandy. Everyone except one special person who called her
cherie
when they were working late and alone.

All of a sudden, she felt her lip quiver. She dropped the keys on the desk, turned away for a moment, and willed the trembling to cease. Then she faced Grange, and with her chin up, she met his eyes squarely. “I’d prefer that you call me Dr. Steenburg. Good night, Mr. Timberlain.”

MANDY STOOD FOR
a moment looking around her office as snatches of conversation drifted up from downstairs. Humming to show she didn’t care that she was left alone and ignored, she examined her desk.

A skillfully crafted computer station matching the antique look of the desk sat at a right angle to it, and a burgundy leather chair swiveled between the two. Trying the chair, Mandy opened the pencil drawer and discovered an ample supply of mechanical pencils, pens, notepads and sticky notes. Exploring further, she found the top right-hand drawer held stationery with North Cascade School District letterhead. Her brows went up when she saw her name listed as superintendent of schools. Grange Timberlain’s name was just below hers as assistant superintendent.

The middle right-hand drawer held a district phone list printed on crisp, yellow card stock, a dog-eared pamphlet that seemed to be a more complete district directory, and a slender North Cascades phone directory. She glanced at the yellow phone card and saw that her name was again listed as superintendent. She noted that her extension number was 2292 and picked up the receiver. The dial tone was somehow reassuring.

She closed the middle drawer and opened the bottom one. It was full of hanging files, all empty. She swiveled around and eyed the filing cabinets along the wall. The vacant brass label holders gave no clue as to what the cabinets contained. She stood and went to the first and pulled out the top drawer. Just like the desk, this one was full of empty hanging files. So was the next. And the next. “Welcome to North Cascade, Dr. Steenburg,” she said acidly, then opened and closed each of the next nine drawers. “I wonder what they’re trying to hide.”

Suddenly aware that her voice was loud in the stillness, Mandy listened, but no more conversation drifted up from below. Just then the entry door slammed, and she heard footsteps outside. She moved to the window and saw Grange Timberlain descend the porch stairs. She continued to watch his tall figure as he walked to a pickup parked at the far corner of the lot. He had his collar turned up and the brim of his baseball cap pulled low against the rain. As he opened the door to climb in the truck, he looked up at her window, and she pulled away, wishing he hadn’t caught her watching him.

She stayed at the window, though, until his taillights disappeared into the darkness of the conifer tunnel. She turned away and surveyed the empty room. “What to do?” she asked aloud. After a moment’s thought, she answered her own question. “Make a list.” She smiled as she remembered her stepfather’s comment that people who talked to themselves weren’t crazy, just the ones who answered.

“I guess I was crazy to leave Albuquerque.” With a long sigh, she sat again at the desk and pulled out a notepad. She adjusted the lead on a pencil, thought a moment, and wrote

1. Place to stay

2. Supper

3. Meet staff (tomorrow a.m.)

4. Ask for district handbooks, curricula, etc.

5. Meet school board (read minutes of school board meetings?)

6. Staff meeting to set goals

7. Look at next year’s budget

Mandy put arrows from number 6 to number 7, thinking that before goals were set she needed to know what the district had to work with. The grumbling in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since the bag of Fritos she grabbed as they were fixing her tire in Corvallis. She had skipped lunch, since she had a seven-hour drive and wanted to make up for lost time. Number 2 on the list suddenly became top priority.

Mandy fished the phone directory out of the drawer and opened it to the skimpy yellow-page section. There were three listings under restaurant, and she dialed the first number, intending to ask for directions. On the second ring a recorded message announced the number was no longer in service. Mandy disconnected and punched the number for the second restaurant on the list, only to get the same recording. Feeling a little desperate, she dialed the last number. When the familiar mechanical voice spoke the third time, she dropped the receiver in the cradle and groaned, “What now?”

Her stomach growled again as she paged through the listings, hoping for a miracle. It appeared in the guise of a Qwik-E Market located on Highway 20.

“I think I can find that!” Mandy gathered up her purse and the rainbow ring of keys and headed for the door. As she hurried downstairs, she made sure to turn off all the lights, but dutifully left the reception area lit.

The wind had lessened, but she hunched her shoulders against the drizzle that dampened her well-cut jacket. After folding herself into the sports car, she switched on the ignition, turned on the lights, and with high hopes set out to find the Qwik-E Market.

It wasn’t hard to find. She turned right when she reached the highway, and there it was. The market consisted of a small, rustic building with two gas pumps in front. It was well lit, and one of the large windows had
OPEN
written in welcoming red neon. Mandy pulled up next to a mid-size pickup, the only other car in the lot, and made a dash through the rain for the door. Just inside, she paused to brush herself off.

“Can I help you?” The girl at the counter had a smile as cheery as daffodils. She looked to be about seventeen, had dark hair, dark eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and a name tag that said her name was Elizabeth.

“I hope so,” Mandy said. “I’m starving, and I can’t seem to find a restaurant.”

