Hidden Summit (15 page)

“Jack liked him,” Conner said.

She laughed. “Jack likes most people. What’s his name?”

“Walt Arneson. And here’s the address and phone number.” He read it off the business card. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Oh, and before I forget, I explained things to Leslie. And I told her you were my contact in case she gets worried or needs to talk to a woman.”

“How’d she take it?”

“I’m a lucky guy,” he said. “She was everything I expected. Supportive and understanding, if a little shocked out of her mind.”

“Then don’t let her get away,” Brie said. “I’ll call Max with this name. He has detectives assigned to the prosecutor’s office.”

“Appreciate it,” he said. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

“Of course. And, Conner? I’d like to tell you this over the phone so I don’t have to look you in the eye. I read that letter from your ex-wife, laborious though it was. I wasn’t nosy, I had to be sure she didn’t reference something we should know—like if she learned you were the only witness of the crime or something like that. Many things are easy to assume—it was your store, there was a threat from an unknown source, the police were called immediately, et cetera—”

“Brie, I don’t care that you read it,” he said. “I gave you permission anyway.”

“I thought you should know something. What you do with it is entirely up to you, but you should know. She knew she was sick, Conner. When she met you and married you, she thought she could tame her wild compulsions by being hooked up to you, and she has regrets about that, about the position she put you in. She didn’t suddenly learn she was a sex addict when you caught her with another man. She thought you were the kind of man who could ground her, slow her down, keep her happy, so to speak. That was before she knew very much about her disease.”

“Disease,” he said in a grumble.

“Did you know that? That she married you with that agenda?”

“No. And I don’t know that I buy that whole disease thing, either.”

“I know,” Brie said. “I don’t really get it, either. But then there are a lot of things I have trouble understanding. I don’t understand why smart, strong women let men hit them, and yet I end up helping a lot of them. The human condition, Conner, is complex and often confusing. But there’s one thing I do know—holding a grudge isn’t going to help. I hope you can let it go soon. I realize you didn’t feel the need for any information from her letter, but I wanted to be sure you knew that. Conner, it wasn’t your fault in any way. She knows it and you should know it.”

Leslie hadn’t met Dan’s fiancée, Cheryl, even though she’d helped Dan with some of his housewarming party details. She called Cheryl just the same. “Let me come over a little early on Sunday and help you around the house or kitchen,” she said. “You probably have a lot of people coming and tons to do.”

“That’s so nice of you,” she said. “It’s appreciated.”

So Leslie, armed with her favorite Merlot and a bunch of flowers, headed to Dan and Cheryl’s new house. They’d built in the countryside, far enough up the side of a hill to afford them a decent view. It was a small house at the end of a long, curly drive, and while there was still plenty to do around the yard, it was a nice-looking brick-and-wood ranch. There were a few pots of flowers flanking the front door.

The front door was opened by a lovely, smiling woman. “Hi, I’m Leslie,” she said, cradling the wine and flowers in one hand and sticking out the other.

“Gee, it’s nice to finally meet you. Dan is one of your biggest fans.”

“And I’m one of his,” Leslie said, entering. She held out the flowers and wine. “These are for you.”

“You’re so sweet,” Cheryl said, taking the flowers. “I don’t drink, but if you’d like a glass of that… I don’t even know if there’s a corkscrew in the house.... Maybe Dan has one on that fancy knife of his. Want me to ask?”

“Gee, I never even thought to ask,” Leslie said. “Since I’ve seen Dan at Jack’s…”

“He likes a cold beer sometimes,” Cheryl said, heading for the kitchen. Once there she put the wine and flowers on the counter; the work island was full of food trays in progress—a veggie tray, potato and corn chips still in bags sitting in big bowls, a couple of large Crock-Pots, bags of buns, condiments, relishes such as pickles, onions, tomatoes. “He doesn’t overdo it,” Cheryl went on. “He’s one of the lucky ones. An amputee doesn’t want to throw himself off balance.” And then she laughed. “Have you ever seen Dan on one leg?”

