Eureka Lodge

“No,” Tessa said. “I’m changing the board.”

“Same thing, sometimes.”

“It says seventy-five dollars.”

“It’s supposed to.”

He took a drink and watched her with the solemn interest of a man observing a bear near a dumpster.

Tessa glanced toward the kitchen. “Why is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich seventy-five dollars?”

“Because people keep asking for one.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the lodge’s answer.”

She looked again at the red chalk. The price was enormous, absurd, and apparently deliberate. “People pay it?”

“Not yet.”

“Then why keep it on the menu?”

The man shrugged. “Keeps them from ordering it.”

Tessa waited for the rest. None came.

Behind her, the cook, Cal Mercer, slid a basket of fries onto the pass. He was a narrow, silver-bearded man who moved as if every joint had been repaired at least once. “You’re asking too many questions about the sandwich,” he said.

“I’m asking one question.”

“That’s how it starts.”

A bell over the front door jingled. Four travelers came in together, carrying the damp, cheerful disorder of people who had been on the road too long. Two wore matching fleece jackets. One had a camera hanging from his neck. The fourth, a woman with a braid tucked into her collar, stopped beneath the menu board.

“Oh,” she said. “There it is.”

Tessa followed her gaze.

The woman turned to the others. “I told you this place would have something weird.”

The man with the camera lifted his phone. “Seventy-five-dollar peanut butter and jelly.”

The red-vested hunter lowered his glass.

Tessa felt the room change - not loudly, but the way a sled changes direction when someone shifts weight.

“It’s not - ” she began.

The traveler with the camera grinned. “That is absolutely a dare.”

“It isn’t,” Tessa said.

The woman with the braid was already crossing to the bar. “Four, please.”

Cal’s head appeared through the kitchen window. “Four what?”

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” she called.

“No,” said Cal.

The group laughed.

Tessa put both hands on the counter. “The sandwich is a deterrent.”

The man with the camera pointed at her. “That makes it better.”

“It’s meant to stop people from ordering it.”

“Then it’s working as advertising.”

The red-vested hunter muttered, “Now you’ve done it.”

Tessa turned on him. “I haven’t done anything.”

“You fixed the board.”

The travelers crowded closer, delighted. The woman with the braid pulled out her wallet. “Do you take cards?”

Cal came out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a towel. “Cash only for foolishness.”

That earned another laugh, and now two customers from a booth had turned around. A pair of men in camouflage jackets came in from the fuel pumps, bringing in the sharp smell of gasoline and cold metal. They paused when they saw the crowd at the bar.

“What’s happening?” one asked.

“Seventy-five-dollar sandwich,” said the camera man.

“For one?”

“For one.”

The second hunter whistled. “Must come with a tracking collar.”

Tessa reached for the red chalk. “I’m taking it off the board.”

The woman with the braid caught her wrist - not hard, but fast. “You can’t cancel a dare after people accept it.”

“It was never a dare.”

“Then why is it seventy-five dollars?”

Tessa opened her mouth and discovered she had no answer that would satisfy anyone in the room. The truth was simple: the lodge did not want to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The price was a fence. The problem was that somebody had painted the fence bright red and hung a sign on it.

Cal leaned close. His voice dropped beneath the chatter. “Don’t explain.”

“I’m trying to prevent a riot over bread.”

“Rules first. Humor second.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means quit telling them why.”

He turned toward the crowd. “One sandwich?”

The travelers shouted over one another.

“Four!”

“Make it five!”

“Do you have grape jelly?”

“Can we get them cut diagonally?”

The room tipped toward chaos. Tessa saw the lunch rush arriving through the windows: a pickup pulling in, two snow-dusted workers stepping from a truck, a family slowing near the entrance. If the bar stayed clogged, nobody would get a cheeseburger, and the cheeseburgers at Eureka Lodge had a reputation stretching from Glenallen to Anchorage. Tessa had heard that fact twice already, both times from people who had not been asked.

She climbed onto the low step behind the counter and struck the bell used for calling orders.

The sharp ring cut through the room.

Everyone looked at her.

“Here’s the rule,” Tessa said. “Nobody orders a sandwich until I write it down.”

The camera man raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because that’s the rule.”

Cal’s mouth twitched.

Tessa grabbed a pad and pencil. “Name?”

“Derek.”

“Derek what?”

“Derek Shaw.”

