the sign proclaimed.
"That's the place!" Shells said, pointing to the stately Inn. "Holy crap that place is big!"
Driving by slowly, Sam got a strange feeling in her gut, as if things inside the Inn were looking back out at her. She didn't turn into the lot.
"Aren't we going to check in?" Shells asked.
"Not yet," Sam said, not knowing why she wanted so badly to delay checking in. Perhaps it was just nerves over having to actually find some evidence of the paranormal or else find some other way of supporting herself. Either way, she coasted along until reaching the end of the beach area, and the road opened up for a short distance; soon, though, she slowed again. Signs for Hickory Nut Gorge and Chimney Rock Park made it unnecessary to ask where they were. At road level, there were quaint shops, small eateries, and a lively but relatively small crowd divided between them. A place called Arrowheads caught Shells' eye.
"Let's stop here for a bit. I want to check that place out," she said.
Sam didn't argue, since this would certainly delay check-in. Parking was tight and in short supply, but Sam squeezed the Camaro into a spot. One thing she noticed was that no one was in a hurry. This was a resort town, and those here basked in the natural glory of the place. Beyond the shops on the west side of the street ran a narrow river, whose bed was littered with enormous stones with edges rounded and worn by wind, water, and time. Teens in bikinis laid out on some of the larger rocks, and therefore teenage boys were not far away, playing frisbee and generally making fools of themselves.
When Sam finally looked up, following the terrain until she had to crane her neck and shade her eyes, she saw a formation of rock protruding from the mountain above them. Atop it was one of the largest United States flags she had seen since her last visit to Washington, DC.
"That must be Chimney Rock," Shells said. "Some guy cut a shaft up there through solid rock and then put in an elevator, so you can just ride up to the top."
"Recently?" Sam asked. "And how the hell do you know that?"
"No. In the 1920's," Shells said. "It's called the Internet, girlfriend, you should try it some time."
Dodging foot traffic coming from the other direction, Sam didn't respond. Computers just weren't her thing. No matter what she tried to do it didn't work; support technicians were always amazed at how badly she managed to botch even the simplest of tasks. She was glad that Shells understood it and could deal with it, but for Sam, it was completely foreign. Cell phones were the limit, and even those were pushing their luck by becoming more complicated every day. Shells swore by her smartphone, which she said could do just about anything, but Sam knew she would destroy one of those within a week. Even her old 'feature phone' as the techies called it, would be lucky to survive the year. Coddling technology was just not in Sam's DNA.
A carved wooden Indian stood in front of Arrowheads, and inside turned out to be a tribute to the tribes that had been native to North Carolina, including the Cherokee. Glass cases held folk art, and dream catchers hung from the rafters.
A carving of golden wood, richly grained and polished to a mirror finish in the shape of a wolf's face drew Shells in.
"Oh, man. Would you look at this," she said. "It's amazing. I have to have it."
"How much is it?" Sam asked and she watched as Shells turned over the paper tag.
Twenty-five hundred dollars.
"Ouch," Shells said. "Well I guess I don't have to have it."
"I will give it to you if you will take it and go home immediately. Go back to wherever you came from."
"What the hell?" Shells said as she and Sam turned to find a man behind the counter staring at them; he looked to be of Native American descent, and he wore a heavy scowl.
"Are you carrying a concealed weapon?" the man asked Sam.
"No," Sam said.
"But you are in law enforcement, aren't you?"
Stunned, Sam wasn't certain what
"That's the place!" Shells said, pointing to the stately Inn. "Holy crap that place is big!"
Driving by slowly, Sam got a strange feeling in her gut, as if things inside the Inn were looking back out at her. She didn't turn into the lot.
"Aren't we going to check in?" Shells asked.
"Not yet," Sam said, not knowing why she wanted so badly to delay checking in. Perhaps it was just nerves over having to actually find some evidence of the paranormal or else find some other way of supporting herself. Either way, she coasted along until reaching the end of the beach area, and the road opened up for a short distance; soon, though, she slowed again. Signs for Hickory Nut Gorge and Chimney Rock Park made it unnecessary to ask where they were. At road level, there were quaint shops, small eateries, and a lively but relatively small crowd divided between them. A place called Arrowheads caught Shells' eye.
"Let's stop here for a bit. I want to check that place out," she said.
Sam didn't argue, since this would certainly delay check-in. Parking was tight and in short supply, but Sam squeezed the Camaro into a spot. One thing she noticed was that no one was in a hurry. This was a resort town, and those here basked in the natural glory of the place. Beyond the shops on the west side of the street ran a narrow river, whose bed was littered with enormous stones with edges rounded and worn by wind, water, and time. Teens in bikinis laid out on some of the larger rocks, and therefore teenage boys were not far away, playing frisbee and generally making fools of themselves.
When Sam finally looked up, following the terrain until she had to crane her neck and shade her eyes, she saw a formation of rock protruding from the mountain above them. Atop it was one of the largest United States flags she had seen since her last visit to Washington, DC.
"That must be Chimney Rock," Shells said. "Some guy cut a shaft up there through solid rock and then put in an elevator, so you can just ride up to the top."
"Recently?" Sam asked. "And how the hell do you know that?"
"No. In the 1920's," Shells said. "It's called the Internet, girlfriend, you should try it some time."
Dodging foot traffic coming from the other direction, Sam didn't respond. Computers just weren't her thing. No matter what she tried to do it didn't work; support technicians were always amazed at how badly she managed to botch even the simplest of tasks. She was glad that Shells understood it and could deal with it, but for Sam, it was completely foreign. Cell phones were the limit, and even those were pushing their luck by becoming more complicated every day. Shells swore by her smartphone, which she said could do just about anything, but Sam knew she would destroy one of those within a week. Even her old 'feature phone' as the techies called it, would be lucky to survive the year. Coddling technology was just not in Sam's DNA.
A carved wooden Indian stood in front of Arrowheads, and inside turned out to be a tribute to the tribes that had been native to North Carolina, including the Cherokee. Glass cases held folk art, and dream catchers hung from the rafters.
A carving of golden wood, richly grained and polished to a mirror finish in the shape of a wolf's face drew Shells in.
"Oh, man. Would you look at this," she said. "It's amazing. I have to have it."
"How much is it?" Sam asked and she watched as Shells turned over the paper tag.
Twenty-five hundred dollars.
"Ouch," Shells said. "Well I guess I don't have to have it."
"I will give it to you if you will take it and go home immediately. Go back to wherever you came from."
"What the hell?" Shells said as she and Sam turned to find a man behind the counter staring at them; he looked to be of Native American descent, and he wore a heavy scowl.
"Are you carrying a concealed weapon?" the man asked Sam.
"No," Sam said.
"But you are in law enforcement, aren't you?"
Stunned, Sam wasn't certain what
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