Page 45 of The Murder Club

“This is the place?” he demanded.

Bailey nodded, understanding his confusion. Even at a distance it was easy to see that the heavy logs were weathered with age while the tin roof had long ago rusted. Even the heavy stone chimney was covered in moss.

“I haven’t been out here in a long time,” she admitted, unhooking her seat belt.

“I thought it was going to be a hotel.”

“My grandmother told me that the original owner ran it as sort of a B-and-B for out-of-town hunters, but eventually he moved away and the new owners boarded up the upstairs and opened the ground floor as a place to rent for wedding receptions and charity events.” Bailey was struck with a sudden memory. “We had our senior prom out here.”

“Did you go?”

“Of course.” A reminiscent smile curved her lips. Her gaze moved to the patio where she had stood along with her classmates to have a thousand pictures taken by the gathered crowd of parents. “My grandmother made me the most beautiful gown and my date was my high school crush.” Her smile widened. She’d been so giddy with excitement she hadn’t been able to sleep for a week. “It was supposed to be the perfect night.”

Dom unhooked his seat belt and swiveled to face her. “Not so perfect?”

“Nope.” Her tone was light, although at the time she’d been furious. More at herself for allowing the prom to become the most important event of her young life than the boy who’d disappointed her. Honestly, nothing could have lived up to her expectations. “I was dancing with a bunch of my friends when I realized that my date had slipped out the back to drink from a keg the boys had hidden in the woods. He passed out halfway through the dance and I had to call my grandmother to pick me up. I couldn’t look at Billy again without thinking about him in his fancy tux with his face in the mud.”

He chuckled. “The destruction of young love.”

“Exactly,” she said, not adding that it had also been an important lesson in judging the worth of a man by how he treated others rather than his shallow popularity. It was a rite of passage for most teenagers. “The only good thing was that Zac had already left Pike to go to college. He would not have been happy.”

“I can imagine,” Dom murmured.

Bailey returned her attention to the building that appeared tired and depressed despite the morning sunlight.

“This place has definitely gone downhill since my high school days. Why would anyone want to stay here?”

“Let’s find out.”

Dom exited the Land Rover and waited for her to join him. Then, walking along the edge of the decaying parking lot to stay in the shadows of the trees, they made their way around the lodge and climbed onto the front porch. The boards creaked beneath their feet, but the wood was solid. The lodge might be shabby, but it was still sturdy. It had been built when things were meant to last.

Dom crossed the porch, rapping his knuckles against one of the double doors. A minute later it was pulled open to reveal a man with messy black curls and a pale, thin face. He was wearing a pair of silk pajama pants and nothing else.

Had he been sleeping? Certainly he didn’t look pleased to see them. “Yes?”

“Ford Smithson?” Dom asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Dom Lucier.”

Ford’s features tightened, revealing faint wrinkles that fanned out from his green eyes. Bailey found it impossible to guess the man’s age. He could be anything from twenty-five to thirty-five.

“Okay.” Ford glanced toward Bailey, pretending he didn’t recognize her.

“I’m Bailey Evans,” she forced herself to offer her name.

There was an awkward pause, as if Ford was waiting for them to reveal why they were bothering him. Then, with a less than subtle sigh, he stepped back and waved them inside.

“Please, come in.”

Dom stepped through the entryway and Bailey was close behind him. Once inside, however, she halted in the middle of the cavernous space and glanced around in surprise.

Nothing had changed. The faded paneling still lined the walls, the floor was still bare wooden planks, and the staircase that led to the upper floors was still boarded closed. Overhead, the open beams were studded with a few bare light bulbs and a ceiling fan that moved the stale air. The only additions had been a stack of empty cavasses and tripods stacked in a corner and a couch that had been pulled out to provide a rumpled bed near the back wall.

“You live here?” she asked in surprise.

Ford strolled to grab a T-shirt from the bed and pulled it over his head. “It’s not fancy, but it makes a perfect artist’s studio.” He shoved his fingers through his loose curls, exuding the confidence of a man who knew he was irresistible to most women. Not Bailey, of course. She preferred large, dependable men who didn’t bother with foolish games. “The light in the afternoon pours through the windows. And the sunsets are magnificent. I’ve spent weeks trying to capture their beauty.”

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