down on the seating and tables. The three of them used to joke that the moose was watching them wherever they walked in that large common room.
Oh, and a picture of a typical bedroom looked so cozy with a patchwork quilt for a bedspread and one on the wall like a piece of art. Next to it hung a lovely painting of distant, snowcapped mountains with a waterfall feeding a lake beneath—just like Falls Lake itself. She wondered if Suze had painted that. Even as a child, she was talented. The art on the Christmas card she received from them each year was always a photo of an original signed by her. Alex also studied the big bedroom window with its view of rain forest trees. How she wished she could spirit herself and Spenser away to the lodge right now.
But what if they didn’t allow guests to bring pets?
Through her tears, she studied again the photo of the smiling Meg and Suze near the “Click here for reservations” button. Other than different hairstyles, they greatly resembled each other. They were both in their early thirties, so would they even go by those childhood names anymore? They’d signed their Christmas card with their full first names. Megan’s last name wasn’t even Collister anymore but Metzler. She had married young and lost her husband when the bush plane he was piloting went down not far from Falls Lake. Alex had sent a condolence card and letter when she learned about it months late. Meg had a son, Charles, called Chip, who must be around five or six now.
Several years ago, after inheriting their maternal grandmother’s lodge, the twins had decided to run it together, like a B and B, though they didn’t want to change the name. Maybe she could help them at the lodge, even if it was to clean rooms or serve food. Thank heavens it was late July, so the big winter snows they’d sent pictures of in some of their holiday greetings would not set in for a while.
She noticed, at the very bottom of the website, a message: Our thanks to Quinn Mantell for his help in bringing the outside world to Falls Lake. Be sure to watch Tracker Q-Man on the Wilds TV Cable Network, filmed in our amazing area of Alaska.
And next to that was a picture of a smiling, handsome, dark-haired man with a trimmed beard in black jeans and plaid flannel shirt—dress Stewart pattern, no less—framed by a fir tree with a waterfall and the mountains behind him. Funny, but looking at Quinn Mantell, she could almost smell sharp pine and fresh, crisp air.
Hands trembling, she called the phone number for reservations.
“Falls Lake Lodge,” came a clear female voice. “We are forty miles north of Anchorage so we can offer city life and the wonderful wilderness. The town of Falls Lake recently put in cell phone towers, so we have the amenities of the modern world in the middle of the scenic, eternal wilds. How can I help you?”
Alex panicked again. Was that a recording? If not, she couldn’t even place the voice. Megan’s? Suzanne’s? Someone who worked for them?
Alex knew she didn’t sound like herself. She was nasal, shaky, as she said, “Hello. This is Alexandra Collister in Illinois and—”
A gasp. A shout. “Suze, it’s Cousin Alex! Suze, come here! How the heck are you, girl? Are you all right? Any big news?”
Alex couldn’t help it, but she burst into tears and barely managed to get out, “It is so, so good to hear your voice. Yes, some big news, kind of bad news, but...”
“You can tell us, hon! Blood is thicker than water, remember! Here, Suze, say hi to our long-lost Alex,” Meg said, and evidently thrust the phone at her sister.
“This is Suze. Are you okay? Long time no hear and see! We can’t get away, but you want to come for a visit? What’s happening?”
The sisters’ voices were so similar she couldn’t tell them apart. Would Allie’s voice have sounded like her own? Alex managed to summon her self-control and found her courage to tell them the truth and ask for their advice. They listened with very few questions for at least ten