The Mountain Between Us (9 page)

She set her mouth and swept the last of the glasses into her bus tray. She was strong. She could get through this and not give in. D. J. would eventually tire of his pursuit and go away.

The cowbells on the bar door jangled and Lucas came in, too-long sweatpants puddling around his ankles and his wrists showing white at the sleeves of his too-small parka. “Lucas, what are you doing here?” She checked the clock. It was after ten.

“Where's Grandma?” he asked, dropping into a chair at the table she'd been clearing.

“I think she has a date.”

“With that Gerald guy?”

“I think so.”

He pushed his lower lip out in a pout. “I don't like him.”

Olivia didn't care for the guy either. He was too full of himself by far. But she couldn't say that to Lucas. “You're not the one dating him,” she said.

“Is she sleeping with him?” he asked.

Olivia struggled to keep any expression from her face. Lucas was clearly trying to shock her; she remembered doing the same thing to her mother when she was his age. Behind her, Jameso laughed.

She glared at him. “This is a private conversation.”

“And you wonder why I'm worried about being a father. It's a piece of cake, right?”

“Go away, Jameso.”

To her surprise, he did. She turned back to Lucas. He slumped in the chair, picking a napkin to pieces. He needed a haircut and there was a rip in the shoulder of the parka. When had that happened? Part of the mural money would have to go to buy him a new one. Back to the question at hand. Was her mother sleeping with Gerald? She shook her head. Okay, no matter how old she got, that was not a question she cared to answer. “You should be home in bed,” she told Lucas.

He looked up at her through a fringe of hair. “It's not a school night. Besides, the house is kind of creepy late at night when no one's there.”

“I don't know what to tell you. I don't get off until two or three.”

“I called D. J. and he said I could come stay with him.”

She gripped the back of the chair so hard her fingers ached. This was why there ought to be exceptions to laws about beating your children. Not that she'd ever really hit Lucas, but right now she fought the urge to strike out at something. “Why?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice even. “Why did you call D. J.?”

“He's my friend. He said to call him anytime I wanted.”

But D. J. was not
her
friend. She did not want him involved in their lives.

Right on cue, the man himself walked in. He wore a desert camo jacket and a black watch cap, a hero to the rescue. “Hey, Lucas.” He patted the boy's shoulder and handed him a bunch of keys. “Go keep the truck warm while I talk to your mom.”

New life surged through Lucas at the prospect of starting the truck. He hurried away, the door slamming hard behind him.

Olivia stepped back, needing to put distance between herself and D. J. He smelled of cold and wood smoke, masculine and capable and far too calm in the face of her raging emotions. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Lucas asked me to meet him here. He was home alone and he was scared.”

“He told you that?”

“No, he didn't tell me that. No thirteen-year-old boy is going to admit that. But I could hear it in his voice.” He took a step toward her, his voice soft, as if he was struggling to control his anger. Another woman might have been afraid of his intensity, but Olivia knew he'd never hit her. For all his faults, violence wasn't one of them. “What are you doing leaving a kid that age home alone by himself?”

“My mother was supposed to be there. Besides, this isn't downtown Hartford, Connecticut. Eureka is safe, and you know Lucas—he's a responsible kid.” She hated that he could make her feel so guilty when she hadn't done anything wrong.

“But he's still a kid.”

“Don't tell me how to raise my child. I'm doing the best I can.”

Some of the stiffness went out of his shoulders. “I know that. Don't you think I know how hard you work? And you've done a good job. But you don't have to do it all yourself anymore. I'm here and I can help.”

“I don't need your help.”

“I think you do. And even if you don't need me, Lucas does. A boy his age needs a man in his life.”

She wanted to deny this, but how could she? Clearly Lucas did need a man to turn to. And he wanted to turn to D. J. She looked away, not wanting him to see the doubt in her eyes. “I don't know.”

“It'll be all right, Olivia.” She shivered at the sound of her name from his lips, like a caress on her fevered skin. “I may be a lot of things,” he continued, “but I'm not going to hurt your son.”

Maybe not physically, but what about emotionally, when he got tired of being around them and left again? “He can stay with you tonight, but just this one time.”

