The Ropes

THE ROPES

by Geraldine Treacy

           “Have you lost your mind? Are you telling me you’re traveling across the country to meet a strange man you met over the internet who says he’s a realtor?”

“Mom, trust me.  I’ve got good vibes about him. We’ve been e-mailing for weeks.” 

           The next day, with Mom’s words of warning relegated to my subconscious, I packed a bag and left my home in Pennsylvania for my flight to Colorado. Peter was to pick me up at the Colorado Springs airport to show me vacation property in my favorite state. 

Four hours later outside the baggage claim door, a jeep pulled to the curb. A thirty-something man wearing jeans and a cowboy hat jumped out and greeted me with a smile and a business card.

“Hi, Geraldine. I’m Peter.”

He put my bag in the back of the jeep.

          Heading south west, we drove for two hours through the Sangre De Cristo mountain range before pulling into the village of Cuchara. 

           Peter pulled up to “The Rivers Edge Bed and Breakfast,” a timber structure at the far end of the road.

            “You’ll love this place. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning and we’ll search for property.”

           The tall, unshaven man dressed in torn jeans who answered the door had a ruddy face framed by mangy strands of long gray hair. 

           The mountain man smiled a semi-toothless grin. “Hi, I’m Snappy, the handyman!” 

           Hmm, the handyman answers the door, I thought. Curious. 

           Inside, I glanced around hoping for the innkeepers to appear. 

            “I’ll be your host for the weekend. Marge and Bill went to Florida. They showed me the ropes before they left.” 

           Maybe it was he who showed the innkeepers the “ropes” and strangled them. They weren’t in Florida. He probably had them buried in a blood-spattered cellar.

            “Where are the other guests?” 

Snappy took the dangling cigarette out of his mouth and just looked at me. 

There was a long pause.

“Right now, it’s just you. We’re expecting two couples tomorrow.”

Something is wrong with this picture, I worried. 

Anxious to get away from him, I asked, “Is it safe to walk to the souvenir shop?  I noticed ‘Bear Warning’ signs.”

Snappy laughed. “As long as you don’t wear a pork chop around your neck, the bears won’t come after you.” 

           I returned safely at dusk.

Snappy asked, “What time do you want breakfast in the morning?” “Bright and early would be good,” I answered anticipating that I wouldn’t be getting much sleep with one eye open.

 I excused myself to go to bed. Locking the door, I worried about where Snappy might be sleeping. I tried my cell phone but couldn’t get a signal. 

           In the morning Snappy apologized for the greasy fried eggs and bacon. “If Marge and Bill were here, you’d be getting Belgian waffles with juniper berries or Eggs Benedict.”

I went into the den with a textbook to study for my college finals and wait for the realtor. I was working on finishing my college degree. 

           Snappy wandered in, and I could tell he wanted to talk. This character intrigued me for some reason. To my surprise, he was familiar with the textbook on my lap.

“If you need any help with statistics, I have a Masters Degree from Texas A&M in math.”

           Taken aback, I blurted “How did you end up here? You’re obviously intelligent.”

“I dropped out. Pure and simple. I saw what my father went through in Corporate America and that wasn’t for me. He had a heart attack at 47. I bummed around Colorado after school, working as a ski instructor and ended up here. My hobby is photography, hence the nickname Snappy.”

            Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on the front door. It was the two couples with reservations and my realtor following behind them. As I stood up, my cell phone rang. “Yes, Mom, I’m fine. Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about. I’m playing it safe.”

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