Chapter Four In Need Of Shelter
Ephram
The house was colder than it should have been.
I noticed it the moment I woke up, the air sharp enough to make my lungs ache when I breathed in too deeply. The furnace had been out the night before, and I had hoped the space heaters would be enough to carry it through until morning but it was even colder than I imagined it would get.
I sat up slowly, listening. No hum. No click. No false start that suggested the furnace was at least trying. It was just quiet.
I swung my legs out of bed and stood, the cold biting through the floorboards into my feet. The thermostat confirmed what I already knew. Blank screen. No response no matter how many buttons I pressed.
“All right, I have no heat,” I said aloud, because acknowledging the problem made it easier to deal with.
I pulled headed for the bathroom, already planning the rest of the morning. Hot shower then a coffee and hot breakfast before beginning my day. In the bathroom I turned the shower handle to prewarm the water.
No sputter. No weak stream. No water at all.
I stood there for a moment, hand still on the faucet, then shut it off and went into the kitchen. The light flicked on, reflecting off something on the floor near the sink.
Water.
I crossed the room in two strides and dropped to one knee, following the trail with my eyes. It led straight under the cabinet. I opened it and saw the split immediately. A clean break in the pipe, jagged at the edges. Ice frosting the pipe.
I exhaled slowly and stood, already moving.
The shutoff was in the basement. I took the stairs two at a time, twisted the valve, and waited until the sound of movement in the pipes stopped. Back upstairs, I grabbed towels and got to work. The water hadn’t spread far yet. That was something.
I worked methodically, mopping, wringing, laying towels flat to absorb what remained. There was no point in being angry. This was the result of a decision I had made months ago, knowing exactly what the risk was.
The furnace needed replacing. I had hoped it would make it through one more winter.
Apparently I should have known better.
By the time the floor was dry enough to walk on without slipping, my fingers were numb and my patience was thin. I straightened and looked around the kitchen. It was cold with no water and no heat.
Frankly, it was uninhabitable.
I called the furnace company first. The receptionist sounded apologetic before I even finished explaining.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “Our primary technician had a family emergency and the backup is booked solid.”
“Fow long?” I asked.
There was a pause. “A couple of weeks, at least.”
I thanked her and hung up, then called the plumber.
“Yes, I can book you in for next week,” he said. “Even if we replace the pipe, if you don’t have heat, you can’t turn the water back on safely.”
“I understand,” I said.
When I hung up, I stood in the kitchen for a moment, letting the situation settle. The house was not safe to stay in. Space heaters were insufficient to make me comfortable, and continuous use was a potential fire hazard.
I considered Hale Ski Lodge briefly, but the holidays meant they were already packed, plus it was ridiculously expensive to stay there at any time of the year, let alone the premium holiday time in December.
Staying with a coworker was worse. I did not impose on people, especially not when I wore a uniform that already came with expectations.
That left one option.
The Snowdrop Inn.
The thought sat there, unwelcome but practical. The inn had heat. It had to have at least one empty room.
It would be temporary., I told myself.
I gathered a small bag, shut off what needed shutting off, and locked the house behind me.
The drive through town was short, and familiar. Maple Ridge looked festive with lights strung neatly along storefronts, displays in front windows, and red bows on the street lamps. When I drove into the parking lot of the Snowdrop Inn, it stood out immediately. Warm light glowed in the windows.
I parked and sat for a moment, collecting myself.
This was a solution. It might be a little bit messy considering I was asking them questions in an investigation, but I was a professional. I could handle this in a professional manner, I reminded myself of that as I stepped out into the cold.
The warmth hit me the moment I opened the door.
It smelled like cinnamon and freshly polished wood. The lobby was busy, voices overlapping, footsteps echoing lightly off unfinished floors. A woman stood at the front desk with a clipboard tucked under her arm, dark hair pulled back loosely, brows drawn together in concentration.
She looked up as I came in. She had brown eyes that were alert and curious.
For a brief, unhelpful second, I thought she was pretty.
I cleared my throat. “Good afternoon.”
