Chapter 5 #2
A phone call was better for conveying how angry she was, but a text would get her out of this mess faster. Luckily, it was three hours earlier in California.
Dani, she typed. You booked me into a trailer! An actual trailer in someone’s backyard. I am in the equivalent of a chicken coop. Fix this. I need a new place NOW and an Uber to get there.
Hitting Send wasn’t as cathartic as she’d hoped. An email needed to go out as well. Opening her laptop, she found 176 new emails waiting for her.
Of those, 122 were probably passive-aggressive cc’s, designed to help other people at Markstone's cover their butts.
Pulling up her original reservation, she read Dani’s email chain, where it quickly became evident that…
Shoot.
Dani had warned her about the trailer. Rachel just hadn’t replied to the emails.
This was her own fault. She had no one to blame but herself.
Backing out of that one, she scanned the subject lines of everything else, categorizing and labeling them. A triage of sorts.
Another chocolate.
Two more yawns.
Then an email from her dad titled, Tim’s in!
Oh, goody. This meant Tim had done something so noteworthy, Dad had to shove it in everyone’s face.
“Not opening that right now,” she muttered to herself, because she wasn’t a masochist.
What was she supposed to say back? Yay, Tim! Let me tell you about my success today, Dad. I didn’t pee on a guy’s lap! Go, me!
Her phone buzzed with a text.
Dani replied: Per my last email, I warned you.
Oh, no.
No, she didn’t.
Her assistant did not just per-my-last-email Rachel. That was like waving your middle finger in someone’s face virtually.
I am in a trailer in backwoods Maine, in a snowstorm! This is unacceptable.
Dani: It was literally the only place available within a forty-five-minute drive. I offered you a spot at Nordicbeth resorts, complete with hot tubs and a spa, but you said you didn’t want to drive that far on snowy roads, so…
That “so…” did her in.
Did her in because Rachel knew this was really her own fault, damn it.
Did you call around?
Dani: Of course. It was either the trailer or some weird option above a bar.
Want me to call there and get you a bed in something they call a bunkhouse?
The dude I spoke with said you got a free continental breakfast, foam earplugs, and as much Advil as you wanted out of the bottle in the communal bathroom shared by up to twenty people.
Rachel shuddered.
Get me something else for tomorrow.
Dani: There is nothing else. You want Nordicbeth, in spite of the long drive? They still have rooms. There’s a package that includes Champagne, a free couples massage, and an in-room hot tub.
Kell’s description of black ice on the roads floated through her memory.
Rachel stared glumly at the bowl of candy before her. Walking over to the fridge, she opened it. A bottle of something called Moxie was in there, with a red bow on it. A tiny Post-it note said, Have some Moxie! Anything in the fridge is for you to enjoy.
Her eyes drifted down to the next rack. A heart-shaped loaf of what looked like homemade bread, a red ribbon tied around the clasp. A small heart-shaped container of local butter. A quart of milk, in an old-fashioned glass bottle with a red top.
And a heart logo on the glass.
At least she wouldn’t starve, but this was nothing but fat and carbs.
On the counter, she saw a tiny maple leaf jar with syrup in it, and a bowl of apples. Mainers sure loved their sweets, huh?
The amenities here are amazing, she texted back. Maple syrup, some kind of soda called Moxie, and all the chocolate hearts I can stuff in my face.
Dani: Sounds like trailer life isn’t so bad.
Then come trade places with me, Rachel double thumbed back.
Anything else? Dani asked. Because I am late for my manicure.
Now you’re just rubbing it in.
All she got back was a smiley face.
Rachel was in the wrong and she knew it. Unlike lots of other bosses at Markstone's, she wasn’t a witch with a capital B. If Dani really had screwed this up and hadn’t told her, Rachel would be angrier, but there was no one to blame but herself.
And Kell, of course. There had to be a way to make some of this his fault.
A little sick from too much chocolate and not enough real food, she grabbed an apple and washed it in the sink, surprised when the hot water came out actually hot.
The trailer was fairly comfortable, as intolerable places went, and as she took a bite of the apple, she looked around.
Using her left hand–to preserve her injured right one–made eating a bit awkward, but she managed.
A dial thermostat on the wall didn’t show numbers, but was set at the midway point on an arc, with another note taped to the wall that showed how to adjust the heat. She pushed it as far as it went to warm up.
A pacer when she was nervous, Rachel discovered quickly that the journey across the trailer took five steps.
Five.
