famous was a girl in high school, Savannah, who had appeared on Puttin’ on the Hits the summer after our sophomore year. She mouthed and wiggled to “Shout” by Tears for Fears with the help of a cousin of hers from Saint Paul. When she was in California filming her episode, she rode on the same elevator as Telly Savalas. She hadn’t won on the show, but that double dose of fame had been heady to all of us. We went around saying his trademark “Who loves ya, baby?” for most of our junior year of high school.
I thought of this as I came upon the main lodge of Shangri-La, and I wondered what I would say to the Gibsons if they were around. They were a sweet couple and always went out of their way to talk to me whenever we’d cross paths, but we had never hung out socially. In fact, I had never even been as far as Shangri-La and had only seen it from the lake. Except for the beach, the whole place was heavily treed and private.
Once inside the trees, the setting was spectacular. The main lodge was as big as a church, but its stained wood siding and cedar shakes blended with the oaks and birch that shaded the grounds. The little island was perfectly tended, with an immaculate lawn right up to the beach, the whole length of it. I could see the four servants’ buildings that now served as cabins for any guests who chose not to stay in the bed and breakfast that was the main lodge. The matching landscaping around all four of the buildings consisted of miniature lilacs, flowering chokecherry bushes, and shade-friendly perennials like hostas, columbine, and lupine. Judging from the piles of lake toys and fishing gear outside the cabins, the place was full. I wondered what finding a dead body near the beach was going to do to business.
I heard children giggling and spotted a group of four kids, all under ten, playing on the metal swing set on the far side of the cabin. I ducked around the front of the lodge so I wouldn’t be seen. I felt like I was trespassing, but I would probably be better off acting like I belonged here. I straightened out my unconscious hunch and told myself to walk with confidence. I rubbed my hands over my face and wiggled my nose, which was turning stiff with sunburn. I belonged here. The earth was my domain.
I strode around to the front of the lodge and past the group of seven or eight people sitting on the front deck, sipping iced tea and speculating on what the boats were doing out front. I nodded at them like I was a guest, too, and went inside.
If the outside of the lodge was spectacular, the inside was Taj Mahal. The floors were a gleaming maple, rich and red, the ceilings were fifteen feet high, and the decorating was a blend of rustic and exquisite. I felt like I was in a spacious English hunting lodge.
I remembered Shirly Tolverson saying the Addamses’ bedroom was upstairs, and I suddenly knew that was where I was headed. Shirly had made it pretty clear that he had caught Mrs. Krupps, the necklace-losing guest from out East, snooping there, and that she appeared to be hiding something. That caused a suspicious chain of events: she lost a diamond necklace, Shirly and the other help were fired, and the Addams sold the place. I was curious what had drawn her to the closet, if maybe there was something unusual about it, but mostly I wanted to see what the bedroom of a fabulously wealthy couple looked like. The Gibsons had taken pains to keep the rest of the lodge authentic, and I was betting that the master bedroom was fantastic. With any luck, it would be the bedroom they stayed in and therefore not a guest room with a lock on the door. I might be able to snoop around.
I walked out of the front sitting room and into the dining room. The table that ruled the dining space could seat twenty people comfortably, and there was still area to spare. The Gibsons had placed antique furniture in the corners, and the curtains floating on the light breeze looked handmade. Fresh daisies and snapdragons
I thought of this as I came upon the main lodge of Shangri-La, and I wondered what I would say to the Gibsons if they were around. They were a sweet couple and always went out of their way to talk to me whenever we’d cross paths, but we had never hung out socially. In fact, I had never even been as far as Shangri-La and had only seen it from the lake. Except for the beach, the whole place was heavily treed and private.
Once inside the trees, the setting was spectacular. The main lodge was as big as a church, but its stained wood siding and cedar shakes blended with the oaks and birch that shaded the grounds. The little island was perfectly tended, with an immaculate lawn right up to the beach, the whole length of it. I could see the four servants’ buildings that now served as cabins for any guests who chose not to stay in the bed and breakfast that was the main lodge. The matching landscaping around all four of the buildings consisted of miniature lilacs, flowering chokecherry bushes, and shade-friendly perennials like hostas, columbine, and lupine. Judging from the piles of lake toys and fishing gear outside the cabins, the place was full. I wondered what finding a dead body near the beach was going to do to business.
I heard children giggling and spotted a group of four kids, all under ten, playing on the metal swing set on the far side of the cabin. I ducked around the front of the lodge so I wouldn’t be seen. I felt like I was trespassing, but I would probably be better off acting like I belonged here. I straightened out my unconscious hunch and told myself to walk with confidence. I rubbed my hands over my face and wiggled my nose, which was turning stiff with sunburn. I belonged here. The earth was my domain.
I strode around to the front of the lodge and past the group of seven or eight people sitting on the front deck, sipping iced tea and speculating on what the boats were doing out front. I nodded at them like I was a guest, too, and went inside.
If the outside of the lodge was spectacular, the inside was Taj Mahal. The floors were a gleaming maple, rich and red, the ceilings were fifteen feet high, and the decorating was a blend of rustic and exquisite. I felt like I was in a spacious English hunting lodge.
I remembered Shirly Tolverson saying the Addamses’ bedroom was upstairs, and I suddenly knew that was where I was headed. Shirly had made it pretty clear that he had caught Mrs. Krupps, the necklace-losing guest from out East, snooping there, and that she appeared to be hiding something. That caused a suspicious chain of events: she lost a diamond necklace, Shirly and the other help were fired, and the Addams sold the place. I was curious what had drawn her to the closet, if maybe there was something unusual about it, but mostly I wanted to see what the bedroom of a fabulously wealthy couple looked like. The Gibsons had taken pains to keep the rest of the lodge authentic, and I was betting that the master bedroom was fantastic. With any luck, it would be the bedroom they stayed in and therefore not a guest room with a lock on the door. I might be able to snoop around.
I walked out of the front sitting room and into the dining room. The table that ruled the dining space could seat twenty people comfortably, and there was still area to spare. The Gibsons had placed antique furniture in the corners, and the curtains floating on the light breeze looked handmade. Fresh daisies and snapdragons
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