Lulu Bean read the scribbled directions on the back of an old Mystic Muffins Bakery receipt: Left on Avenue U. West to ocean. The Gull Cottage Motel, Avenue U and Beach Drive. The instructions from Bernard were simple. Lulu hoped the assignment would be the same.
The windows were open. She breathed the sea air into her lungs. It felt good. The setting sun painted tangerine and violet across the evening sky as Lulu drove into The Gull Cottage Motel parking lot. Out front the neon sign had already been turned on and blazed brightly in the approaching dusk. Six cottages with gray weathered shakes, each boasted sea-blue shutters and matching doors. An abundant strip of flowers and a perfectly manicured lawn ran along the frontage. Though the motel was perhaps, sixty or seventy years old, it was well kept.
Lulu parked in the space nearest the office and hauled herself out of the small car. She grabbed her jacket and headed for the motel entrance.
As she pushed open the glass door, a tiny bell from above rang out a greeting. Behind the ugly green Formica counter, stood a young woman with dark curly hair and bright cobalt eyes.
“May I help you?” She stood looking at the large woman. She knew why she was here, of course.
“I have a room reserved. Bean’s the name.” Lulu shook out her mousey hair, which included the orange streak across her brow. It fell as a heavy mane down her back. Next she shook her legs — one, and then the other. She straightened the wrinkled folds on her cotton pants. The trip from Cincinnati had taken four days, during which time she’d lived in her car. She needed a shower and a change of clothes.
“Yes,” the woman said, knowingly. She should be relieved, grateful that the efforts would soon be under way to save this town, but still she was worried. “Number six. End of the row.”
Glancing through the lobby’s picture window, Lulu took in the setting sun as it dipped into the belly of the ocean.
“Beautiful,” she murmured. “It looks like a paradise.”
“It is a paradise. Though it hasn’t seemed like it lately. We’ve had crazy weather. Haven’t even seen the sun until today. Glad it hasn’t kept the tourists away.”
Bernard had explained everything to Lulu. The town’s backed-up sewers, power outages, the roofs that had fallen in for no apparent reason, and the weather, not to mention the strange behavior of some of its locals.
“I’ll take it. The room, I mean,” said Lulu. A reservation form was set on the desk, and she promptly filled in the spaces. Name. Address. License plate number. And so on.
“You have a cat with you, don’t you?” Molly asked, handing a key to Lulu.
Lulu picked up the key. She looked at the woman with surprise. How did she know she had a cat? Did she have cat hair all over her? The woman hadn’t inquired if she had a dog, or a goldfish, or a big black bear. How did she know she had a cat?
She gazed down at her black leather jacket, the one with the silver studs and fringed accents. Her khaki pants were free of cat fur. Her new red-toed boots that peeked out from under her pants were smudged with something brown and smelly, Oh God, but showed no sign of cat hair. Lulu decided maybe Bernard had told her. Or maybe this woman was a witch.
“Yes. I have a cat with me,” Lulu Bean admitted. She was going to tell the woman. Really.
“The pet fee is ten dollars a day, with a twenty dollar room deposit.”
“All right.” Lulu pocketed the key. “I’m not sure what my plans are. I may be here for awhile.”
Ordinarily, a checkout date would be needed indicating how long a lodger would be staying. But things were different with the current guests. There’d be no particular check out date ... for any of them. Bernard had told Molly he had no way of knowing how long this mission would take. Or how it would end.
“I understand. Let me know if you need anything. My name’s Molly Spencer.”
“Thank you, Molly.” Lulu stepped away from the counter, and then as an afterthought, she spoke again. “I’m meeting someone here.”
Molly nodded. “Do you want to leave a message?”
Lulu hesitated. “Uh … no. I’m sure he’ll find me.”
Yes, Molly thought. Bernard would be able to find her ... as well as the others.
* * *
With her head and feet dangling over the ends of the sofa, Lulu stretched out her large body. She’d be lucky if her limbs didn’t go numb lying there. The volume of the television was turned low. An Alfred Hitchcock movie starring Joseph Cotton and Teresa Wright was playing. It was one of her favorites. Lulu lay there eating jelly beans from a bag she’d found in her purse. Occasionally, she tossed one to Spirit who was curled up next to her. The cat purred as she nibbled her “supper”.
It was a comfortable cottage, obviously remodeled in recent years. The space was fresh and clean. Nicer, in fact, than her own house in Cincinnati, which was basically a big old barn. Rooms she got lost in. A yard that was too much to care for. A money pit. She really ought to sell, find something closer to the bakery and easier to manage, but she loved it.
Lulu yawned as she looked at the clock on the wall. Nearly midnight. It was doubtful Bernard would get in touch with her at this late hour.
“Come on, girl. Let’s go to bed. I don’t think there’s going to be any action tonight.” She turned off the television and led the way to the bedroom.
Lulu switched on the lamp that stood on an old painted dresser. A gust of wind suddenly whipped around the southwestern corner of the cottage. The place shook and groaned as heavy rain pelted against the windows. As she changed into her boxer shorts and Mickey Mouse t-shirt, the light flickered and sputtered, threatening to cut out.
She brushed her teeth in the tiny white-tiled bathroom. Spirit jumped onto the rim of the claw-foot tub and proceeded to groom herself. Then she sat and watched Lulu.
Lulu suddenly caught sight of a dark shadow moving from one side of the mirror to the other. No features. Simply a black form floating behind her. Consumed with fear, she broke out in a cold sweat. What the hell! As always when she got nervous, Lulu hiccuped.
The shadow made one last pass behind her. Lulu moved more quickly than she could ever remember. She grabbed Spirit and rushed for the bedroom. There, they dropped onto the mattress, and Lulu pulled the comforter up over both their heads.
Iva and George
In cottage number one, Iva Bacon pulled the yellow comforter down to the end of the double bed and plumped up the pillows at the head. Then she began to smooth on her face cream. She hadn’t been able to sleep the previous two nights and hoped tonight would be different. Perhaps she’d try to read. Maybe that would put her to sleep.
Picking up her hairbrush from the old painted dresser, Iva undid her bun at the nape of her neck and began to brush her hair. She’d done this every night since she was a young girl — after she and George were first married, after her daughters, Jill and Joanne, were born, and now after Jill died. Blown up on a sailboat with her husband. On their honeymoon. Gone.
Iva’s friends had told her that she was lucky. Lucky! She still had another daughter, they said. As though losing one shouldn’t matter. She and George weren’t supposed to have just one daughter. They were supposed to have two. Jill and Joanne. Twins.
Iva studied her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was white. Her face was wrinkled. Losing a child certainly had a way of aging a person. It bothered her that she’d lost her youthful appearance and health. She had once turned the heads of men and women. She had been the darling at every party, always reaping compliments. George had always been eager to take her ballroom dancing. They’d been quite a pair. He, in his fitted tuxedo, and she, in a beautiful silk gown. All eyes had been on them. Their choreographed steps perfectly in sync as they waltzed and fox-trotted across the floor.
Iva