“I’ve heard,” Leslie said.

“He’s pretty amazing. He says it’s a survival instinct. And me? I don’t drink because I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

“I didn’t know,” Leslie said, somewhat embarrassed.

“Then you’re probably just about the only one. I had quite a reputation back in the drinking days. I’ve been sober three years.”

“Congratulations. Is that the appropriate thing to say? Congratulations?”

“I’ll take it,” she said with a laugh. “They knew they had a tough one when they saw me coming.” Cheryl opened a cupboard and pulled out a vase for the flowers.

“They?” Leslie asked before she could stop herself.

“Sorry, I spend so much time talking to other people in recovery sometimes I forget there are people who haven’t faced all that. AA. Rehab. And I’ve been taking courses toward a counseling degree. I work at the college, get discounted courses, and my dream job is working with people in recovery.”

“Wow. I’m surprised Dan never mentioned any of this. I mean, I knew you had a job at the college, but…”

“Oh, Dan wouldn’t say anything. He’s very good that way. These are my issues to talk about or not talk about. He leaves that entirely up to me and I appreciate it. A couple of years ago I couldn’t talk about it. Now I can’t shut up about it.” She arranged the flowers in the vase. “How’s this?” she asked. “I’m completely untrained in domestic skills.”

“Looks great. I know there’s a lot going on at the moment and we should get this food together, but I’d love to see the house if there’s time. Dan talks about it all the time. He’s so proud of it.”

“He should be—it’s almost entirely his project. He stays off ladders and scaffolding, but everything else has his fingerprints all over. Come on, it won’t take a minute—it’s a small house.” And with that she led the way. First, they walked through the living room/dining room to a large master bedroom and bath. The master formed an L-shape with the living/dining so that doors in that room opened onto a deck also. There were also two more small bedrooms—one set up as an office. “This is for me,” she said. “Some women dream of a sewing room—I wanted an office with a computer so I could research and study. This is something I never imagined possible when I was a kid!”

A small powder room separated the two small bedrooms. Back in the living/dining room, Cheryl opened the doors wide onto the wooden deck as they walked outside. The house had a short yard that backed right up to the hill and the trees. “We have all kinds of animals that wander right up to the house. Deer, bear, puma, you name it. This is the most relaxing spot in the house, right on this deck. If you’re real quiet in the early morning or early evening, animals might come close enough for you to count their eyelashes.”

“Okay on the deer,” Leslie said. “You might want to be real careful of the others.”

“I’m careful,” she said. Cheryl looked up at the trees that surrounded her house and took a deep breath. “I’m careful not to take this for granted, too.” After a moment, she turned to look at Leslie. “Let’s get the food ready. We’ll have company pretty soon, I think.”

Leslie didn’t realize the significance of the day for Cheryl until Paige Middleton explained it as best she could. According to Paige, Cheryl felt as though she’d left the town in shame, having been driven out of town to an alcohol treatment facility. Mel, Jack’s wife, was the one to find her a program that the county paid for, the beginning of the rest of her life. Then she’d stayed in Eureka for months, living with some women in a halfway house and slowly but surely falling in love with Dan Brady.

“She’s been very slow, probably reluctant to come back to us, as if she couldn’t shake her reputation. I’m pretty sure she expected to be judged harshly. Plus, I’m sure she has a lot of negative memories of growing up in Virgin River, the place where she got into so much trouble as a youth.” Paige shrugged. “There are plenty of people ready to take that judgmental role, I guess. Most of us, though, are just so grateful she was able to save herself. Cheryl is an amazing woman. She’s going to be a great counselor. I have no doubt she’ll help many people.”

When more people started to arrive, Leslie positioned herself in the kitchen so she could help them find paper cups and paper plates and then be sure the discarded made it into the trash. From around two till five, friends both from Virgin River and Cheryl’s college made their way to the house. They didn’t come in droves but in manageable numbers. There were perhaps twenty from town, and Leslie knew them all, from the Haggertys to the Sheridans. There were a few of Haggerty’s crews—men Dan had worked with. And the rest were Cheryl’s friends from Eureka. And people didn’t stay long—an hour, hour and a half. Just long enough to see the new house, have a bite to eat, congratulate the happy couple.

