Chapter 9
How in the name of all that was holy did he end up taking a hike across all twenty-five acres of Snowberry Lodge and beyond? Red Starling didn’t hike.
He also didn’t chat about macros—whatever the heck they were—or care about bone density and something called his “mitochondrial” health or, God help him, lymphatic drainage.
Yet somehow, someway, that’s what he got roped into today by Bertie Kessler, an unstoppable force of nature who refused to take no for an answer. Once again, she’d snagged him as he’d made his way from the lodge up to the house, a long nap in his future.
Now, he was marching in the snow listening to a very talkative old workhorse yammer about the “pillars of health” like they were the second coming.
“Come on, now, Red. Let’s get to your house. What is that? Half a mile, uphill?”
He moaned because it was easier than talking.
“Hard things make strong people.” Bertie grinned up at him, her blue eyes bright behind bifocals. “You want to be strong, don’t you, Red?”
“I want to be drinking something hot in front of the fire,” he muttered. “With my crossword puzzle.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic for your brain,” she said, tugging on that ridiculous giant fur hat. “Gotta stay alert and sharp or we get old.”
“Must be, ’cause I live for that puzzle.” Although, right now, he felt like he might die trying to get to it.
“Not good, not good,” she said, making him slow his step.
“What’s not good?” he demanded. “You just said it was fantastic.”
“Did you not listen to my speech about the pillars of health?”
Not a word, he thought.
“Of course you didn’t,” she said. “Nutrition, movement, sleep, and purpose!” She slathered all kinds of emphasis on the last one. “You must have a purpose. We’re too old for jobs, so we need to have something that matters.”
“The New York Times crossword puzzle matters,” he said, knowing it sounded like a weak argument, probably because it was. Or maybe because this last hill was murder.
“It doesn’t really matter because it’s inanimate,” she explained. “You need a soul involved. A person, a pet, a hobby that improves people’s lives. My purpose is helping old folks realize their physical potential.”
“Or killing them,” he said under her breath.
“One more corner, Red,” she prodded. “And while you do it, tell me your purpose.”
He tried to think of something that would shut her up, but he went blank.
“Come on, what matters to you every day?” she pressed. “What brings you joy, comfort, and a reason for waking up in the morning?”
Would she accept biscotti? Probably not.
“You better give me an answer or we’re doing another mile.”
He slid her a dark look. “Fine. I like…naps. There’s nothing better, ’cept maybe my granddaughter’s baking, that crossword puzzle, another nap, possibly a good game of Monopoly with Benny and a plate of cookies.” He grinned at her. “Followed by a nap. You see a pattern there?”
To her credit, she laughed heartily. Maybe there was a beating heart in that drill sergeant’s body. “Well, the answer was buried in there,” she said. “Benny. He’s your purpose.”
The words hit harder than he expected—unless that was his heart on the verge of a full-blown attack.
“Yeah, he’s very important to me.”
“How?”
He rolled his eyes like he did every time she threw in a little therapy with her miserable exercise.
“I’m the only man in his life,” he said, the answer popping into a head that had obviously been cleared of rational thought from all this walking.
“My son Jack is around,” she fired back.
He nodded. “He is, but he’s Cindy’s husband, running the lodge, and doing sleigh rides.
He’s not a constant in Benny’s life. I live with the kid and his mother and we’re…
tight.” He smiled and this time it was genuine.
“He says I’m his best friend, although that sweet little Olivia might have dethroned me. ”
She considered that, nodding. “That’s a lot of responsibility, Red.” Her voice was serious, and so were the words. “What happens to Benny if you die?”
He stopped mid-march, opening his mouth to make a typical Red Starling quip. But none came out. Instead, he looked at her, but in his head, all he could see was Benny-bean’s sweet face and how it had crumpled the day he thought Red was having a heart attack on the ice.
“He’d be in trouble,” Red admitted.
“Then your purpose is making sure he’s taken care of when you’re gone.”
“Well, he can have whatever money I’ve got, he can live in the house that Starlings have been in for generations, and his mother will never abandon him.”
“But who will be the man in his life?” she asked. “Who will be his role model? Who will teach him how to tie a bowtie or fix a carburetor or what to say on his first date?”
They reached the snow-covered lawn of the old house at the edge of the property as Red contemplated the questions…and hated the answer. Benny’s first date would be in five or six years, likely. Red would be kissing ninety. If he made it.
“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I hate to say this because it will just encourage you, but I guess my purpose is to make sure I don’t die.”
