Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Carson Atwell had sworn up, down, and sideways that he’d never set foot in his bumfuck hometown again. Yet here he was, back in Cloverfield, Virginia, questioning himself and his decision to return for the millionth time.
Damn Uncle Arnold.
He couldn’t say no to the man’s request. Not with all the interference the man ran for him growing up. Helping him stand up to his dad. Backing him when he decided he didn’t want to become the fourth generation lawyer in the family. Encouraging him to follow his own path.
Carson really did owe his uncle.
He swallowed his pride and scheduled a few days out of the office. Just enough time to get in, talk with Uncle Arnold, gather whatever information he needed, and get the hell back out.
He was a grown man, for God’s sake. A successful grown man. A successful grown man who handled investments for some of D.C.’s elite. He could handle a few days in Cloverfield, Virginia.
But in spite of the pep talk looping through his brain, the pit in Carson’s gut persisted. It yawned wide when he neared the exit off I-81. Then nearly swallowed him as he neared town.
Sack up, man! For the love of God. Quit your whining and help Uncle Arnold. It’s not like you’re moving back.
Fuck.
Right.
Taking a deep breath, he shoved down his lingering misgivings and gave the pit in his stomach the middle finger.
Cloverfield was only a town. He could do this.
He steeled himself as he neared the downtown area.
As he neared memories of people and places from long ago.
He squinted as he tried to reconcile the Cloverfield he knew with what he was seeing.
Buildings that looked as if they had undergone facelifts.
Stores that definitely weren’t there in his youth.
People laughing as they ate at tables outside of restaurants and strolled the sidewalks.
Huh. It looked like a thriving downtown.
Definitely not what he remembered. Nor what he expected.
But a welcome relief. It would make his job a lot easier.
He recognized the turn that would take him to his uncle’s company and thought again about his plan.
If this was a vacation, he would’ve taken off all of today and spent the entire previous weekend here as well.
Maybe the following weekend as well. But it wasn’t.
This was business. He wasn’t going to spend any more time than he absolutely needed here, no matter how much charm the downtown might now have.
By arriving Monday evening, he could check in, get some rest, and get in a full day with his uncle. Figure out what was what. Use the next day to solve whatever he was able to solve, and get the hell out of Dodge and be back in office by the end of the week.
Still pondering the wisdom of his decisions, Carson followed his GPS, finally pulling into the driveway of the Misty Meadow Inn.
Oh, thank God.
His uncle assured him the new owners had done wonders with the place, but Carson was still dubious.
The place had been a dilapidated eyesore.
But what stood before him now was not the place he remembered.
The two-story Greek Revival was something that looked like it could star on the front page of a magazine, at least the visible parts lit by spotlights.
The previously chipped stucco was smooth and white, and the overgrown snaggletooth bushes were tamed and trimmed into proportionally pleasing landscaping.
If it wasn’t in Cloverfield, he might’ve sought it out for a vacation.
Rolling into the parking area, he cut his engine and again questioned the wisdom of what he was doing. But as always, Uncle Arnold’s request won out. Besides, it was only a few days. He could do anything for a few days. And the sooner he got started, the sooner he could get the hell out of there.
Climbing from his car, he retrieved his bags and followed the walkway up the steps of the main building and through the heavy front door. A bell over his head announced his arrival.
A petite older woman behind the front desk beamed at him and waved him inside. “Welcome to the Misty Meadow Inn. Come in out of the cold, young man, and tell me how I can help you.”
Carson eyed her warily but did as directed. Not because it was all that cold outside. It was nearly sixty degrees. Which may have been unusual for mid-January in some parts of the world, but central Virginia got weird warm spells during the winter sometimes.
“Are you checking in?” the woman persisted.
“Oh. Yes. Carson Atwell. But it might be under my uncle’s name. Arnold Crawford.” He felt weird letting Uncle Arnold make the reservation for him, but his uncle insisted, especially after Carson turned down staying at his house.
“Arnold! Yes!” The woman’s eyes lit up. “Right on time.”
Okay…Carson wondered if she got this excited about all her guests.
“We are so excited to have you with us. Honored, if you will,” she added, pressing a hand to her chest while dipping her head a bit.
