Stormy Cove Read Online Free PDF Page A

insisted.
    “Yep,” the other man said, “that’s how it is.”

    Lori was forced to think some more about the proximity of life and death when she began to pass “Moose Crossing” signs. But Bobbie had assured her that the moose would keep to the woods for cover because they can’t escape fast enough in the snow. Lori thought “woods” too big a word for the birch and low coniferous trees. Compared to West Coast trees that she couldn’t even get her arms around, these thickets by the side of the road seemed puny.
    She couldn’t see the ocean anymore, just an occasional highway sign indicating that villages were hiding somewhere nearby. The sky clouded over, and a dull feeling filled her stomach.
    She thought it best to stay overnight at a hunting lodge two hours away from her destination so she could mentally prepare for her adventure.
    Just don’t rush things. Approach them slowly. The first impression is critical. She turned off the highway and soon found the driveway of Birch Tree Lodge, a log-cabin-style hotel. The huge logs could only have come from British Columbia. A long way for construction material to travel, more than five thousand miles across the continent. Even the telephone poles in Newfoundland were from British Columbia, Bobbie said.
    The lodge’s office was a combined reception desk and souvenir shop.
    Waiting for the clerk, Lori studied the bottles of iceberg water and the parrots embroidered on the wall hangings. After a while, she followed a sign and found herself in a wide dining room with exposed ceiling beams. Inuit carvings graced the mantel, and a chandelier made from antlers hung from a beam. One of three long tables was set. Lori looked up and saw a polar bear pelt hanging beneath the gable.
    “I had it hung extra high so nobody could steal it,” said a voice behind her.
    Lori turned around to find a short-haired young woman carrying a package of frozen meat. She couldn’t have been more than thirty.
    “I’ll put this in the kitchen and be right back.”
    She pointed to a large carafe.
    “Get yourself some coffee in the meantime. And have a piece of cake. We aren’t fussy here. I’m Hope.”
    Lori introduced herself and did as she was told. She had just started in on her cake when Hope reappeared. Lori now identified her as the owner of the lodge, a very young owner indeed.
    “We don’t have many guests this time of the year,” she said. “How long are you staying?”
    “I’m not sure. I’ll be in the area for a while, so I’m hoping to rent some rooms or a house somewhere.”
    “So you’re the photographer from Calgary?”
    Lori almost choked on her cake.
    “How in the world did you know?”
    “News gets around fast here, you’ll find out. Bobbie called today. We’ve known each other for years. She thought you’d show up here. It’s the only hotel around. Cake good?”
    Lori nodded.
    “I’m from Vancouver, not Calgary.”
    “Don’t you work for somebody in Calgary?”
    Lori hesitated. How would they know that? Then she recalled that she’d mentioned the Calgary publisher to the archaeologist.
    “Yes, for a publisher. I’m working on a coffee table book.”
    “You know many folks in Calgary?”
    Lori felt like she was being cross-examined. But Hope might simply be a curious hotel owner who liked to chat with her guests.
    “Not many. I know my way around Vancouver better.”
    “I know some people in Calgary. What’s the book about?”
    “Oh, rural Newfoundland, fishing villages, the local way of life.”
    “Who’d ever be interested in such a thing?”
    “Me, for example. It’s an unknown world for me, and it may not exist much longer if those little outports keep dying out.”
    “Well, you’re right, there.”
    Hope drummed her fingers on the tablecloth. She seemed to be in perpetual motion.
    Outside the window, a boat landing led onto a flat white surface, and Lori realized that it must be a frozen lake. Summer guests must sit on the veranda