When Conner arrived, Leslie was aware of him the minute he entered the house. Her eyes went to him, and the feeling that came over her was like a swelling in her heart, a shudder of instant desire and love. He was such a beautiful man, so tall and strong, and those blue eyes were instantly on her. Then his lips curved in a smile only for her, and he was quickly at her side. He slipped an arm around her waist and touched her temple with his lips.

Cut her losses? What losses? He was the best man she’d ever known.

All around them people noticed their intimacy and smiled.

These people didn’t realize that in addition to being a good man, a handsome man, Conner had the courage of ten men. She was so proud of him.

After helping Cheryl get the kitchen under control, she was only too glad to say goodbye to her new friends and whisk him away to have all to herself. Every minute felt as if it went by too quickly.

Thirteen

C
onner and Leslie tried very hard not to amp up their
courtship just because Conner’s upcoming testimony loomed. It would be easy
to dive in, to virtually move in together and spend every waking moment in
each other’s company. Tempting, but not practical, not when both of them
were still coming to terms with who they were in this new, second
life.

“Like putting on a new skin,”
Conner said to her. “We’re going to end up together, I’m pretty confident of
that. And when we do, I want you to feel secure about what you’re getting
yourself into. We’re not going to take any chances. I don’t want you to ever
regret your choices.”

Still, if they were together at
the end of the day, they were usually still together first thing in the
morning.

“One of these days, we’re going
to take the next step,” Leslie told him. “The sheets on the bed in that
little cabin aren’t getting much of a workout.”

For the time being, they spent
at least a couple of nights a week on their own. On one such night, Conner
sat at his laptop in his cabin and worked on an email.

Dear Samantha, I saw the
last letter you sent. It’s the first one since our parting of the ways—I
shredded the previous ones. Maybe I was afraid to read them, I don’t know.
I’d like to share where I am in life right now, so we can both put this
behind us. First of all, I’ve moved on. I’m happy in ways I was never happy
before, and that has nothing to do with any failing of yours. Second, I
don’t have any hard feelings toward you. True, I did for a long time, but I
really feel free of that now, free enough to tell you I wish you all the
best. And third, now that we’ve both had that chance to clear the air, to
forgive and forget, to get things off our chests, I’d like to move on
without the baggage, without further explanations or contact from you,
without reminders of everything that went on before. I want to think of you
as a woman I was once close to, a woman who has moved on to a new life that
doesn’t include me. And if I could ask one favor, I’d like you to remember
me as a man who once cared about you, and who did the best he could with a
difficult set of circumstances. Believe me, I know that’s asking a lot; I
know it can’t seem like I tried, but I did the best I could at the
time.

I’m letting go of it now, Samantha.
No grudges, no obsessive remembering, no self-pity.

Good luck to you. Be well.

Danny

When he was done and mostly
satisfied, he created a new, free email account and sent his email to her
email address. He waited a little while to see if the email bounced back as
undeliverable and was not surprised when it didn’t. She was keeping things
the same in case he ever succumbed to the urge to reach out to her. He
didn’t give it much time—an hour or so. When it didn’t bounce back, he
closed and canceled that email account.

Done.

The very next morning, it began.
He was not prepared, though he should’ve been. The pretrial jury selection
started a rush of press about the crime he’d witnessed and speculation about
the trial.

Conner spent a lot
of time reading the news online before he went to work. He was working with
Dan Brady on a kitchen renovation. He kept his ears sharp all day, but the
news of a murder trial in Sacramento didn’t seem to spark any interest in
Virgin River. He even stopped by the bar before heading over to Leslie’s
house just to see if anyone was talking about it.

