If I sell the property at a loss, I might be setting myself up for everyone on Landslide remembering me as a spoiled brat.Or worse, they could paint me with the “jaded city slicker” brush.
I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Gritting my teeth, I forge ahead, placing all the box contents onto shelves.The suitcase items get put into drawers or hung in the ancient-looking wardrobe in the main bedroom.
I take a quick peek into the other room.I wish I hadn’t.It’s some kind of a work room.Every surface overflows with stacks of paper.I’m not surprised.What good is storing info on a laptop out here with no internet?
Finally, around mid-afternoon when I look at my phone, I’m finished.
“Okay, Muohta,” I call the Samoyed over to me.“Let’s go check out this inn and distillery, and whatever else is up there.”
Stuffing my phone into the pocket of my jacket, I pull a beanie hat over my hair.I know the device is close to useless, but I can use it to tell time.I’m in my workday uniform of jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt, but when I glance out of the window, I’m reassured because it doesn’t look like rain.
I can remember the hand-drawn map Ben Magoo gave to me yesterday.The general store is at the end of this road.So, that’s where I’m heading.Needless to say, I figure it’s safe for me to leave the doors unlocked.I haven’t seen a single soul or vehicle since Linda left last night.
Leaning back so that I don’t tumble down the incline, I trudge to the road.After pausing a beat to orientate myself, I set out.Turning right at the gate at the end of the panhandle, I pick up the same route I was following yesterday evening.
Ben Magoo’s property is on the left.Okay.And he gets pissy about it if someone cuts through it.I’m willing to abide by those rules—that is, until I see how the road curves in a wide arc around Magoo’s extensive forest.
I have to call Muohta back.The clever dog wants to burrow under Ben’s rickety wooden pole fence and, quite frankly, I don’t blame him.“Muohta!Come on.We’ll have to go all the way around.”
After forty minutes or so of hard slog dodging over all the muddy potholes, I see a red painted building hove into view in the distance.
The general store.That means the Swiss chalet style wooden structure next to it is the inn.
Oh my God.It’s darling!I love it.
The architecture appeals to the artist in me.All those carved details: wide projecting beams, eaves extending extra deep and decorated with large scallops, wood balconies with flower boxes.The low-pitched gable roof facing the front and the exposed rafters are so quaint and whimsical.
“Oh, Muohta… All this place needs are walls made of gingerbread, and I’d think I’ve died and gone to fairytale heaven!”
The dog barks, picking up on my excitement.
Only now do I realize I left the big old bunch of keys back at the house.But I’m not going to waste this opportunity.
Trying hard not to feel like a peeping Tom, I press my face against the windows as I walk around the inn.There’s a “Closed” sign on both the front and back entrances.I suppose guests can only visit here in summer.
One window is really low down, close to the ground.I’m guessing it connects to the basement.
“Shit, what the hell.I might as well.”
Lying on the scraggy grass, I look through the glass pane.
It’s the distillery.But it doesn’t look like it brews beer or spirits.The equipment reminds me of how Walter White’s meth lab was set up inBreaking Bad.I know my aunt couldn’t have been doing anything illegal down here, but I’m left wondering if she was some kind of scientist in her spare time.
I only get up when Muohta starts snuffling at my beanie hat.
After brushing the debris of leaves and grass off my outfit, I set off to explore the backyard.
Is that a communal building of some kind, or is it for storage?They have to keep winter equipment somewhere, I guess.Wait!The door is open.
Glancing up as I step inside, I see familiar black lettering etched over the doorway.Same as back at Tempest’s house:
“Denn die Todten reiten Schnell.”
But this time, the words have been translated into English underneath the… Is it German?Or Swedish maybe?
“Because the dead ride fast.”
