Too Far Under (7 page)

Today, Gramma’s relocation issue was the
strong swimmer, the Townes family and Mia drifted far behind. So I
made a vow not to mention the other issues again this weekend and
to try to keep them out of my mind. After that, I cleared my mind
and enjoyed the trail as we wound back and forth crossing the creek
on wooden bridges, and climbing through fir, spruce and colorful
aspen groves to the majestic falls. We stood quietly holding hands
for a while at the top, letting the roar of the falls surround us
as we stared at the water rushing over huge rocks into the creek
below.

A relaxed peaceful feeling came over me until
a bright sunbeam reflecting off a shiny part of a rock drew my
attention. I turned toward it and out of the corner of my eye I saw
a blond surfer in black shorts riding his board over the falls.
Arms wide, knees slightly bent, perfectly balanced on his board and
looking directly at me. No way! I jumped, pulled my hand free from
Pablo’s and ran closer. Pablo looked startled, but neither he nor
anyone else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary in the
falls. Tyler! It must be him and I was the only one who could see
him. He flickered, then vanished, but I heard him loud and clearly
in my head, “Don’t blow it, Cleo. You need to hit the surf.”

I kept the Tyler sighting to myself as we
hiked back to the car and drove into town. Pablo has not only never
seen Tyler, he never wants to see him. And if he believes I see
him—which I doubt—he would much rather I didn’t. It’s one of those
tender spots between us that I try not to poke.

Oddly enough, Pablo himself mentioned Tyler
as we were checking in to the historic Stanley Hotel in Estes Park.
“Hey, Cleo, your buddy Tyler will be right at home here,” he said
with a smirk. “Ghosts are all over this hotel. I’ve heard they
especially like the billiard room. Does Tyler play?”

Oh so many smart retorts came to mind, but I
kept them to myself as I looked around the vast lobby. Leaving
aside the sarcasm, Pablo was right. This hotel is one of the top
ten haunted hotels in the country, and even gives ghost tours,
which are very popular. It was the inspiration for Steven King’s
“The Shining,” half of which he wrote here in room 217. Later the
TV miniseries of that book was filmed here.

People say that F. O. Stanley, who built the
hotel in 1909, haunts it along with his wife Flora and former
servants. Guests report seeing and hearing children playing on the
stairs and in the halls when there is no child in the building,
smelling strong unexplained lavender scents in some bedrooms,
seeing doors open and close by themselves and hearing the piano
playing on its own in the music room. Fans of the paranormal come
from all over to stay at the Stanley and they’re even willing to
pay extra to stay in fourth-floor rooms that supposedly have the
most ghostly activity, hoping to get pictures or videos of
orbs—balls of transparent light sometimes seen in photos taken in
haunted places.

Sounds like a perfect fit for me, right?
Actually I would have preferred the wedding were somewhere that was
less of a ghost magnet. I figured Pablo was right that Tyler would
feel right at home here, but I wasn’t in the mood for more Tyler
counsel about how I needed to help Lacey until I had more time to
think about what I wanted to do.

But this majestic white four-story hotel,
perched high on the rocks overlooking Estes Park with amazing views
in every direction, is a favorite for weddings. The groom is one of
Pablo’s oldest friends. And the bride is from a rich Boulder
family, so I figured it would be a great party.

It was. The wedding and reception were in the
MacGregor ballroom off the lobby. It’s a grand Victorian room,
holds several hundred people, and has a big stage for the wedding
and later the band. Round tables draped with white linen filled the
main part of the room. Roses and candles were everywhere—all in
pale blush tones, mostly soft peach and ivory. Crystal sparkled in
the candlelight.

The ceremony was short and sweet, followed by
champagne and appetizers, an elegant buffet with wine, an open bar,
and dancing to a jazz band. The romantic setting snapped us out of
our earlier quarrelsomeness and I was feeling mellow and
sentimental. Pablo looked yummy. I love seeing him dressed up. He’s
great looking—tall and muscular, with black curly hair you want to
run your hands through, and adorable brown eyes. In classy clothes
he looks even sexier than usual.