“Number of sandwiches?”

“Four.”

“Bread?”

He hesitated. “White.”

“Jelly?”

“Grape.”

The woman with the braid leaned in. “I want strawberry.”

Tessa wrote it down. “That’s five.”

“We said four.”

“You said four. She wants one.”

The bar went quiet for half a second.

Then the red-vested hunter laughed so hard he coughed into his sleeve.

Tessa kept writing. “Six dollars for the order?”

The woman blinked. “What?”

“Deposit.”

“On a seventy-five-dollar sandwich?”

“Those are the rules.”

Cal looked at her now, fully interested.

The travelers glanced at one another. Their amusement had begun to fray around the edges. The room smelled of wet wool, coffee, fryer oil, and the faint chemical bite of spilled fuel. Outside, a small plane buzzed overhead, low enough to rattle the windows, then circled back toward the highway.

The camera man tucked away his phone. “We don’t have cash.”

“Then you can’t order.”

“But you take cards.”

“Cal said cash only for foolishness.”

“I thought that was a joke.”

“It was. The cash part is real.”

The woman with the braid folded her arms. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yes,” Tessa said. “That’s why it costs seventy-five dollars.”

Cal made a sound that might have been a cough. The red-vested hunter looked down into his drink, shoulders shaking.

The travelers backed away from the counter, grumbling, but the crowd did not disperse. Instead, it rearranged itself. People found stools. The two camouflage-jacketed men ordered coffee. The family came in and took a booth. Derek Shaw stood beneath the menu board, studying the sandwich as if it had insulted his hometown.

Tessa climbed down and returned to the board. Her hand shook slightly as she erased the red letters.

The chalk squealed.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked.

“Making the menu clear.”

“You’re removing the best thing on it.”

“It’s not the best thing on it.”

“Then what is?”

“The cheeseburger.”

A man at the end of the bar lifted one finger. “She’s right.”

Another voice called from the booth, “Legendary.”

Tessa looked at Cal. “Do they rehearse this?”

“No,” he said. “That’s the trouble.”

She wrote CHEESEBURGER in large white letters, then FRIES beneath it. The board looked calmer already. Almost respectable.

The front door opened again. A cold gust pushed through the room, carrying the distant whine of an engine. Everyone turned toward the windows.

A small plane rolled along the highway in front of the lodge, its wings rocking once before it came to a stop near the fuel pumps. The pilot lifted a hand from the cockpit. Cal nodded toward the younger dishwasher, who ran outside with the fuel hose.

The travelers pressed to the glass.

“Does that happen often?” Derek asked.

“Often enough,” said the red-vested hunter.

Tessa watched the plane, then the bar behind her. The lodge seemed to run on interruptions: aircraft on the highway, hunters arriving with stories and empty coolers, snowmobilers in winter tracking in from the many trails behind the lodge, and customers who saw a warning sign and treated it like an invitation.

Cal came to stand beside her.

“You did fine,” he said.

“I made five people angry over jelly.”

“You made five people leave without ordering jelly.”

“They’re still here.”

“That’s because they’re waiting to see what happens next.”

Derek turned from the window. “We’ll be back.”

Tessa faced him. “For cheeseburgers?”

“For the sandwiches.”

“You’re not ordering them.”

“Not today.”

The woman with the braid smiled. “We’re bringing friends.”

“Please don’t.”

Derek pointed at the board. “Five sandwiches. Strawberry, grape, maybe one with honey. Seventy-five dollars each.”

Cal folded his towel over one shoulder. “Bring cash.”

The travelers laughed again, this time with the satisfaction of people who had found a local custom and decided to adopt it badly. They moved toward a booth, still arguing over bread.

Tessa looked at the red chalk dust on her fingers. She had wanted a readable menu. She had gotten one. The board now clearly announced the cheeseburgers, fries, and nothing else that could be mistaken for a challenge.

Behind her, the kitchen bell rang.

Cal pointed toward it. “Four cheeseburgers.”

Tessa grabbed the order pad.

From the booth, Derek called, “And five PB&Js next time!”

The bar answered with cheers.

Tessa wrote down the burgers, then added one line beneath them in small, careful letters:

PEANUT BUTTER & JELLY - $75

Cal glanced at the board and nodded.

The rule, apparently, was not to explain.

End of chapter one. 32 more chapters in the full book.