Snowed In (2 page)

immediate future. As a matter of fact, getting a date might not be doable either. I didn’t want to think that I might be reduced to online dating.

Yeah, right. Hook up with a serial killer, why don’t
you, Ash?

My guilty pleasure is horror movies. The more horrific the better. So I have a tendency to view danger in the world where none exists. I get a rush at the idea of people in peril—in the movies anyway. Someday I want to write a horror novel, and Mom’s plan of moving to a small island with a tiny population has called out to the writer in me, the part that craves solitude and quiet in order for the muse to come out and play.

“I’m not planning to make any changes to this room,” Mom said suddenly, snapping me away from my thoughts.

Mom’s a fixer-upper lover. The previous owners left not only their furniture, but the need for numerous repairs. Hence Mom’s reasoning that we needed to move here during the winter—

before tourist season—so we could fancy things up and get the business ready to go. I really appreci-ated that she considered me her business partner.

Of course, I wouldn’t get too involved until summer. School comes first, and that works for me. The “bed” part of our B&B means making 8

other people’s beds, when I’m not exactly in the habit of making my own. The “breakfast” part means cooking breakfast for strangers. I don’t even make breakfast for myself. Nor am I prone to getting up early unless I absolutely have to.

Mom removed her other glove and quickly shoved both hands into the pockets of her parka, unwilling, I guess, to admit that the house still wasn’t warm enough. I wondered if it ever would be.

“Ready for the grand tour?” Mom asked.

I smiled. “Sure. Why not?”

She did a Vanna White arm extension, indicating the room in which we were standing. “The parlor, where we’ll serve afternoon tea.” A worn Oriental rug covered most of the hardwood flooring. A couch, a couple of chairs, and a coffee table were arranged in front of the fireplace.

Other plush armchairs sat in front of the bay window. The curtains were drawn back and the front porch that spanned the width of the house was visible. Someone—a kind neighbor perhaps—

had generously shoveled away the snow from the porch, the steps, and the front walk, so Mom and I had been granted safe passage into the house when we’d arrived. I had a feeling that in the days ahead, shoveling snow was going to become one of 9

my jobs. I suddenly found myself wishing that I had a brother.

Half a dozen small dried flower arrangements were scattered throughout the room, on the mantel, on various small tables. Cluttered didn’t begin to describe the décor.

Mom led me through the entryway. The front door had an amazing oval-shaped etched-glass window. We walked across the hardwood floor and into the library.

The room smelled musty and ancient. Along two walls, dark bookshelves stretched to the ceiling. Another bay window with the draperies pulled back offered a slightly different view of the outside. I could see the snow-covered lawn and street.

A large desk sat near the window. Everything looked antique. Not a computer in sight.

Mom and I went down the hallway, passing a bathroom on the right, turning into an alcove on our left before we got to the stairs. The alcove led to the dining room.

“We’ll serve breakfast in here,” Mom said.

A big, sturdy table sat in the center. A china hutch held plates and glasses. Portraits taken about a hundred years ago adorned the walls. I figured they were just to create atmosphere. I mean, if 10

they were portraits of the previous owners’ family, surely they would have taken them.

We went through the room and into the kitchen.

“Let me guess,” I said. “This is where we’ll cook.”

Mom laughed. She has a really nice laugh. Soft and full of fun. And she laughed all the time. Or at least she had BD—Before Divorce. As much as I hadn’t wanted to leave my friends in Texas, I was hoping that Mom would be happier here and laugh more.

“Don’t give me a hard time, Miss Smarty-pants.” She walked to the sink and looked out the window at the backyard, which was blanketed in snow.

I remembered reading somewhere that people could go blind—and crazy—surrounded by snow, because all the white is disorienting. I wondered if people got lost here, if they had rescue dogs.

“This is going to be fun,” Mom said with a sigh.

“It’s really quiet here, though, isn’t it,” I said, more as a statement than a question.

She turned around. “That’s because there aren’t any cars.”

But still, the silence was eerie. I told myself that it was because I wasn’t used to it. But it was more than that.

