Ice Trap by Kitty Sewell

Author:Kitty Sewell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

PART 2

CHAPTER 13

Moose Creek, 2006

More snow was expected, according to the lady who checked him into the Happy Prospector B&B.

“Winter is setting in well and truly. What choice do we have, huh?” she said, head cocked to one side, waiting for him to add his own reason for wanting to endure this forthcoming ordeal. Dafydd just nodded sagely in agreement. She asked for ID and proceeded to carefully copy down the details from his passport. She looked at his picture for a long moment, then looked up at him.

“I remember you,” she exclaimed, delighted. “Dafydd Woodruff.”

“I’m sorry,” Dafydd said, looking closely at her pixie face. “I probably should remember you, but I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Don’t you worry. I can rightly take that as the best possible compliment.” She laughed merrily, looking genuinely very pleased.

“I’ve put my foot in it somehow,” Dafydd conceded, embarrassed.

“Not on your life . . . I used to work in the Klondike. I’m Tillie. Does that ring a bell?” Dafydd stared at her. Of course he remembered Tillie. She was the obese Shirley Temple look-alike who always had a nice word for him and a smile, a true smile. He’d enjoyed her attentive ministrations at the Klondike, offered in a caring, motherly fashion, vigilant of his every need in the way of food and drink.

“Tillie . . . I can’t believe it,” he exclaimed. “You look wonderful.”

Behind the Formica counter stood a woman in her early forties, slender and fit-looking, with a lovely youthful face and blond ringlets gathered in a girlish ponytail. “Whatever it is you’ve done, you should patent it. You’d be the richest woman in the Western world.”

Tillie blushed becomingly. She really was very pretty. Smooth, lovely skin, tiny ski-jump nose and small red rosebud mouth, just like a doll.

“Tell me to mind my own business, but how did you do it?”

“A very nice doctor who worked here for a while fixed me up. I was feeling tired all the time and he discovered that I had a very underactive thyroid. I got some pills and the weight just dropped off.”

“Dang, I wish I could have taken credit for the discovery,” Dafydd said with feeling. “I missed my chance to be a real hero. Perhaps I wasn’t very . . . imaginative in those days?”

“You were just fine,” Tillie said. “Anyway, I never saw you about it, did I, so you never had a chance.” After a moment she added, “Lots of people really appreciated you. Some were real disappointed that you left after such a short time. They were getting used to you . . . and your ways.”

“Ah, yes, my ways.” Dafydd smiled. “Fastidious to the point of absurdity.”

Tillie smiled back, seemingly unsure of what he meant. “Let me show you your room.” She led the way up a narrow staircase to the first floor. A dark corridor contained a row of plastic doors. It looked unspeakably depressing. However, when she threw open the door to number 6, the room itself proved bright and spacious, with an overlarge bed over which hung a purple canopy.

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