North Country Man. Carrie Alexander

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      “No! I mean, yes. I’m alone. That is, I’m—” Claire caught her lower lip between her teeth. She hadn’t planned to reveal herself as a Bel Vista executive. Not yet. But the elf seemed confused about her reservations, and she did have business cards she could show him. She kept a slim sliver case of them in her purse, but there were extras in her computer satchel.

      “Count on Toivo, Miss Lavender. He kin getcha one.” The strange little man toddled off to grab one of her suitcases, then started carting it up the stairs.

      One? One what? Did he mean a husband? And who was Toivo? The elf? Claire grabbed the other pieces of luggage, tucking the bags under her arms. “Wait. I don’t want a groom. Just a room. A regular room will do fine. If you have newlyweds arriving…”

      He huffed and puffed, mounting the wide, steep steps. “Nope. Newdywebs won’t touch the bridal. They think it’s bad luck.”

      Newdywebs? Claire stopped and shook her head. She had to be hearing things.

      From below, there came a thud and then the creak of a door opening. Claire glanced over the banister. A young woman, leaning heavily on the doorknob, poked her tousled red head into the hallway. She looked up, blinking, saw Claire and said, “Stay out of the bridal suite,” in a sleepy voice. “’S cursed.”

      Claire’s skin felt pinpricked. “Pardon—?”

      The door shut abruptly.

      “Crazy rumor.” The rosy man elf was standing at the top of the stairs, bobbing on the balls of his feet, waiting for Claire to decide. He beamed. “Best room in the house.”

      “Is there anything else available?”

      “There are the attic rooms. Kinda small. Lootsa dust. You got elegies?”

      After a beat, she said, “Allergies? Not so far as I know. But I’d really rather—” Nonsense, she thought, following the man. She didn’t believe in luck, good or bad. You made your own future, and hers didn’t include either a groom or a curse. “Okay. I’ll take the bridal suite.”

      “We’ll need the key. Em’s always hiding it from Shari.”

      Claire’s muscles went lax as she slumped against a wall papered in a glitzy but faded red and gold Chinese design that clashed terribly with the fairies below. Fatigue, complicated by confusion, was hitting her hard. She dropped her luggage. “You don’t have a key?” She couldn’t summon up the strength to ask about Em and Shari. The redhead, maybe? And what was that about a curse?

      “It’s around here somewheres.”

      Claire wove together a few of the tangled threads. “But if this is the only room available and you knew I was coming…”

      “Ar-har, here it is!” After unsuccessfully rummaging through the contents of a narrow étagère, the elf had found the key at the bottom of an urn full of musty peacock feathers. He sneezed, scrubbed at his nose, then inserted the old-fashioned latchkey in a door at the end of the hall. “Voilà. The bridal suite, Miss Lavender.” He disappeared inside to switch on the lights.

      “Levander…” Claire’s voice faded as she stepped into the room. The bridal suite was large and opulent yet serene, scrupulously dusted and polished from the facets of the crystal chandelier to the gleaming dark wood floor. A massive four-poster bed dominated the room. Its linens looked freshly bleached and starched, stark white and topped with a fancy crocheted spread as fragile as frost on a windowpane. A more colorful quilt was folded at the foot.

      Her pajama-clad host was bringing in the luggage. Despite her exhaustion, Claire went to the glass doors that opened onto a small balcony with a spiked iron railing.

      Oh, my.

      The view was amazing. Beyond the wild mess of a backyard garden, a sheer cliff dropped away to the vast expanse of Lake Superior. The water glistened like obsidian beneath a glowing wedge of quarter moon. On the opposite side of the harbor, beyond more steep rocks and treetops, was the blinking beacon of a lighthouse.

      Trying unsuccessfully to prop up heavy eyelids, she lingered to listen to the surf swish against the rocks, the sough of the wind in the pines. The natural rhythms were hypnotic. It wasn’t long before her eyes had drifted shut. A little bit of peace settled inside her, like a smooth round pebble floating to the bottom of a murky pond. If she stayed at the inn long enough, Claire wondered dreamily, would the peacefulness spread like rings on the surface of the water? Would her muddy future come clear?

      She gave herself another little shake and returned inside. “It’s a beautiful view,” she told her host, who was beaming at her, practically rubbing his hands with glee. “And a lovely room. I’ll sign in properly tomorrow morn—”

      “We don’t stand on celery at Bay House,” he said, moving to the door. “I’ll tell Emmie to let you sleep as late as you like, Miss Lavender. Otherways she’ll be in here at seven a.m. with a breakfast tray, trying to get a lookie-loo.”

      “I’d appreciate that, Mr….”

      The elf’s white hair swirled around his head when he nodded. “Toivo Whitaker. Me ’n’ my sister Em own this place.”

      Claire’s smile froze as he swung the door shut. That was unfortunate. Two elderly owners, apparently naive and good-hearted, and a run-down mansion set on a fabulous piece of waterfront acreage. On the surface, it seemed to be a perfect situation from Bel Vista’s point of view—a juicy plum of property ripe for the plucking.

      Already Claire suspected that she’d dread making this report. From what she’d seen so far, Bay House was unique, even magical, like an enchanted castle out of time.

      Out of time? Oh, she hoped not.

      Unfortunately, it was her job to deliver the verdict.

      CLAIRE ROSE from the deep cottony down of sleep like a butterfly fluttering toward a sunbeam. A delicious warmth touched her face—sunlight, streaming through the balcony doors. Her lids trembled as she moved languidly beneath a crisp sheet that smelled like the outdoors. Gradually she grew aware of muffled voices in the hallway. Without coming fully awake, she concentrated to listen.

      “She’s not supposed to be in the bridal suite,” said a woman, sounding cross. Her accent was similar to the elf’s. “I told you to put her in the blue room.”

      “The couple from Canada are in the blue room.” Toivo Whitaker, Claire thought sleepily. He was clearly befuddled, which was probably his regular state of affairs.

      “They’re in the green room, you silly old man.”

      “Then who’s in the red room?”

      “The fisherman from Minneapolis. I switched him because of the wasp nest. If you’d gotten the bug bomb like I asked…” The voices faded as Toivo and his sister moved along the hall.

      Smiling, Claire rolled over and buried her face in the sweet-smelling pillowcase. She’d slept better than she had in months. It must have been her exhaustion, because the mattress was terribly soft and lumpy.

      The sunshine and rhythmical sound of the waves rocked her in a cradle of somnolence. She was drifting toward sleep again when another person paused outside СКАЧАТЬ