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“They were like a movie,” I explained, remembering the way he’d talk about them dancing in the big lobby or spending long hours laughing with their heads together at the bar. “They never lived out in town, but kept rooms up here in this wing. I guess it’s why this was where I decided to live when I got here. It was a little like home, I guess.”
Emily nodded, urging me on.
“When I was little once, my sister and I were staying with Uncle Marvin here. We woke up early, and he was gone. This was when the hotel was still running, so it wasn’t scary—we knew there were other people here.
“So we went downstairs, and saw that it had started snowing overnight. The first snow of the year, which was something Uncle Marvin said my aunt had always loved. Aubrey told me that there was a spot out behind the hotel where Uncle Marvin said Aunt Lola liked to watch the snow fall best—this big clearing where there’s a gap to one side that lets you see past the trees out toward the mountains.”
Emily leaned a bit, a little smile playing on her soft mouth. “Did you go out there?”
“Yeah. We got our snow stuff on and went looking for him. My sister was right, he was there. He was stuffed into a sleeping bag under a little makeshift tarp stretched between a couple trees.”
“He slept in the snow?” Emily’s eyes widened.
I dropped my eyes shut, remembering the laughter and the smiles he gave us when we showed up in the clearing. “Yeah. And when we got there, he pulled us close, and we all watched the way the sun fell over the snowy mountains as it rose. He said he felt closest to our aunt out there.” I could still see the yellow strokes of sunlight painting the distant peaks all covered in snow, my uncle’s arms around us as we snuggled together. “He missed her so much.”
“I’m so sorry,” Emily said, sounding sad. “They sound amazing.”
“They were.” I swallowed down the memory, getting myself back to the original point of the story. “But when Uncle Marvin died, he didn’t just leave us a dilapidated resort. He left this crazy treasure hunt.”
Emily said nothing, but her eyes were wide and encouraging.
“A poem and a map and everything.”
“Like Forrest Fenn.”
“Who?”
“An eclectic antiques dealer who hid a treasure chest and then published a poem in the newspaper for anyone to figure out.”
“You’re kidding.” I stared at her, taking in the glowing cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. Was that where Uncle Marvin had gotten the idea?
“No, it was a real thing. People actually died looking for his treasure.”
“Thank god no one died looking for Uncle Marvin’s.”
“So you found it?” Emily looked disappointed as she asked this question.
I shrugged. “I really don’t know.”
“You don’t know? How do you not know if you found treasure?” She was leaning forward, those dark onyx eyes sparkling.
“It’s just turned into this crazy convoluted thing. We found an actual treasure chest behind a hidden door,” I explained, part of me feeding on Emily’s obvious enthusiasm for our treasure hunt.
“So that was it!”
“No, I don’t think it was.”
She crossed her arms. “It was a literal treasure chest. Why don’t you think that was the treasure?”
“Because there was another clue inside.”
Her eyebrows climbed in question. “What was it?”
“A pile of scripts.”
She slumped again. “What?”
I told her about my great uncle and Rudy Fusterburg, explaining that the best we could figure out was that Uncle Marvin wanted us to sue Rudy for his royalties.
