Holland Suggestions by John Dunning

owner’s one of those land tycoons; got so much property even he doesn’t know what he’s got. He’s got a fine mountain cabin up near Taylor’s Gulch, and never used that either. I think he rents the cabin out to a hunting club in season and the members keep it up for him. It’s a crime to have property if you can’t use it.”
    I followed him back into the lobby. “It just seems out of place,” I said again; “almost as out of place as this inn.”
    “Nothing strange about either one. They were going to make a movie here once. Some Hollywood director moved a film company in here, paid me for the use of the place and fixed it up like you see it now. They were all ready to start filming when the star took sick. They waited around for a long time, but costs mounted up and they finally had to cancel the film. They left it like it is now.”
    “What about the old house?”
    “It was built during World War One. I guess there was still some life in the old town then; but it couldn’t have been much, because my research shows it was abandoned at the turn of the century. Anyway, the man who built it was the father of the one who owns it now. People say he was crazy, but that’s neither here nor there.”
    “How about the people living there now? Do you know them?”
    “Some man and his wife; I think they rented the place about two months ago. I guess part of the deal was that they would work on it, put it in livable shape again. At least that’s how I figured it when I saw the scaffolding go up. I never see them doing anything with it, but the owner’s so busy he wouldn’t know anyway.”
    “Have you met them?”
    “If you can call it a meeting. We had a storm in mid-March and we were all snowed in for the best part of a week. He came in here one day ranting like a wild man; said he had to get out and why the hell didn’t the county plow the road? Before that, I went up to meet them, but I never got past the front door. They wouldn’t even receive me. So I never have met her, and I only talked to him through a crack in the door. I thought for a while they’d checked out; hadn’t seen any sign of life up there for almost three weeks. Then, one day last week, I saw her out back sunning herself. She was behind the garage, where you can just see for a second as you drive past; so I knew they were still here. And now you tell me he’s back.”
    He shook his head and pushed the register toward me. I signed my name and home address.
    “Jim Ryan, are you?” he said, extending his hand. “Harry Gould.”
    I took his hand. “There’s a girl with me, a young hitchhiker. She’ll probably want a room too.”
    He didn’t say anything about that. I took my key, picked up my luggage, and started up the stairs. Halfway up, I stopped. “Do you know much about the history of this place?”
    “I consider myself the authority. If you’re interested, we can talk after you’re settled in.”
    “I’d like that.” I continued up to the second landing. The steps creaked and the hallway on the second floor was dark. I walked quietly past the rooms and paused at the door facing the street in the center of the hallway. This would be the room where the young woman at the window was staying. I stopped and listened. Inside the room a radio was playing, but there was no sound of movement. A board creaked under my foot and I hurried down the hall, looking for my room number.
    The room was at the far end of the hall adequate but rough-cut and western, like everything else in the inn. I noticed at once a fringe benefit—an extra window. One of the windows looked across the sagging rooftops of the town and offered a partial view of the hippie camp; the other faced the incoming road, giving me a fine view of the house on the ridge. I sat at the window facing the house. Outside, I noticed, was a narrow balcony that ran down the length of the hotel. Only one door opened to the balcony, a door from the hall at the head of the