11

“It’s just so horror movie–ish,” I said. “You know. A mother and daughter in an old house that creaks and moans and . . . it’s cold. Houses in horror movies are always cold.”

Mom shook her head. “I don’t know why you like watching scary movies so much.” I joined her at the window. I’d always been fas-cinated by the idea of snow, but now that I was actually here I found it a bit unsettling. In a few more weeks, the ferry that runs between the island and the mainland would shut down for a couple of months. Then we’d be trapped.

Deranged killers and psychos would have a field day before the first thaw. And no one would know until it was too late. Hadn’t I seen that sce-nario in a movie? I shuddered at the thought.

“So why do you think the owners wanted to sell the place?” I asked.

“Because it’s haunted.”

12

2

I felt my eyes widen and my jaw drop.

“Seriously?”

Laughing, Mom reached out and snatched off my cap. Yeah, my hair did the whole flying-around-my-head thing. I hadn’t considered that living in the cold would mean endless bad hair days.

“No, silly,” Mom said. “It’s not haunted. The owners wanted to retire. So here we are. Why don’t you go pick out your bedroom? Any room you want.”

“Which room are you going to take?”

“Back behind the stairs is a large bedroom. I’m going to take that one. I figured you’d want something higher up.”

“Definitely.”

Back in the hallway, I grabbed my backpack, deciding to leave my suitcase. No sense in lugging it around until I picked which room I wanted.

13

Most of our stuff was being shipped here. Until it arrived, I had only the essentials of my life.

The doorbell rang, and through the etched glass on the front door, I saw the shadowy outline of two people. I wasn’t certain I should open the door. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t know them. And what was the crime rate here? Would anyone even hear us scream?

Mom’s hurried footsteps echoed between the walls as she rushed from the kitchen. Having removed her parka, she rounded the corner into the hallway. She was wearing a mint green sweater that matched her eyes—and mine. My grandma always told me how much I looked like Mom when she was younger. It gave me hope that I’d look like her when I was older. She was pretty.

Another reason I didn’t understand Dad wanting to marry someone else.

“Open the door, Ashleigh.” But she rushed past me and did what she’d ordered me to do. It was part of her AD (After Divorce) personality. She wanted to control everything.

A girl about my age and a woman a bit older than Mom stood on the porch, their breath coming out in white wisps, their cheeks and noses red from the cold.

“Hello!” the woman exclaimed before Mom 14

could say anything. “I’m Laura Evans and this is my daughter, Nathalie. We saw you arrive earlier and wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“Come in,” Mom said, and then introduced us.

“I brought you some warm spice cake,” Mrs.

Evans said.

“How sweet,” Mom replied. “Would you and Natalie—”

“Not Natalie,” Mrs. Evans said. “Na
th
alie. I didn’t know whether to name her after my older brother, Nathan, or my younger brother, Leland, and so I combined the two and made up a name.”

“How original,” Mom said.

Nathalie and I looked at each other, and clearly neither of us could believe the inane conversation our moms were having. I felt an instant connection with her—and also a sense of relief. Knowing so few kids lived on the island had caused me some apprehension about moving. What if I didn’t meet anyone I liked? Would I live here without any dates
or
friends?

Nathalie pushed back the hood of her coat, revealing red hair pulled into a ponytail. If she lived in Texas, she’d have a lot more freckles. Her nose turned up on the end. She was a little taller than I was and quite pretty.

Mom took their coats, which left me feeling a 15

little ridiculous—I was still bundled up. So I took off mine and helped Mom hang everything in the hall closet.

“Ashleigh, why don’t you and Nathalie get settled into the parlor, while Mrs. Evans and I make some tea to go with this wonderful-smelling spice cake?” Mom suggested, before leading Mrs. Evans away.

I looked at Nathalie. She didn’t even look cold.

I had a feeling that I did. I still couldn’t feel my nose.

“You know, if you spray Static Guard on your brush and run it through your hair, it’ll make it stop flying around like that,” she said, twirling her finger near her hair like she was trying to say I was crazy.