“This project better be really, really worth it,” she hissed to herself, taking another bite of the nice, sweet apple. A satisfying crunch resonated in her head, grounding her.
At least she had a bed. A warm place. Something to eat.
And she wasn’t literally stuck to Kell Luview.
Skitt skitt skitt
Jerking her head up, she stared at the ceiling. It sounded like a thousand spiders dancing on the roof of the trailer.
Skitt skitt skitt
Standing stock still, she tilted her head, listening.
Skitt skitt skitt
“What is that?” Terrified, she waited, a strange whistling coming from the direction of the door.
Slowly, with bone-chilling dread, it occurred to her that she was alone, with no car, no luggage of any kind, only a laptop, phone, and a purse, and she was in some random dude’s back yard, in a trailer any determined bad guy could break into with a single kick.
In other words, she was a prime victim.
Living in major cities her entire life had given her street smarts, a certain kind of knowledge about protecting herself. Following a set of mostly unspoken rules, she avoided trouble by rarely walking anywhere alone, always being aware of her surroundings, and staying hypervigilant.
Rural skills, though? In that area, she had nothing. Zero. Zip. Nada.
She was a sitting duck.
Skitt skitt skitt
Or a sitting… whatever that sound was.
The whistle again caught her attention. Breaking out of her frozen terror, she scanned the room for weapons. What was she going to do? Throw an apple at an attacker?
Pulling out her phone, she texted Dani again.
Text not sent appeared in tiny red letters on the screen.
What?
She tried again.
Text not sent
She checked her signal.
No signal.
The piece of paper with Kenny’s instructions had the wireless password on it, so she typed again.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a heading on the information sheet:
WHAT TO DO IF YOU LOSE INTERNET
Okay, there was an answer. She read on:
We live in the boonies and sometimes during storms we lose internet, or even power.
If that happens, don’t worry! Internet I can’t fix fast, but power I can.
Wait ten seconds. A generator will kick in, and you’ll have electric and heat again.
We’ve got you covered! In the event of a serious emergency, put on your boots and walk up to the house, where we have a nice set of woodstoves and everything you need.
Don’t want any reason for you to leave less than a 5-star review!
Oh, no.
No no no.
Now she had no internet, and might lose power?
Put on her boots? With her boots, she might as well go barefoot.
Skitt skitt skitt
The creepy sound, combined with the note, made her march the two whole steps to her door and peer out. The ground was white, and it was snowing sideways. How could snow fall sideways? Had she tipped over?
Rachel opened the door and looked out, the wind absolutely howling, her face immediately covered in flakes. If she weren’t so tired, so cold, her right hand throbbing from being glued, unglued, then glued back together, she’d find it, well…
Beautiful.
Until a little furry face dropped down from above and attacked the edge of the door.
“AAAAIIIIEEEEEEEE!” Rachel shrieked, leaping out of the trailer, her boots hitting the ground, knees buckling as she pitched forward into what felt like a giant vat of icy-cold cotton.
She felt like she was back in gymnastics when she was nine and fell off the balance beam after a flip, crashing into a trash can as the janitor walked by, the contents spilling on her.
“Trashcan Rachel” had been a miserable nickname. Her mother transferred her within a week to a new gym.
Jumping up, she looked around. No one was near, and no one saw. At least the physical horror wouldn’t be compounded by social mortification.
The trailer door slammed shut and she jumped to her feet, batting away at the snow.
What was that thing?
And where did it go?
With the lights on inside, the trailer glowed, quaint and cute in a folksy kind of way.
OOOOOOOWWWWWOOOOOOOO!
Something in the distance howled.
She jumped back up the little stairs, opened the door, and quickly shut it again, breathing hard against the back of the door.
Skitt skitt skitt
Except this time, the sound was louder.
And coming from inside the trailer.
“This is not real. None of this is real. I’m hallucinating. I’m actually at the Nordicbeth spa, getting a lovely Swedish massage with cupping, and I’ve entered a state of altered consciousness. This is just some limbic system purge, working to rid my body of–”
A furry face watched her from the top bunk as she lurched toward the only human-sized door in the trailer, where she assumed the bathroom was. She flung herself inside.
It was the size of an upright coffin.
Fitting. Because she was about to die there.
On the spot.
What kind of cruel trick was this place? Peeking out, she saw the evil little beast, standing on its hind legs, looking right back at her. Brain working overtime in its overwrought state, she finally pattern matched and realized…
“SQUIRREL!” she shouted.