“Oh, they’re all closed for the winter,” Elizabeth said. “They’ll open when the pass does.”

“So what do you do if you need to buy a meal?”

There was that smile again. “You come to Qwik-E Market, home of Lorenzo’s Polish Hot Dogs.” She indicated a small appliance where four fat wieners rotated on a spit.

“Polish hot dogs?” Mandy found herself salivating. A hot dog had never looked so good.

“My dad calls them depth charges,” the teenager admitted, “but I think they’re good.”

“They look heavenly.”

“All the fixings are on the counter. There’s pop in the cooler. If you want beer I’ll have to have Fran ring it up because I’m not old enough.”

“I’ll have a root beer.” Mandy got a bun out of the warming drawer and put a wiener on it, leaning down to savor the smell. She added mustard, ketchup, and relish and then thought,
what the heck?
and added onions.

As she stood at the counter to pay, the door burst open and a petulant beauty, dressed to the nines and exquisitely made up, strode into the room, followed by an anxious-looking young man in a dark suit with a white carnation pinned to his lapel.

“All you had to do,” the beauty said, anger showing in the fists she clenched and in the ugly downturn of her mouth, “was to find a place to stay. Was that too much to ask? I took care of the ceremony, the caterer, and the flowers. All you had to do was find a place to stay.”

“I found it! I keep telling you, Kathy. Winthrop is a marvelous little town— all western style and old-fashioned. I got the honeymoon suite at this great hotel.”

“Only we can’t get to it,” Kathy almost screamed. “The road is closed. It’s always closed in the winter, didn’t you hear them say? How could you not know that?”

“I’m sorry, honey.” He pulled her over to the automotive supply aisle, away from the unwitting audience. Only partially shielded by the display table, he tried to put his arms around her.

She pulled away. “I’m hungry and I’m tired, and I want to know where I’m going to stay tonight.”

“We’ll find a place,” he said, succeeding at last in pulling her into an embrace. “Don’t worry. Just think of the great story we’ll have to tell about our honeymoon.”

Her lower lip trembled. “I don’t want a story. I just want something to eat.”

As Mandy picked up her purchase, the young man stepped forward and asked the question that she was just about to frame: “Where is the nearest motel?”

“Back downriver at Stallo,” Elizabeth said. “Twenty-five miles.”

“You’re kidding!” The young man’s face mirrored Mandy’s feelings exactly.

“But, my grandma runs a bed and breakfast,” Elizabeth added. “She doesn’t advertise when the pass is closed, but she’ll take you in if you need a place to stay. You’ll love it. It’s a log cabin that overlooks the river.” She held out a business card from a holder on the counter. “There’s a map on the back. It’s easy to find.”

“Will she feed us supper, too?” The beauty followed her new husband as he came to get the card.

Elizabeth shook her head and pointed to the rotating spit. “You’ll have to have Polish hot dogs.”

“Come on,” he urged, pulling his bride over to the food counter. “It’ll make a great story for the grandkids.”

“There may not be any grandkids if we don’t find a place to stay.” Kathy laughed as she said it, and he laughed too, giving her another hug.

As they began fixing their wedding supper, Mandy approached the checkout counter again, the words
bed and breakfast
carrying the same emotional charge as
blessing
and
boon.
“Uh, excuse me… ” Her heart beat faster as she picked up one of the cards.

The clerk turned her attention from the couple to Mandy. “I’m sorry. What can I do for you?”

Just then a woman came out of the back room with a deposit bag in her hand. “All right, Elizabeth,” she said, “I’m off to drop this in the night deposit, and then I’ll come back and let you go on home.”

Elizabeth glanced briefly at her boss. “Thank you, Fran. I’ve got a ton of homework.” Then she turned her attention back to Mandy and waited expectantly.

“Your grandmother,” Mandy began. “Does she have any more rooms for tonight?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! She only has two, and someone else came in earlier. Do you need a place to stay?”

“I was hoping to find a place. The nearest hotel is how far?”

“Twenty-five miles.”

“But the Yellow Pages lists three right here in town. I looked it up before I left.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed with concern. “They’re closed for the winter. Are you here on business? How long are you staying?”

“I’m moving here,” Mandy said. “I’m the new school superintendent.”

Elizabeth’s smile faded. “Oh,” she said in a colorless voice. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Fran, who had listened to the conversation from the door, broke in. “You’ll need a house to rent, then. Do you have one lined up?”

As Mandy turned to this new entrant into her conversation, the woman approached and introduced herself. “I’m Fran Porter. I manage the Qwik-E Markets, but I also have a house to rent. I’ve been renovating it, and it’s almost ready. I have a couple more things to do, but it’s livable. Would you be interested in seeing it?”

Mandy took only a moment to balance the marginal term
livable
with the well-kept order of the store and nodded.

“Meet me here tomorrow morning, say eleven o’clock. We can go look at it.”