“Why don't we say instead that anytime your mom can't be there when you work nights he can come stay with me?”

Pushing. He was always pushing for more. Still, if her mother continued her relationship with Gerald Pershing, Olivia would have to make some arrangements for Lucas. “All right. I know Lucas would like that.”

“I'd like it, too.”

He smiled. That sweet, serious smile that made her insides feel like melted butter. “I have to get back to work now,” she said.

“All right. I'll have him home after lunch tomorrow.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Guy stuff. Don't worry. It'll be okay.”

She watched him go, a knot of tears clogging her throat. He shouldn't be leaving like this—taking Lucas away, not to a place they shared, but to his own house. One where she couldn't go. Not because he wouldn't welcome her, but because she couldn't cross the chasm that separated them.

Her mother had said as you got older forgiveness was easier. But Lucille didn't understand. There were some things she just couldn't forgive.

C
HAPTER SIX

L
ucille woke with the sun in her eyes, the bedroom flooded with unaccustomed light. She smiled to herself, remembering the pleasure of the night before. She was pleasantly sore in places that hadn't been sore in a long time, but she'd been happy to discover everything still worked the way it was supposed to, and that she'd been able to please Gerald as much as he pleased her.

She rolled over, searching for him, but the place beside her was empty, though the pillow still bore the indentation of his head. The bathroom door was closed, so she assumed he was in there. Never mind. Arms over her head, she stretched like a cat, arching her back and feeling the pull on her muscles all the way to her toes. Then she lay staring at the ceiling, basking in a glow of happiness. Had her life ever been as perfect as it was right now? Olivia and Lucas were settled in, for a while at least. The city's financial difficulties were on their way to being solved. Even the weather was cooperating, with what looked to be a mild winter ahead, meaning they'd spend less on plowing roads and heating city buildings.

And Gerald. This handsome, sexy, and, yes, rich man had come into her life and changed everything. “Gerald?” she called out. “I hope you're not in there getting dressed.”

No answer. No sound of a shower either. She hoped he was okay. He'd seemed fine last night, but he wasn't a young man and maybe the exertion—well, she'd heard of men having heart attacks during or after sex.

She sat up and wrapped a sheet around herself, then tiptoed to the bathroom door. Not wanting him to catch her prying, she carefully put an ear to the door. No sounds. “Gerald?” She knocked. “Is everything okay in there?” No answer.

Heart beating faster, she grasped the doorknob. It turned easily and she pushed the door open and peeked inside. The room was empty. She opened the door farther and took a few steps to the sink. No Gerald. No towels on the floor or fog on the mirror or other signs of recent shower activity.

Scarcely breathing, she looked around the room. There was no toothbrush by the sink. No comb. No shaving kit. No sign that anyone lived here or used this room.

She lunged back into the bedroom and threw open the closet doors. Empty. The dresser drawers were empty, too, not so much as a spare handkerchief left behind.

She ran through the house, the sheet trailing behind her, her bare feet slapping against the cold wood floors. She raised the blinds on the front window to reveal what she already knew: His car was gone from the driveway.

Anger beginning to overtake fear, she found her purse where she'd left it by the sofa in the living room and retrieved her phone. She stabbed in Gerald's number and waited impatiently for the call to go through. It went straight to voice mail. “I'm sorry I can't take your call now . . .”

She hung up and typed in a text.

Gerald. What is going on? Is this your idea of a joke? Where are you?

Still clutching the phone, she returned to the bedroom and began to dress, pulling on the wrinkled clothes she'd worn last night—the new dress and shoes she'd bought for the occasion. The phone rang, surprising a shriek from her. But the number wasn't Gerald's.

“Have you seen Gerald?” Doug Rayburn asked.

“No, why? Have you seen him?” Even she could hear the shakiness in her voice and hoped Doug would blame a poor connection.

“Someone told me you had a date with him last night. We need to find him and ask him some more questions.”

“Why? What's going on?”

“I decided it wouldn't hurt to check with the folks in Flower Mound and Peach Springs—see if he's really as great as he says he is. Everyone there says they've never heard of the guy or his Swedish investments or anything of the kind.”

She sat on the side of the bed, her legs too weak to hold her. “He's gone,” she said.

