Welcome to Wednesdays where I share a snippet from one of my stories using the previous day's word from the New York Times' game. WORDLE. Yesterday's WORDLE was FROST.
Madeline
watched the drone video again, her confusion mounting. The cast-off furniture
on the warehouse’s main floor made sense—given the antique store had owned the building—but
the bedroom on the second floor did not. Unless someone had been living there?
But, despite the bed, linens, and
pillows, the space didn’t look lived in. No clothes. No telltale signs of
habitation, like toiletries, or plates or cups. But there wouldn’t be, if
whoever had been living there had left, right?
She was tempted to see it for
herself, but it was dark. Night had fallen hours ago. Besides, when she thought
about that ladder, she wasn’t any braver now than she’d been before. She needed
someone who wasn’t terrified of heights to inspect the second story. But who?
Lizzy?
She had just as much of a stake in
the warehouse as Madeline, and she was not only camping out in that cabin but
also, according to Nicole, taking pictures of her renovation progress and
posting them on social media.
Madeline herself never went on
social media. She couldn’t understand the fascination. She wasn’t interested in
what other people had for lunch, how they spent their weekends, or how many
hours they logged at the gym.
Happy with her decision to reach
out to Lizzy, Madeline powered down her computer, retrieved her toothbrush, and
got ready for bed. Her things were still in her suitcase, and she promised
herself she’d unpack tomorrow.
She rarely traveled without her
children, so the enormous bed with the window overlooking the lights sparkling
on the lake below felt lonely and strange. She found the silence eerie. At
home, there was always the buzz of traffic from the distant parkway, no matter
the hour. A neighbor’s barking dog. Someone’s music or TV. Here, nothing but
the wind rustling the trees and the spattering of raindrops against the
windows.
Madeline slipped between the icy
sheets and wiggled her legs and toes in an effort to warm things up. Shortly,
she began to relax, her thoughts slowed, and eventually, she slept.
Wailing shattered her dream. She’d
been in the warehouse, and someone had been screaming. It was that Paul Bunyan
of a man and his dog. The man stood beneath the ladder, the creature beside
him, and…wait… Madeline’s subconscious receded, and logic kicked in.
Sitting up, Madeline blinked in the
darkness. The wailing. What was it? She fumbled for the lamp, and after she
knocked it off the nightstand, she reached for her phone instead. The glowing
numbers read 2:00 a.m.
Where was that sound coming from?
She followed it to an alarm with a
furiously blinking light hanging on the ceiling in the hall.
What the heck? Why would it go off
now?
She lifted her nose in the air but
couldn’t smell any smoke. Maybe it wasn’t a smoke alarm but a carbon monoxide
detector.
What could set off a CO detector?
Her mind raced. Malfunctioning fuel-burning appliances? The options seemed
endless: furnaces, gas range/stoves, gas clothes dryers, water heaters, portable
fuel-burning space heaters, fireplaces, generators and wood-burning stoves…
Whatever it was, Madeline would
never be able to sleep while it wailed. Besides, what if the place was filling
up with carbon monoxide at this very minute? She didn’t want to wake up in
heaven. She wasn’t ready to follow Brian.
But where would she go? Should she
call the property manager at this hour? No. They probably wouldn’t
answer. Could she sleep in the car? Return to the resort? Not after her last
encounter with the pissy manager. They had tried to give her a room that reeked
of smoke, even though she’d insisted on a nonsmoking room.
All of our rooms are nonsmoking,
the manager had said.
Then why does this one smell like a
Cuban cigar? she’d shot back.
An argument had ensued. Finally,
Madeline had been given a suite, but she’d also had to pay nearly double. If
she went back, they’d probably try to give her a linen closet and charge a
small fortune.
The warehouse had a bed…but she
couldn’t climb that ladder. Could she? Madeline blew out a breath and gathered
up her purse, not knowing where she would go but knowing one thing for certain.
She couldn’t stay here.
Outside, the rain hit her like tiny
shards of ice. Her hands shook as she started the car and waited for the heater
to warm. Beneath her hands, the steering wheel felt like FROST. Music blasted,
and she ended it with a push of a button. Now, sleep seemed like a distant,
happy, but impossible-to-recapture memory.
Madeline sped over the silent and
empty streets. The moon—a smear of light flickering through gray clouds—hung
above the trees. She followed the GPS to the warehouse but slowed when she
rolled off the Rim of the World Highway and bounced onto the dirt road. A
cluster of vehicles were parked beside the warehouse. Lights flickered through
the upstairs windows.
Trespassers.
What should she do? Call the police?
The memory of her find at her
parents’ house flashed in her mind. Her parents couldn’t have anything to do
with this, could they?
Unsure where to go or what to do,
Madeline switched off her lights and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel,
waiting for something more—although she couldn’t guess what—to happen. Should
she call the police, or would that just prolong an already long and sleepless
night? After a few minutes, cold reality settled. She didn’t want to stay here
or talk to the police, she couldn’t go back to her rental, and she wasn’t about
to go back to the resort.
Lizzy.
As much as she hated to admit it,
tonight, Lizzy seemed to be the answer to all of Madeline’s problems. Where was
Lizzy’s cabin? That man—Allen-something—had given her a card. Could that have
an address? He’d said he lived next door to Lizzy’s cabin. Madeline scrounged
through her purse and located the card.
Ashton Arthur
Documentary Producer
Annandale Court
Really? Lizzy’s cabin was on a
street with the same name as the antique store? Was that a coincidence?
Grandma Norma hadn’t believed in
coincidences, but Madeline did. Still, she was too cold and tired to wiggle the
meaning out of this latest puzzle. She
typed the address into her GPS.
A few dark and cold minutes later,
she pulled up in front of Ashton’s house on Annandale Court—a cheery blue and
white cape cod that even in the dim of her headlights wore a much-loved and
well-cared-for look. There was only one house beside it.
Lizzy had said her grandfather’s
cabin had fallen into disrepair. Madeline put her car in gear and angled her
headlights so they shone to the left of Ashton’s address. She spotted a set of
stairs with an accompanying rickety handrail.
That had to be Lizzy’s cabin.
Madeline glanced around for Lizzy’s ancient Honda and, not finding it, let out
a sigh of relief. How would she get in? Try the slider off the back balcony?
Break a window?
Madeline put her car in park, drew
the hood of her jacket over her head, and dashed through the rain. She took the
stairs down the slope two at a time and stopped to shiver beneath the porch
roof. She tried the door. Locked. She darted around to the back porch, thumped
up the steps, and noticed the bathroom window was ajar. It screeched when she
pushed it open, but moments later, she was halfway through.
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