Chapter Two
Charles Durbin took a last look at the lobby of the Mountain High Lodge. “Lodge” was an over-inflated word for a motel, but he had tried to maintain a traditional western lodge atmosphere in the lobby, with mounted animal heads and high ceilings with huge wooden beams from which antler chandeliers were hung. The stone fireplace usually had a fire roaring in it, but it was cold now, its ashes swept up. The knotty pine floors were mostly free of the heavy wood-and-leather furniture that had once occupied them. Most of that was piled in a back corner, along with rolled-up Indian rugs. He’d thrown tarps over it all to keep the dust off. In a couple of weeks, a dealer from Fort Collins would be up, and Charles hoped he would buy the whole lot. He’d had no takers for the lodge, though. He had inherited the place from his parents, had grown up in it, and now he had driven it into the ground.
He had tried everything, but in the end, the place was doomed because Silver Gap was not one of Colorado’s major winter or summer recreation hotspots. There had been some good cross-country skiing in the area, a few popular snowmobiling spots, and hunting and hiking were always in style. But when the economy had turned sour, people started vacationing closer to home, or they stuck to the tried and true: Aspen and Vail, Denver and Colorado Springs. And when it finally bounced back, they didn’t return. The condition of the forest hadn’t helped; nobody wanted to spend time in a wooded wonderland that looked like it had been ravaged by fire.
After the fourth deathly slow summer in a row, swimming in red ink, he gave up. To keep the place open would use up every last bit of savings he and Clara had, driving them deeper into debt. As much as he despised the idea, which felt like a betrayal of both his family legacy and his convictions, he had accepted a job at one of the national motel chains, down in Fort Collins.
Clara was waiting in the car, too upset by the reality of leaving Silver Gap to accompany Charles on this final walk-through. Maybe if she had been bringing in another income, they could have stuck it out another year. Instead, whenever she wasn’t needed at the lodge, she had volunteered at Reverend Gil Calderon’s Chapel in the Woods. She enjoyed the work, liked the church and its parishioners. But although it might have brought her spiritual comfort, it didn’t bring in any money.
They needed to get on the road. It was a couple of hours to Fort Collins, and the sun was already sinking. The winding mountain road below Silver Gap could be treacherous at the best of times, even for locals who drove it often. It was even worse at night, when you never knew if a deer or elk or bear might wander onto the pavement.
He switched off the overhead light, plunging the lobby into darkness. Stepping outside, he noticed that the hinges were squeaking, and thought about the can of WD-40 in his maintenance closet. But he stopped himself with a grim smile—not my problem anymore—and pushed his key into the lock. The Vacancy/No Vacancy sign that had always kept the parking lot bathed in buzzing pink light was silent, its glow extinguished.
He heard a vehicle rushing up the road. Somebody’s pickup truck, probably, heading home after a run into the city or a hunting trip. It would race past, as they always did. Likely never notice that the lodge’s lights were off. Charles paused in the gravel lot. He could barely see Clara, sitting in the passenger seat of their Buick, but from the angle of her jaw and the way her hands were raised to her face, he suspected she was still weeping.
Those hours into Fort Collins would be long ones.
Instead of racing past, though, the vehicle turned into the parking lot. Low beams washed across the Buick and Clara looked up, her eyes wide. A Lexus SUV bounced over that bump at the lot’s edge that Charles had always meant to grade, and spat gravel as it came to a halt, pinning Charles in its headlights.
The driver’s door opened and a man climbed out. A couple of other people waited inside. The man was handsome, early forties, Charles guessed, but with a five-year margin of error in either direction. Deep crags joined the edges of his nose with his lips, and shallower ones edged the corners of his eyes. Longish, light brown hair splayed out from beneath a dark blue ball cap with a leather bill. He was trim, bundled up in a bulky leather coat and gloves, dark jeans, and hiking boots. “Excuse me,” he said. “Is this place open? Looks kind of quiet.”
“Not anymore,” Charles said.
The guy looked at him, confusion showing on his face. He wasn’t a big man, maybe five-nine, but he looked sturdy enough. He offered a kind of half-smile. “Not open anymore, you mean? As of when?”
“About ten minutes ago.”
“I’m sorry, I’m a little … are you the manager?”
“Manager, owner, head janitor, you name it.”
“And you’re closed?”
“That’s right. Out of business, I’m sorry.”
“Is there any place else in town to get some rooms?”
“In Silver Gap? No, sir. Might be able to find something over in Walden.”
The guy peeled off his cap and scratched his head. “Man, I don’t want to go that far. You say you own the place?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about your business, but since you’re standing here and all, what if I offered to rent all your rooms at whatever the going rate is, for say, two weeks? Would that make a difference?”
“All the rooms? How many people are coming?”
The guy jerked his thumb toward the SUV. “There’s three of us. And some equipment.”
“Then why do you need all the rooms?”
“I don’t. I just want it to be worth your while to let us stay in a couple of them, and, you know, clean the showers, change the sheets, that kind of thing.”
Charles considered this for a moment. Clara watched intently from the Buick. She longed to stay in Silver Gap, a longing so fierce it scared him sometimes, so he knew what her answer would be. Charles, though, had different concerns. He had accepted a job. He was supposed to start in three days. If he didn’t show up, he would forfeit that. Renting every room for a couple of weeks would put some money in the bank, though, maybe keep them solvent until winter. A good snowfall might bring out the snowmobile crowd. He had not yet had the utilities shut off, so it wouldn’t cost much to reopen. With only three guests, he and Clara could staff the place themselves.
Another thought struck him. “What kind of equipment are we talking about?”
“Some film gear.”
“You’re making a movie?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s not a porno, is it?”
The man grinned, shook his head. “No, nothing that exciting. It’s a documentary.”
“About Silver Gap?”
“About global warming. Climate change.”
Charles tried to do some quick mental gymnastics. Global warming was bullshit, but money in the bank was not. And there might be publicity value in having a filmmaker stay at the lodge. Maybe he’d even put the lodge in the movie. Publicity could be good for long-term business, put them in the black, so he wouldn’t have to go to work for some faceless bureaucracy. His gaze swept between the man and the expensive SUV.
“I guess maybe I could open up again for that,” he said. Playing it cool. “There’d be some start-up costs to get everything back up and running, of course.”
“Would a grand up front cover it?”
Charles tried not to grin. “That’d probably do.”
The guy stepped forward, peeled off his gloves, and offered his right hand. Charles took it. The handshake was firm, but the hand lacked the calluses of most people he knew. “Alex Converse,” the man said. “Thanks for doing this.”
“I’m Charles Durbin.” Charles nodded toward the Buick. “That’s Clara. Welcome to Silver Gap, Mr. Converse.”
Alex Converse returned to the Lexus. Charles beckoned to Clara and unlocked the front door, flipping the switch up again. Light from the antler chandeliers flooded the lobby. He passed through to the office, where the first thing he did was trip the No Vacancy switch, sparking a jittery buzz directly outside the window. Once again, a pink glow filled the parking lot. When he looked out, he saw Clara hurrying toward the door wearing a huge smile.
The next thing Charles did was call the home of Alden Stewart, Silver Gap’s mayor. Alden answered on the second ring.
“Alden, it’s Charles Durbin.”
“Hey, Charles, what’s up? I thought you’d be on your way by now.”
“Change of plans. We’re staying open.”
“You are? That’s awesome news. What happened?”
“Let’s just say there’s a new man in town, Alden. A crazy man. A rich crazy man.”
“That’s the best kind.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Mayor, you got that right.” Charles unleashed a deep chuckle. “You got that right as hell.”