He had to give the press some
credit—there was speculation about witnesses and even some curiosity about
whether the prosecution’s witness might have any connection to the hardware
store where the crime was committed, the hardware store that had burned to
the ground. But unless there were articles he was unaware of, they were not
putting names to their speculation. He didn’t see his name in any press, yet
they would have known it was him—his name had appeared as probable cause on
the search warrant that was used to search Mathis’s car and home and arrest
him.

A name he did see quite a bit of
was Dickie Randolph, the victim. Randolph had been pretty well-known for
dabbling in the underworld of drugs and prostitution.

Yet there was more—Randolph had
invested in some of Mathis’s condo properties, and it was speculated that
Mathis could be a silent partner in some of Randolph’s businesses. And of
course a sleazeball like Dickie Randolph had a lot of ancillary characters
involved in his businesses, as well.

Motive? The press hadn’t
uncovered one yet, unless there had been some sort of bad blood between the
two that had gone unnoticed thus far. In fact, if Conner hadn’t seen Mathis
do the shooting, there would have been many other individuals who would have
been suspect.

As the police had told Conner a
long time ago—everyone in this case was dirty. But as far as what they could
prove in a court of law, only Regis Mathis had committed murder.

Conner was a little uncertain
how to handle the flood of news where Leslie was concerned. In the end he
told her to get out her laptop and log on so they could look at some of it
together, while he was still in town to help her understand the details and
what he knew about the stories. They sat at her kitchen table, and he ran
the search, bringing up pictures and articles from the Sacramento
newspaper.

Most of the pictures that would
be used as evidence, such as the blood splatters in the car that were
illuminated by the luminol the police used, were not available to the press,
but there were photos they couldn’t control. The Dumpster where the body had
been dumped, for example, with the long streak of blood running down the
side and the yellow crime-scene tape stretching across the area. The covered
body on the gurney that was being loaded in to the ambulance.

“Where were you?” Leslie
asked.

“I had just walked out the back
door of the store,” he said. “I heard the car door, noticed a man walking
around the front of the car to the passenger side. He was pulling a gun out
of his pocket at the same time he opened the passenger door and he shot him
in the head. I ducked behind the Dumpster. It was fast and brutal. Over,
body dumped and car backing out of the alley, in a couple of minutes or
less. I looked in the Dumpster first—the man’s hands and feet were bound
with duct tape, a strip across his mouth.”

“And you called the police right
away?”

“My cell phone was on my belt,”
he said. “The dispatcher asked me if I could check for a pulse. He was very
dead.”

And of course there was a
picture of the skeletal remains of a once large and prosperous hardware
store.

“Do they
know
it’s you? That
you’re the witness?”

He shrugged. “Of course they
know—my name appears on the warrant. Before this is over, my picture will be
in the paper. If there’s a leak in the D.A.’s office, they might know where
I am. Either way, the burned building is a message sent to anyone who might
be considering testifying against Regis Mathis. I had a more direct message,
left on my voice mail at home. Just in case I wondered if they knew where I
lived.”

“And if you didn’t testify?
Would you be forgotten?”

“There are way too many
unknowns,” Conner said. “I called the police within minutes of the murder,”
Conner said. “If no other witness appeared, would they consider their
warning had scared me off? Or would they try to ensure I remained scared
off? Because what I saw, Les, was horrible. If that happened to a member of
my family, I’d hope to God someone had the balls to step up.”

“Of course you have to,” she
said.

“And the hard part for you, Les,
you have to act like you didn’t even notice any of this has been happening.
At least until the trial is over.”

She laughed softly. “Do you
think I’d have trouble doing that if it means keeping you and your family
safe?”

“If you get overwhelmed or
freaked out, you can talk to Brie.”

“But I’ll talk to you, too.
Won’t I?”

“Sure we will.” He put down the
laptop screen, blocking the stories and images, and gently traced the line
of her jaw. “Yes, we’ll talk. Probably every day.” He leaned toward her to
give her a light kiss. “Let’s be done with this for now. Let’s sit on the
back porch and talk about regular things. Let’s pretend life is
normal.”