“Thanks for the tip. I have a lot to learn about living in the cold.”

“So, where are you guys from?”

“Texas.”

“You don’t sound like a cowgirl.”

“I’m not. I’m a city girl.”

“Why did you and your mom move here then?” she asked.

“Mom was looking for something different.” She laughed. “Well, I’m sure you’re going to 16

find it here. Isn’t Texas all desert and tumble-weeds?”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “No. Not all of it.

We have woods, mountains, hills, lakes, rivers.

You name it, we pretty much have it.”

“Not according to the movies. You know, they made a movie here once,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. They used the ritzy hotel that’s up on the hill, just up the road. Women aren’t even allowed on the grounds after five o’clock if they’re not wearing a dress.”

“You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “No. Mom says they’re very traditional. I think they’re dumb.”

“Gotta say I agree with you. So do they make a lot of movies here?”

“Only a couple, but a lot of actors come here to get away from it all. I saw Heath Ledger once.”

“No way! In person?”

She nodded, then shrugged. “At least, I think it was him. My boyfriend didn’t agree.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t you?”

“No, not really.”

“Why not?”

17

“I’m not really interested in having a boyfriend.”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Why not?” I shrugged. “Just figure I have plenty of time to get serious later.”

“Do you date?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I really like dating.”

“I can’t imagine not having a boyfriend.” I smiled. “I can’t imagine having one.” She looked at me like I’d come from another planet.

“So, do you want to sit in there?” I pointed to the parlor, realizing I never really imagined I’d ever invite anyone to sit in one. I mean, really, who had parlors these days?

“Not really. I’ve never been inside this house.

The Shoemakers didn’t have kids, so . . .” She shrugged as though that explained it all.

The Shoemakers were the previous owners, and I guessed Nathalie was hoping for a tour.

“Today’s the first time for me, too,” I said. We both laughed. I’d forgotten how hard it was to get to know someone. But Nathalie made it seem easy.

“Where’s your bedroom?” she asked.

“I was just about to take a look around and decide. Want to come with me?”

“You betcha. Sure beats having tea with my 18

mom. Her idea of exciting conversation is discussing Victorian lace.”

I grimaced.

She nodded. “Exactly.”

As we climbed the worn wooden stairs, each of our steps echoed around us. The house had been built sometime in the 1880’s, and it sounded old, felt old. Okay, it felt haunted. The perfect setting for a horror movie.

When we got to the second floor, it was like we’d stepped even further back in time.

A short hallway to my right led to a couple of bedrooms that were separated by a bathroom.

“Oh, totally awesome!” Nathalie said as she peered into one of the rooms. “I think all the furniture is antique. You must have paid a fortune for this.”

Mom probably had, but, fortunately, money is one of the things that isn’t a problem for us. Dad is a big corporate executive. He and Mom split everything they’d acquired over the years right down the middle. Except for me, of course. If they fought about anything, I didn’t know about it. That didn’t make it any easier, and I can’t deny there were a lot of tears. But at least there wasn’t really any bitterness—or financial squabbling.

Nathalie looked at me. “People really get into 19

the old stuff around here. The Victorian Walk is next weekend. A lot of the houses are opened up for touring, and all the money collected goes to the Historical Preservation Society. I’m selling tickets if you want to go.”

Looking through old houses really wasn’t my thing, but I was trying to make a friend here and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“I might. I don’t really know. I mean, I just got here.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Guess you need to find a bedroom before you start planning your social calendar.”

Would I even have a social calendar here?

Would I meet other kids? Would we hit it off?

Would we want to do things together?

“Anyway, I thought you said you’d never been inside this house,” I said.

“Right. The Shoemakers usually closed it up and headed to Florida for the winter, so this one was never included on the tour. I’m guessing they decided to sell and stay down there?”

“I think so.”

“Fine by me. They were totally no fun.”

“Do a lot of people leave for the winter?” I asked.

Nathalie shrugged. “Some do. Most don’t.