“Oh, you will,” she deadpanned. “I think your purpose is to make sure Benny has someone in his life when you do.”
How would he do that? He just stared at her, wishing she was wrong but knowing she wasn’t.
Then she pulled the fur beast on her head even lower. “Enjoy your nap! I’ve got two more miles and then I’m going to have a healthy and nutritious meal with the nice balance of macros. You remember what they are, right?”
“Sugar, fat, and beer?” he joked.
Again, she surprised him by giving a belly laugh and taking off down the path, leaving him catching his breath and thinking about their conversation.
How could he make sure Benny had someone in his life? He could start by not dying…and the only way he knew to do that was to take a nap.
So he went inside, kicked off his boots, slid out of his jacket, and hit the recliner. But he couldn’t even nap. All he did was think about Benny—his best friend, his great-grandson, his purpose.
“Grandpa! Wake up! I have to talk to you!”
Okay, maybe he’d napped after all.
Red cracked one eye, no stranger to the sight in front of him. His great-grandson stood over him, eyes wide behind his always slightly crooked glasses, hair sticking up in six different directions, breathing like he’d just done a marathon with Bertie the Beast.
“Are you bleeding? Is there a fire? Are we under an avalanche warning?” Red opened the other eye and tugged the afghan up to his chin. “If not, leave a message and I’ll call back later.”
“It’s worse,” Benny said. “It’s Olivia’s mom…the Bianca lady.”
The Bianca lady? Hardly. More like the harlot who wanted to ruin Marshall Hampton’s life.
“Bianca,” he repeated, his voice gravelly as he dragged himself out of the nap. “What’s she doing now?”
“Ruining everything, Grandpa. Everything!”
Red slowly lifted the recliner lever, groaning as the chair back straightened and his complained. “Start from the top, Benny-bean.”
“She just wants to wreck everything,” Benny declared, throwing his arms in the air. “She destroyed our tree decorating last night and then I had to go in the cabin and look for a spider that wasn’t ever there and while I was, she told Olivia that Mom can’t go over to Marshall’s house anymore.”
“What?”
“And today, Olivia told me her mom might move here. To Park City!”
Red rubbed his face. He should’ve known this nap was doomed. “You sure she said all that?”
“Yes! She said she and Marshall ‘deserve a second chance.’” Benny made air quotes so exaggerated he nearly lost his balance. “You know what that means, don’t you? She’s gonna try to steal him from my mother.”
Red winced at the crack in Benny’s voice, matching the one he could feel in his heart.
Bianca wasn’t just here to play house. No, siree. She was here to snare a good man in a bad way.
The memory of overhearing—maybe—her evil plans made his stomach turn. He had yet to tell a soul, hoping the problem would solve itself without Red having to stick his nose where it didn’t belong.
Apparently, that wasn’t going to happen.
“So we gotta do something,” Benny insisted, plopping into the chair across from him. “We can’t just let her stay here and wreck everything.”
Red scratched his chin, knowing the “something” to do was alert Marshall.
Or Gracie. Or someone who would put a stop to this, but the very idea made him a little ill.
It wasn’t his business and he shouldn’t act on something he wasn’t even sure he heard while he was hiding out in her cabin like a serial killer.
Who would even believe him?
“But I have a plan,” Benny said, his eyes fiery with a mission. “You want to hear it?”
Did he? Probably not. “Hit me,” Red said.
“We make her hate it here so bad she wants to leave.”
Red snorted, no stranger to Benny’s wild and frequently dangerous ideas. “Think we can irritate her right out of the state?”
“Maybe. I got some clues last night about what might really freak her out.”
Red tilted his head. “Freak her out?” He certainly didn’t want to break a pregnant woman, just get her to ditch her dumb schemes. “What are you thinking, Benny?”
“Wildlife,” Benny said, utterly serious. “That lady is terrified of anything that walks, breathes, and lives in the woods.”
“So…you want to scare her away.”
“It could work,” he said. “Maybe something like…snow snakes.”
“Snow what now?”
Benny’s eyes lit up. “We tell her that there are these rare winter snakes that slither under the powder. Totally harmless—but super gross. Then we sprinkle, like, garden hoses or something around her cabin at night so she flips out when she opens the door.”
Red stared, hating that the idea had merit, but that woman was too smart for that. Also, maybe pregnant, and he just didn’t want her getting hurt. “Do better,” he said, and Benny—bless his heart—nodded.
“Raccoons?” he suggested without hesitation. “We could wrangle some to knock garbage cans around outside her cabin.”