“What do you mean, he's gone?”

“I mean his condo is empty. No clothes. No suitcase, no car. He's gone.”

Silence greeted this news. “Doug?” she asked. “Is everything all right?”

“No, everything is not all right. The bastard's taken our money with him.”

“Can we cancel the bank draft?”

“We didn't give him a bank draft. We wired the funds directly into his account.”

She closed her eyes. This couldn't be happening.

“Lucille? Are you still there?”

“I'm here.” Though she wished desperately that she wasn't.

“What are we going to do? That was all the money we had in savings.”

“I thought we were only going to give him part of the money, as a trial.”

“That was the plan, but he convinced the banker we'd requested the wrong amount. Somehow he persuaded them to send it all.”

She imagined Gerald now—so charming and earnest. Everyone believed him. Why wouldn't they?

“All that's left is a few thousand dollars in the operating account,” Doug said. “What are we going to do?”

“I don't know. I don't know what we're going to do.” But if she ever saw Gerald Pershing again, she was going to personally cut his heart out with a steak knife. Provided he even had a heart.

“Lucille, where are you right now?” Doug asked. “Are you at Gerald's condo? Did you, um, did you spend the night there?”

Shame flooded her, until she feared she might be sick. She pinched the web between her thumb and forefinger, hard. “I'm not going to answer that,” she said weakly.

“Uh, okay. None of my business.”

“No, it's not.” She tried to make her voice crisp, protecting her dignity.

“You don't have any idea where he is?” Doug asked.

“No, I woke up this morning and he was gone. His condo is empty. He didn't leave so much as a toothbrush behind.”

“Sounds like he planned his escape pretty well,” Doug said. “Makes me think he's done this before. I asked Lou Aronson over at the Sheriff's Department to run Gerald's name through their computer, but they didn't come up with anything. Of course, it might not be his real name. It probably isn't.”

“Right.”

“I'm sorry, Lucille. This sucks any way you look at it.”

“I have to go now, Doug. I'll talk to you later.” She hung up the phone and pulled the sheet around her once more, gathering it the way she wished she could gather her dignity. On second thought, she wouldn't waste time cutting out the man's heart. She'd go right for cutting off his balls, so she could make sure he'd never make a fool of another woman the way he'd done her.

 

Olivia was surprised to find there was someone she could hate more than D. J. Surprised, too, that she could feel so much anger on behalf of her mother. Gerald Pershing had not only robbed the town of most of its funds, he'd turned her mother—the stern, strong, intimidating presence of Olivia's youth—into a pale, silent shadow of a woman, afraid to look anyone in the eye.

Olivia would like to find the man and burn his ears off with her angry words, but she knew she'd have to stand in line to do so. Everyone in town was up in arms over his deception—as much in anger over what he'd done to her mother as over the theft of the money.

Lucille had tried to resign as mayor, but the town council refused to accept her resignation. Though she blamed herself for what had happened, they'd pointed out she wasn't the one who voted to make the investment—they were. They'd called in the state police and the FBI, and were talking about hiring a private investigator to find Pershing.

Meanwhile, the chart for Bob's snowfall pool over at the Last Dollar was a blizzard of snowflakes, with everyone making their donation to the town coffers. The days grew colder as the calendar inched toward Halloween. And somehow, life went on. The world had shifted a little, but people kept up their routines and normal conversations in spite of the uncertainty that operated behind the scenes in the little town.

“I don't see what all the fascination is with zombies and vampires and such,” Bob groused one afternoon in the Dirty Sally, as he scowled at the bat cutouts Olivia had taped up around the bar. “When I was a kid, we knew what Halloween was really for.”

Jameso winked at Olivia. “What was Halloween for, Bob?” he asked.

“Don't smirk at me,” Bob said. “Halloween is for playing pranks on people—the ‘trick' in ‘trick or treat.' ”

“You mean turning over outhouses and putting cars on roofs?” Olivia asked. “I've read about stuff like that.”

“Those kinds of things will do, for the unimaginative,” Bob said.

“Then what did imaginative people like you do?” Jameso asked.