He pulled her to her feet and
walked her outside. They sat side by side in chairs as the sun sank and the
sky above the trees grew lavender. He asked her about high school and her
friends when she was younger. She told him about a best girlfriend who moved
away when they were both sixteen, and it had been so traumatic, she had
cried for days. And there were the sorority sisters in college—they stayed
in touch, got together every year or so. She’d had a close friend during her
marriage, but they’d grown apart as her girlfriend had children and Leslie
didn’t. And, Leslie admitted, it was her own longing for a family that kept
her away.

He wanted to know about
boyfriends, and she told him there had been a couple of pretty unexciting
ones. And then he wanted to know who the first one had been, the one who had
captured her long enough to lay claim to her virginity. “That would be
Pete,” she said. “And I suspect I was his first, too, because neither one of
us was very good at it. And it happened at my house when my parents were out
for the evening. On the couch. I was unimpressed.”

And he pulled her onto his lap.
He kissed her in that teasing way he had. “What does it take to impress you
now?” he whispered against her mouth.

“Now?” she asked with a laugh.
“Now it takes the perfect man.”

“Don’t know any of those,” he
said, running his hands up her sides. “Sometimes it pays to be imperfect.
I’m willing to try harder.”

She wiggled into his lap. “Take
me to bed, Conner. The whole world goes away when you take me to
bed.”

Conner didn’t know
how many women he’d been intimate with in his life. It didn’t seem like that
many. There had only been a couple who had stood any kind of test of
time—one when he was in the army, away from home, young and lonely. One was
later, when he was working all the time and felt the stress of trying to
operate a business he was too inexperienced to run. Both of those had
probably been six-month relationships. He was grateful for them—they were
nice women and the relationships hadn’t ended badly. There had been others
here and there before his wife, very brief liaisons.

Nothing in his life had prepared
him for this woman, for Leslie. The way she came to him was magic; she
unfolded for him, drew him in as if absorbing him and surrounding him with
her love. Words of love had not been spoken, but he felt it to the marrow of
his bones. He liked to lay her gently on the bed and slowly undress her.
Every time she grew impatient when he got to the snap on her jeans, and
every time she would go after his belt buckle, even more eager for him than
he was for her.

“Wait,” he said. “Tonight you’re
going to wait.”

She groaned and said, “I hate to
wait. I love to wait.”

He drew down her jeans very
slowly and revealed red lace panties that were barely panties at all. “These
are new,” he said.

“Mail order,” she whispered.
“It’s nice to buy for someone who appreciates it so much.”

“Oh, I do, sweetheart.” He ran a
finger around the elastic below the waist and at the legs. “I’m going to eat
these. I’ll buy you more....”

That brought a deep moan from
her and a low laugh from him. He bent his head to her red
panties.

“No!” she said, pushing him
back. “Not until you take off the jeans! You have to play fair!”

He didn’t even hesitate. He
shucked those jeans so fast, it was like sleight of hand. Then he started
over, from her lips to her chin to her breasts to her belly and then lower.
They hadn’t been a couple long, but he knew what she liked, knew what her
favorite adventures were, and one of them included his tongue teasing around
the edge of her panties until he couldn’t stand it any longer and had to go
in for the kill.

Tonight, he decided, he wasn’t
taking the red lace off. He was going to move it around. Until Leslie, he’d
had no idea how much he enjoyed a little lace that barely covered her. He
gently spread her, licked her thighs, pulled the panties to the side and
enjoyed the most private part of Leslie. Enjoyed her
deeply.
Wanted her
wildly. And she made those beautiful sounds for him, lifted herself against
his mouth, begging. When her moans came in breathless gasps, closer and
harder, he pulled away from her and rose to her lips. “Not yet,” he said.
“Not yet.”

“I think you have a mean
streak,” she rasped out.

“You like this. This is your
favorite. Deny it.”

“I can’t deny it.”

He kissed her in a way that said
he owned her, and she wrapped herself around him, trying to hurry him, but
he couldn’t be hurried. This was going to be like the first time. Then if he
had the energy, he might take her through all the times....

He changed his mind and got rid
of the red lace, leaving her beautifully bare.