Endurance - Jack Kilborn [45]
“I compete in triathlons,” Deb said, her eyes darting around the woods, looking for movement. “And I haven’t had so much as a cold in over five years.”
The large woman cocked her head to the side, as if considering her. Then her face split into a big-toothed smile. “Well, then, let’s get you people inside. Welcome to the Rushmore Inn.”
Mal picked up the bags he’d dropped, and Deb followed him through the bushes, one eye on her footing and the other on the forest. The animal smell was gone.
Once past the bushes, a clearing opened up in the woods, revealing a massive, three story log house. There weren’t any lights on the outside, and no light coming through any of the shuttered windows. It was as dark and quiet as the mountains surrounding them.
“Welcome to the Rushmore Inn,” Eleanor said again, pulling open the door and holding it while they entered.
The smell inside wasn’t bad, exactly, but it wasn’t pleasant. Sort of a sour, antiseptic odor mingled with sandalwood incense. But unique as that was, it paled compared to the decor.
“As you can plainly see,” Eleanor Roosevelt said, closing and locking the door behind them, “I greatly admire our nation’s leaders. They’re such important men. You might say I’m a bit obsessed with the subject.”
“Yes,” Mal nodded, looking around. “You might say that.”
He gave Deb a sideways glance, his smirk barely concealed.
“My grandfather was second cousin to Theodore Roosevelt. There’s presidential blood in my family. It’s a fact I’m particularly proud of, though it isn’t without its… challenges.”
Like turning your house into a flea market, Deb thought. But instead of speaking it aloud, she said, “Mrs. Roosevelt, my car is out on the road. It seems we’ve gotten a flat tire.”
Eleanor clucked her tongue. “You’d be surprised how often that happens around here. In the morning we can call the auto repair shop.”
“I need to be at the hotel early to…”
“My son will take you,” Eleanor interrupted. “He has a truck for your bike.”
“Already shipped the bike ahead. But the ride would be terrific.”
“He’ll be leaving early, so be sure to get some rest tonight. Might not be a bad idea to go straight to bed.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Mal said, raising his eyebrows at Deb.
She ignored him. “Is there any chance we could get something to eat?” Deb asked. “We missed dinner on the ride up.”
“The kitchen is back there, down the hall. The icebox is stocked, and you’re welcome to help yourselves. I made cupcakes earlier today, and there are a few left. But let me show you to your rooms, first.”
Eleanor plodded up the wooden staircase. Deb wasn’t a big fan of stairs, but the iron railing looked solid. She followed Mal up, stopping only to admire his trim backside as they ascended. Deb found it amusing that he continued to flirt despite several rebuffs. For a millisecond she entertained what it might be like to date Mal. The fantasy disintegrated when she caught the toe of her Cheetah prosthetic on the top stair. Luckily, she managed to make it to the second floor without a face-plant.
“Deborah, this is the Theodore Roosevelt room,” Eleanor said, holding out a key. “One of the finest rooms in the Inn.”
Deb didn’t suppose that meant very much. “Does it have a bath tub?”
“Indeed it does. And for you—I didn’t catch your name.”
“Mal. Mal Deiter.”
“Next door over, Mr. Deiter, is the Harry S. Truman room. While it doesn’t have a bathtub, I believe you’ll find the walk-in shower most agreeable. And necessary, considering your current appearance.”
“We ran into one of the locals, making venison headcheese,” Mal said, taking the key. “Is it currently hunting season?”
Eleanor smiled. “There’s always something in season around these parts.”
“Have the Pillsburys arrived yet? I didn’t see any other cars around. I’m a reporter,