Red gave him a withering look. “Wrangle raccoons? Good luck with that.”
“Okay, okay.” He snapped his fingers, thinking, undaunted. “How about a baby bear? Opossum? Maybe just a standard rat that gets into her cabin.”
Red choked. “A rat? Benny! The woman is pr— problematic.”
“You’re right. She’ll sue Snowberry Lodge for all we’ve got.” Benny mussed his mop of hair as he ran his fingers through it, as though he could rub that amazing brain into a higher gear. “We need something scary but not…real.”
Or maybe Red could confront the woman and shame her into leaving?
Benny practically leaped in the air, giving a clap with a soft hoot. “I got it, Grandpa! I totally know how to scare her away with something that isn’t real but she couldn’t handle.”
“What?”
Benny beamed, put his hands on his hips, and narrowed his gaze behind his angled glasses. “Bigfoot.”
Red snorted so hard he needed a tissue. “Bigfoot?”
Benny nodded, dead serious. “I’ve been watching videos.”
“Exactly why you shouldn’t have a phone.”
“Seriously, Grandpa. People swear he lives out here and they call him…the Wasatch Sasquatch!”
“That’s a mouthful.”
Benny jumped again. “But Bigfoot is scarier. So we make her think he’s real and he’s hanging around her cabin.”
Red pressed his lips together, fighting the grin creeping up. “You plan to dress up like…Bigfoot?”
“I was thinking more just… sound-effects. And some footprints in the snow. Maybe a big hairy shadow in her window. We could—”
Red let out a belly laugh, cutting him off. “She’s not dumb, Benny. I could dress up as Santa and come down her chimney, too, and she wouldn’t believe I was real. Bigfoot? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
Red glared. “We don’t make jokes about that,” he said. “And this isn’t a great idea.”
“Well, what should we do?” Benny demanded.
Red knew exactly what to do—tell Marshall what he thought he’d overheard and let the man handle his own problems. Surely he’d boot his ex-wife’s designer-clad behind out of here.
Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe that softhearted former NFL player who loved the Lord would think he had to “do the right thing” and marry her. Maybe Marshall would believe that was best for Olivia, who was clearly the man’s soft spot.
Maybe…Benny was right and they should just scare Bianca into leaving. Was Bigfoot the answer?
Of course not.
“Maybe something less extreme,” Red said.
He sighed. “Okay, okay. We put some leftovers—like fish—outside her door tonight. That’ll attract raccoons. They’ll make a racket, she’ll freak out, and—boom—she’ll think the woods are dangerous.”
“You realize raccoons carry rabies, right?” Red asked.
“Okay, no raccoons,” Benny conceded. “Come on, Grandpa. A Bigfoot sighting is exactly what we need.”
“No, a nap is what we need. And you just settle down and…do homework.”
“School’s out for winter break and…and…I’m scared, Grandpa.”
“Of Bigfoot?”
“Of Bianca,” he said, his voice heavy with sadness.
“You think she’s going to stomp you with one of her high heels?”
Benny didn’t laugh. His whole face fell into a serious scowl. “Marshall and Mom like each other,” he said matter-of-factly. “They hold hands and whenever they think we’re not looking, they kiss. And I like him, Grandpa. I want him to be around like…like…”
“Like a father?” Red suggested.
“I mean…” Benny swallowed. “Is it so bad to want that?”’
“No, Benny-bean. It’s not bad at all.” And Red, who currently held the status of father, grandfather, and great-grandfather to this wonderful little boy, had a responsibility to get that role filled just in case anything happened to him. “But no Bigfoot. I’m too old for your antics.”
“I’m not.”
“Benny.”
“Just kidding, Grandpa. Kind of. That woman is on a mission and she’s exactly like Olivia when she wants something.”
“Relentless,” Red said.
“Yup. She never quits. Unless…” Benny grinned, the sight so good and innocent, it twisted Red’s old heart. Good gravy, he loved this boy.
“Unless Bigfoot shows up,” Red finished for him, making Benny giggle. “The answer is no. No Bigfoot, no snow snakes, no raccoons, no antics.”
Benny looked disappointed, but accepting. “’Kay. Then you can go back to sleep, Grandpa.”
“Good call, Benny-bean.” As he tugged at the blanket and Benny took off, Red settled back into his recliner, thinking about…his purpose.
His purpose was right here—keeping that boy safe, happy, and surrounded by good people who loved him. He just had to figure out how best to do that.