Final Resort. Dana Mentink

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      ONE

      “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking fine pearls, and when he had found one of great value, he went and sold all that he had, and bought it.”

      —Matthew 13: 45-46

      Ava Stanton jumped when a bevy of quail scattered as she got out of the car, snow whisking in tiny puffs under their feet. One shot her a beady-eyed look as if to ask why in the world a woman would be out on the remote mountain road by herself, especially as another wave of winter storms rolled in across the Sierras. Ava wondered the same thing, pulling her knit cap farther down over her short blond hair. The family of quail left a profound silence behind as they moved away. In the distance, she caught the sound of skiers on the slopes of the neighboring Gold Summit Lodge which butted up against Whisper Mountain Resort property.

      Won’t be our property much longer.

      The thought sent a wave of despair through her. She shook it off. Too much coffee. Too little sleep. She was fatigued mentally and physically from the extra skiing classes she’d been teaching in Westbow, a town about twenty miles away where she rented a room. A useless effort. Hadn’t made a dent in the debt that buried Whisper Mountain.

      The sky was cloudy and ominous. Shadows shifted on the lumps of snow that had collected on the steep slope overlooking an iced-over Melody Lake at the periphery of the Whisper Mountain Resort property.

      She did not know the real name of the lake, only the nickname given to the small body of water by her uncle the day they’d scattered her mother’s ashes there, accompanied by the mournful singing of the birds. Melody Lake. How often she’d visited, watching the seasons morph from summer to the white cocoon of winter, the water gradually sealing over like her own grief. Sealed over, but still just as present.

      The delicate cover of ice sparkled at her.

      Thin ice.

      How appropriate. Whatever her uncle Paul was involved in this time, he was no doubt teetering on the edge of another disaster. There was hardly much left to lose. Whisper Mountain was officially defunct, closed at the cusp of the ski season because there was no longer money enough to maintain the slopes and lodge. They’d kept the toboggan run open the past several years, but now there was not even money to keep that going. Thanks in part to Uncle Paul’s penchant for disastrous get-rich-quick schemes, the land would have to be sold without further delay. Looking along the graceful peaks adorned with white-crusted fir trees, her heart squeezed painfully. It was still Stanton-owned, at least for a few more months.

      Again she looked toward the distant slopes of Gold Summit, partially owned by the wealthy Gage family. The rumor mill held that Luca, one of the sons, and his sister were visiting. Luca’s green eyes and infectious grin twirled in her memory. She’d read that he’d started a treasure hunting business. The perfect job for a guy perpetually in motion. When times were better, her father had frequently hosted marshmallow roasts attended by Wyatt Gage and his then-teen children. Happy days. Long gone.

      She got back into the car to check her phone. She reread Paul’s old text, replete with errors.

      Found my purl. Meet me at yer mothers lake. Secret.

      What was it this time? Uncle Paul referred to his “pearl” for as long as she’d known him, a term applied to every treasure in the long list he’d pursued over the years. A new stock market tip? An undiscovered platinum mine that would save their bankrupt Whisper Mountain Resort? His latest woman? During his last phone call, he refused to talk other than to say he’d contact her soon. Not like the jovial Uncle Paul, the trickster, the showman.

      She caught the sound of a set of boots crunching down the road. Uncle Paul appeared, wild black hair threaded with silver curling from under his red knit cap. He saw her and waved, looking around carefully before he marched down the slope to meet her.

      He clasped her in a bear hug, cold cheek pressed to hers. “Avy, honey. You get more gorgeous every time I see you.” He pulled away to look into her face. “It’s those blue eyes. Like perfect lapis lazuli. Remind me of a set of stones I picked up in Myanmar.”

      She could not resist the flattery and bestowed a kiss on his cheek. “All right. It’s only been a couple of months since we were together, so you don’t need to go overboard. I didn’t even know you were back in California.” She looked for her uncle’s ever-present shadow. “Where’s Mack Dog?”

      “In the truck.”

      Uncle Paul pointed to the top of the hill. She could just make out a glimmer of his dented pickup.

      “He’s getting old now. Doesn’t like snow in his paws.” He sighed. “Me, too, getting old. Been thinking about a lot of things lately.”

      The edge of melancholy in his words was so unlike him. “Where have you been? Why did you want to meet me?” She shivered and pulled her scarf tighter. “If you’re going to try to talk me out of selling the place, it won’t work. I’ve been the legal owner since I turned twenty-five two years ago.”

      “Yes, I am, but not for the reason you think.” His eyes flickered over the frozen lake below them. He sighed, long and low, a sound so mournful that Ava felt a sudden twinge of dread.

      “We don’t have any choice but to sell it,” she began, readying for yet another argument. “Dad thinks so, too.” Her father had thought so for years and hadn’t been shy about his opinions. She wished he was here now, but the winters were too harsh for a paraplegic in his condition.

      He cut her off with a wave of his mittened hand.

      “Ava, I know I messed up. Your mother left this place to us, and I took advantage. I blew it. Took money out figuring I could make it back and then some, but I never did.”

      She hated the tone of defeat in her uncle’s voice. “You meant no harm. I know that.”

      He shook his head, sending a sprinkling of snow loose into the air that mingled with the flakes just starting to fall. “In my mind I knew I could make Whisper sparkle by the time you were old enough to take the reins, to bring it back to the days when there were people all over the mountain and wagon rides and campfires at midnight. You remember?”

      “I remember.”

      “I know I was a wedge between your father and mother. Maybe if I’d stayed away, been more responsible, things would have turned out differently.”

      “My father would still be disabled from the wreck, and Mom would still have given up.” She heard the bitter edge in her own words.

      Uncle Paul heard it, too. The lines around his mouth deepened.

      He flicked a glance toward the ridge above them where clouds massed СКАЧАТЬ