“One year when I was a kid we stranded the neighbor lady's cow on the roof. 'Course my dad found out and tanned my hide, plus made me muck out the neighbor's horse stalls for six months. When I was a little older we filled the mayor's car with about five thousand Ping-Pong balls. Once at the Merryvale mines, a buddy and I turned on the washhouse taps overnight and left the doors open. The place froze up like an ice skating rink. 'Course it was colder back then.”

“Don't try any of that stuff here,” Jameso said. “If you do, I'll never serve you another beer.”

“I'm too old for such shenanigans. I'm just sayin' there hasn't been a decent prank around here since Murphy died.”

“Jake was a great one for pranks,” Jameso agreed.

“You remember the time he switched all the highway signs around?” Bob chuckled. “The locals didn't notice, but the tourists trying to get to Telluride kept ending up in Cassie Wynock's front yard. Poor old Cassie stood on her front porch with a shotgun, threatening to shoot the next person who drove up in her yard.”

“Then there was the time he replaced half the pens at the bank with trick ones that squirted water when you tried to write,” Jameso said.

“Or the time he posed a store mannequin on a ledge up on Mount Garnet? Tourists kept calling to report a stranded hiker.”

By this time both men were doubled over, laughing so hard Olivia half feared Bob might go into some kind of seizure. “Jake Murphy sounds like a laugh a minute,” she said drily.

“Women never appreciate a good prank,” Bob said.

“What else is there to do around here on Halloween?” she asked.

“You could drive out to look for the ghost lights,” Jameso said.

“Ghost lights?”

“Up on Mount Winston,” Bob said. “Big balls of light skip down the mountain. Sometimes there's just one of them, sometimes two or three or more. They bob around for a while, then disappear.”

“That doesn't sound very scary to me,” she said. “It's probably just a reflection or something.”

“Or something is right,” Bob said. “I think it's aliens up to no good.”

“What are the aliens doing up on the mountain?” Jameso asked.

“They're stealing gold and silver and other precious metals to power their spaceships.”

Was he serious? With Bob it was so hard to tell. “Okay, we know what the aliens are going to be doing for Halloween,” she said. “What about the rest of us?”

“A few people have parties,” Jameso said. “You can wear a costume to work if you want.”

“Something sexy,” Bob suggested.

“In your dreams. Besides, I'm working the day shift on Halloween.”

“You can't do sexy in the daytime?” Jameso asked.

“There's no one around here worth dressing up for,” she said.

Jameso put a hand over his heart. “I'm wounded.”

“Get out of here, baby daddy.” She flicked her bar cloth at him.

“You don't want to dress up for D. J.?” Bob asked.

“D. J. can kiss my ass.”

“Anytime, darlin'.”

Heat washed over her as D. J. strolled into the bar. “Why am I kissing your ass?” he asked pleasantly. “Lovely though it is.”

She turned her back on him and retreated to the sink.

“I was telling Olivia she ought to dress up sexy for Halloween,” Bob said.

“No need for a costume,” D. J. said.

Coming from another man, the words might have sounded smarmy, or too glib. But D. J. didn't have a glib bone in his body. The fact that he could say things like that—and that his words sent heat curling up through her middle—made her furious, both at him and at herself for continuing to let him get to her after so many months.

She turned to face the bar once more, striking her best I-don't-give-a-damn attitude. “I was just saying the Dirty Sally should do something fun for Halloween.”

“We could have a costume contest,” Jameso said doubtfully.

“No, a ghost-story contest.” She grinned, pleased with herself. “We can have an open mic and have prizes for whoever tells the scariest story and the funniest story.”

“That's a pretty good idea,” Bob said.

“It's a great idea.” Jameso clapped his hand on her shoulder. “We'll make you one of us yet.”

“What do you mean ‘one of us'?” She drew back. “I'm not part of your prankster fraternity or anything like that.”

“No, I mean part of the community. A local. This ghost-story thing could become a new tradition.”

She bristled at the idea. She took it as a point of pride that she wasn't a joiner—no groups, clubs, or causes benefited from her presence. She had always preferred to fly solo. “Wanting to do something on Halloween besides sit at home and file my nails does not make me a Eurekian or Eurekite or whatever you call yourselves.”