Робин Кук - Mortal Fear

“Is this where you and Alvin stayed?” Jason asked, peering through the windshield. There was a huge porch with raw pine furniture.

“This is it.” Carol reached around to get her bag from the back seat.

They got out of the car. There was a chill to the air and the pungent smell of woodsmoke. Jason heard a distant sound of rushing water.

“The river’s on the other side of the lodge,” Carol said, mounting the steps. “Just a little way up there’s a cute waterfall. You’ll see it tomorrow.”

Jason followed her, suddenly wondering what the hell he was doing. The trip had been a mistake; he belonged back in Boston with his critically ill patients. Yet here he was in the Cascade Mountains with a girl he had no business admiring.

The interior of the inn was every bit as charming as the exterior. The central room was a large, two-story affair dominated by a gargantuan fireplace. It was furnished with chintz, animal heads, and scattered bearskin rugs. There were several people reading in front of the fire and a family playing Scrabble. A few heads turned as Jason and Carol approached the registration desk.

“Do you people have a reservation?” asked the man behind the desk.

Jason wondered if the man was joking. The place was immense, it was in the middle of nowhere, it was early November, and it wasn’t a weekend. He couldn’t imagine the demand would be very high.

“No reservations,” Carol said. “Is that a problem?”

“Let me see,” said the man, bending over his book.

“How many rooms are there in the hotel?” Jason asked, still bemused.

“Forty-two and six suites,” the receptionist said without looking up.

“Is there a shoe convention in town?”

The man laughed. “It’s always full this time of year. The salmon are running.”

Jason had heard of the Pacific salmon and how they’d mysteriously return to the particular freshwater breeding grounds that had spawned them. But he’d thought the phenomenon occurred in the spring.

“You’re in luck,” the receptionist said. “We have a room, but you might have to move tomorrow night. How many nights are you planning to stay?”

Carol looked at Jason. Jason felt a rush of anxiety-only one room! He didn’t know what to say. He started to stammer.

“Three nights,” Carol said.

“Fine. And how will you settle your bill?”

There was a pause.

“Credit card,” Jason said, fumbling for his wallet. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

As they followed the bellboy down the second-floor hallway, Jason wondered how he’d gotten himself into this. He hoped there would at least be twin beds. Much as he admired Carol’s looks, he wasn’t prepared for an affair with an exotic dancer who did God knows what else on the side.

“You people have a wonderful view,” the bellboy said.

Jason went in, but his eyes shifted immediately to the sleeping arrangements, not the windows. He was relieved to see separate beds.

When the boy left, Jason finally went over to admire the dramatic vista. The Cedar River, which at that point widened to what appeared to be a small lake, was bordered by tall evergreens that glowed a dark purple in the fading light. Immediately below was a lawn that sloped down to the water’s edge. Extending out into the river was a maze of docks used to moor twenty to thirty rowboats. On racks, out of the water, were canoes. Four large rubber boats with outboard motors were tied to the end of a dock. Jason could tell there was a significant current in the river despite its placid appearance, since all four of the rubber boats had their stems pointed downriver, their bowlines taut.

“Well, what do you think?” Carol said, clapping her hands. “Isn’t it cozy?”

The room was papered with a flower print. The floor was broad-planked pine with scattered rag rugs. The beds were covered with comforters printed to appear like quilts.

“It’s wonderful,” Jason said. He glanced into the bathroom, hoping for robes. “You seem to be the tour director. What now?”

“I vote for dinner immediately. I’m starved, And I think the dining room only serves until seven. People turn in early here.”

The restaurant had a curved, windowed wall facing the river. In the center of the wall were double doors leading to a wide porch. Jason guessed that in the summer the porch was used for dining. There were steps from the porch down to the lawn, and at the docks the lights had come on, illuminating the water.

About half of the two dozen tables in the room were filled. Most of the people were already on their coffee. It seemed to Jason that everyone stopped talking the moment he and Carol appeared.

“Why do I feel we’re on display?” Jason whispered.

“Because you’re anxious about sleeping in the same room with a young woman whom you barely know,” Carol whispered. “I think you feel defensive and a little guilty and unsure of what’s expected of you.”

Jason’s lower jaw slowly sank. He tried to look into Carol’s warmly liquid eyes to comprehend what was in there. He knew he was blushing. How on earth could a girl who danced half nude be so perceptive? Jason had always prided himself on his ability to evaluate people: after all, it was his job. As a physician, he had to have a sense of his patients’ inner dynamics. Yet why did he feel there was something about Carol that didn’t fit?

Glancing at Jason’s red face, Carol laughed. “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy yourself. Let down your hair, doctor — I’m certainly not going to bite.”

“Okay,” Jason said. “I’ll do just that.”

They dined on salmon, which was offered in bewilderingly tempting varieties. After great deliberation, they both had it baked in a pastry shell. For authenticity, they sampled a Washington State chardonnay which Jason found surprisingly good. At one point he heard himself laughing aloud. It had been a long time since he’d felt so free. It was at that point they both realized they were alone in the dining room.

Later that night when Jason was in bed, looking up at the dark ceiling, he again felt confused. It had been a comedy of sorts getting to bed, juggling towels as coverups, flipping a coin to see who used the bathroom first, and having to get out of bed to turn out the light. Jason had never remembered feeling quite so body conscious. Jason rolled over. In the darkness, he could just make out the outline of Carol’s form. She was on her side. He could hear the faint sound of her rhythmical breathing against the background sound of the distant waterfall. She was obviously asleep. Jason envied her honest acceptance of herself and her untroubled slumber. But what confused Jason was not the inconsistencies of Carol’s personality, but rather the fact that he was enjoying himself. And it was Carol who was making it happen.

Weatherwise, their luck held. When they opened the drapes in the morning, the river sparkled with the brilliance of a million gemstones. The minute they finished breakfast, Carol announced they were going on a hike.

With box lunches from the hotel, they walked up the Cedar River on a well-marked trail alive with birds and small animals. About a quarter of a mile from the lodge they came upon the waterfall Carol had mentioned. It was a series of rocky ledges, each about five feet high. They joined several other tourists on a wooden viewing platform and watched in awed silence as the wild water cascaded downward. Just below them, a magnificent rainbow-colored fish, three to four feet long, broke the turbulent surface of the water, and in defiance of gravity leaped up the face of the first ledge. Within seconds it had leaped again, clearing the second ledge by a wide margin.