“Honored?” Did she just bow? “I’m sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else.” Carson looked around the room, rethinking his choice of lodging.
As if sensing how close he was to bolting, the woman scurried out from behind the desk and laid a hand on his arm. His instinct was to pull away, but there was something in her touch and the way she studied him that held him in place. At least on the outside. Inside, he was squirming.
“I’m sorry if this is difficult for you,” she said, kindness now reflected in her eyes. “But I truly believe there are no mistakes. If we don’t face our fears, we’ll never grow to be our best selves.”
Carson wasn’t quite sure how she did it—she probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, including all her jewelry—but somehow, the woman managed to shove him toward the well-worn oak counter.
Raising a finger, she slowly backed away, as if he were a dangerous animal she was trying to keep from lunging.
“Now, if you’ll just stay there, I’ll get you checked in. I’m Clem, by the way.”
Carson ran the woman’s words over again in his head. Face his fears? What fears? And he was already his best self. What the hell was she talking about? “I’m sorry, I—”
“Got a little gun shy. Yes, I know.”
Gun shy? “No. I mean—”
The rings on the woman’s fingers sparkled as she waved his words away. “Nonsense. It happens to the best of us. Now, if you’ll give me a few moments…” She squinted through the reading glasses perched on her nose and used her index fingers to type something into her computer.
It was painful. “Can I help you?”
“Help me? Why, whatever do I need help with?” Clem asked, scanning the keyboard for whatever letter was eluding her.
Since she was part of his hometown, probably quite a bit.
“Ah! Here you are!” She thrust a triumphant finger in the air, the bracelets on her arm jingling in celebration. “We have you checking out Sunday, is that correct?”
Horror shot through Carson’s veins at the thought of spending close to a week in his hometown.
He shook his head vigorously. “No. Thursday. This Thursday.” Wednesday if he was lucky.
Just enough time to get the lay of the land and get the hell out.
If he was here until Sunday, they could go ahead and shoot him.
“Huh. Must be a glitch.” A few clicks later, Clem smiled again.
“There. All done. Three nights. We are a touch on the slow side right now, it being the post-holiday doldrums and all. But we have the Flurry Fest coming up. Hmm.” She pursed her lips and shook her head.
“That’s okay. We’ll make sure you have a room if you need to extend your stay. No problem.”
On the contrary. It was a huge problem. Because if he was extending his stay, either something was wrong with his uncle, or someone was holding Carson hostage. “Um, yeah...”
Undeterred, Clem continued. “Now, your uncle has arranged payment for your stay, but if I could get a copy of your driver’s license, we’ll get you all comfy and cozy and I’ll leave you to relax in peace.”
Right. As if Carson would be able to unwind while he was within a fifty-mile radius of this town. Maybe if someone tranquilized him with a dart gun.
After another ten minutes of what was the most arduous check-in routine Carson had ever taken part in, Clem returned his license and followed it with a room key. “If you’ll follow me…” Emerging from behind the counter, she beckoned Carson toward the gigantic stairway off the lobby.
She stopped suddenly on the first step, then turned to face him.
“This building is unlocked from five a.m. to ten p.m. and is accessible by your key the remainder of the time. Laundry facilities and our reading-room slash library are on this floor, and the game room and the majority of our guest rooms are on the second floor. The conservatory is through this hallway.” She pointed to the space next to the stairs.
“Breakfast is in there from seven to nine, and lunch is there from eleven thirty to one. Coffee, tea, snacks, and pastries are always available in the lobby.”
Resuming her ascent up the stairs, she continued.
“We have a good selection of high-quality restaurants nearby, and if you tell them you’re a guest here, you’ll get a discount.
There’s a binder on the desk in your sitting area that has the Wi-Fi password as well as numbers to the front desk and local amenities.
Although you’ll probably know more than our average guest.”
“Oh, I haven’t been back in a long time.”
“I’m sure it’ll all become familiar again in due time, dear.”
Not if he could help it.
They followed a vine-patterned carpet down a warmly-lit hallway, the walls of which were painted a soft pinky-brown.
The color choice felt calm and cozy while the scattered paintings of local vista and drawings of native plants were a nice change from the usual mass-produced artwork he was used to seeing when he traveled.