She straightened, professional instinct kicking in. “Welcome to the SnowDrop Inn. Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” I said. “I’m Ephram North. I live a few blocks away. My furnace is out and a pipe burst this morning. I was hoping to arrange a temporary stay.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Of course. Yes. We can help with that. I’m Lydia Bennet.”
So this was Lydia Bennet.
“Let’s get you checked in. I have a room on the second floor with a nice view of the courtyard,” she offered.
“That’s good,” I replied, not really caring about the view.
“Do you have a credit card and identification?” she questioned.
I pulled out my wallet, giving her the necessary documents.
Behind her, a man hovered who radiated entitlement. Well-dressed, smug posture, he hovered behind her, watching her every movement.
I disliked him on sight.
“We are still mid-renovation,” Lydia mentioned typing information into the computer. “But we have heat and working bathrooms. Just the basics.”
“That is all I need,” I said. “It would be short term.”
She nodded, giving me a receipt and my cards back. “Here’s your room key. The room number is on it. Do you need any help with your bags?”
“Now, now, Lydia. He looks fully able to take his own bags upstairs. You can’t leave the desk unattended. It might reflect poorly on the inn should someone come to the lobby requiring something,” the man behind her said.
I wondered if this was her father, William Bennet, owner of the inn.
“It’s part of the service,” Lydia said in a clipped voice.
“I can grab my own bags, but thank you for asking,” I made a point of saying before giving the man a cool look. “I don’t believe we have been introduced.”
“Collin Bennet,” he replied without elaboration.
Not the owner then. I wondered exactly what Collin’s role was here. I returned my attention back to Lydia. “There is something else I wanted to speak to you about, if you have a moment. In private please.”
Her expression shifted, guarded but calm. “Of course.”
We stepped into a quieter corner of the hallway, leaving a disapproving Collin at the desk.
“I’m a sergeant with the Maple Ridge police department,” I identified myself, showing her my badge. “I have reviewed some files, one of them being the unresolved case of Gavin Wickham defrauding the SnowDrop Inn and your family.”
She stiffened.
“Yes,” she said. “I remember.”
“I wanted to clarify a few things,” I continued. “Just to understand how events unfolded.”
She nodded slowly. “All right.”
“Where did you meet?” I asked.
“At a party. He was the coordinator for all the staff. The party was at the place I worked at before I came home. We were celebrating getting a big client. Gavin was charming, he loved my social media profile, he asked for my number. We went out a few times. When planning the Christmas dance here, it was natural to call him and ask for his help and expertise,” Lydia answered.
“How long had you been together?” I wondered, trying to establish a timeline.
“Maybe a couple of months. I honestly thought he really liked me. Gavin was always asking me questions about my family, the inn, and what events we might have here." She shrugged, as though that could mask the hurt those words implied.
I tried not to notice it. “I understand he took all of the money from the ticket sales, and the charity box money. Did he pay any of the vendors?”
Lydia shook her head. “No, we had to pay them. He said he was going to take care of things and would give us the balance. He even said his portion of work would be for free. He was a liar. I wish I hadn’t met him.”
She crossed her arms, holding onto herself. Her shoulders slumped slightly. “He used me.”
“He used you to gain access to the inn” I said carefully. “You trusted him. He exploited that trust. That is not the same thing as being foolish.”
She looked at me, eyes bright with something close to humiliation. “I should have seen it.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe he was good at what he did.”
Silence settled between us.
“I think he saw an opportunity,” I continued. “If not you, it would have been someone else. This is what he does and the SnowDrop Inn hasn’t been his first victim.”
She nodded slowly. “I thought I was helping my family.”
“You were trying to,” I said. “That matters.”
She let out a breath she had been holding.
“I will continue reviewing the file,” I said. “If anything else comes up, I will let you know.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
I was shown to a room upstairs, warm and simple and not mine. As I set my bag down, I thought of my cold, dark house and the water that had pooled on the kitchen floor.
Control, I had learned, was always temporary.
I could hear laughter in the hallways as someone passed by. The flyer by the bed advertised the services of the inn, including breakfast which I realized I hadn’t eaten. I thought about how the loss of a substantial amount of money must have affected the Bennet family.
And Lydia Bennet, looking so sad and disappointed in the man whom she had trusted.
This stay was not going to be simple.