As we danced, he held me tightly and I
nuzzled into his shoulder. The champagne and the glow of the
evening worked their magic to break down the walls I have so
carefully constructed to keep Pablo in the
not-a-serious-relationship category. I even forgot about Mia and
started having fantasies of Pablo and me having a wedding like
this, surrounded by our friends and family. Hmm. Maybe I do want
commitment.

When the band took a break, Pablo and I
headed for the bar, holding hands softly. But our way was blocked
by a distinguished-looking elderly man swaying from side to side as
he shouted in the face of a much younger man. The young guy was
wearing a slender beautifully tailored pinstriped suit and his
medium-length dark hair was cut in a shaggy retro style reminiscent
of sixties Brit-rock bands. Both men looked rich and both looked
angry.

“Is it your job to tell me how much I can
drink now, Shane?” the old man boomed. “Where do you get off
telling your grandfather how to suck eggs? I was drinking before
you were born, you little snot!”

“Don’t be an ass, Grandfather. You’re drunk
and you’re spoiling this party. Why don’t you go up to your room
and sleep it off?” The young man—apparently his name was Shane—took
his grandfather’s arm and tried to pull him in the direction of the
door.

It took me a minute, but I recognized the
older man as my grandparents’ attorney, Vernon Evers. He’s in his
late seventies now and he’s kept only a few clients, but in his day
he was one of Boulder’s most prominent attorneys. I was mortified
for him and his grandson. And I worried that the ugly behavior
might ruin the wedding reception for the bride and groom. Already a
ring of curious guests had formed in front of the two men. Pablo
moved forward as if to intervene. I grabbed his arm to stop him
before he ended up with both men turning on him.

Before we could argue about whether Pablo
should break in, a gorgeous long-legged young woman ran up to the
men. “Shane, what’s going on? I leave for the ladies room for two
minutes and when I get back you’ve created a scene.” Her thick
shoulder-length auburn hair looked more tousled than I would have
expected if she had indeed been in the ladies room, but I figured
she must have one of those intentionally messy hairstyles.

Shane didn’t answer. Just gave her a
disgusted look and walked off. She turned her attention to Mr.
Evers. “Calm down, Vern,” she said in a velvety-soft voice as she
leaned toward him, almost freeing her super-sized breasts from the
top of her classic black cocktail dress. “Let me help you back to
our table.” She gave him a charming smile and a quick kiss and took
his arm to guide him away from the bar.

“Dammit, Glenna, you can’t smooth this over
that easily.” He wasn’t shouting anymore though, so she had
accomplished something. Not too surprising. This woman was
stunning, looked like a European model with huge brown eyes, full
lips and high cheekbones. And, although she looked to be about
forty years his junior, she gazed at him sweetly like a lover.

But he stood his ground. “I still haven’t
gotten the drink I came up to get while you were out. I was just
about to order another Chivas Regal when along comes my slacker
grandson trying to tell me how to live. He can’t even manage his
own life. What makes him think he’s in charge of mine?”

Glenna put her arm around his shoulders—easy
because she was as tall as he was—and gave him another dazzling
smile. “Shane’s gone off now, so how about we go back to our table
and then I’ll bring you your drink.” This time he let her guide him
away.

All of us bystanders breathed a combined sigh
of relief and turned back to the party. “Wow, do you realize who
that old guy is?” I asked Pablo quietly as we walked back to our
table with refilled wine glasses.

“Oh yes. That’s Vernon Evers. Boulder lawyer
and former city commissioner,” Pablo said.

“Right. He was my grandparents’ lawyer,” I
said as I set my wine glass on the table next to his. “He handled
some copyright stuff when some of Gramma’s paintings were included
in a photography book. It was kind of a messy thing and he did a
great job. But he seems a lot different than I remember him.”

We sat down at the table and sipped our wine
for a few minutes, still slightly dazed by the episode. “Maybe you
just didn’t see that side of him,” Pablo said. “Evers has always
been a character—never one to stay in the background. He was a
major player in PLAN Boulder County—that citizens’ group that’s
always pushing for more open space—and he was known for telling
people who didn’t want to pay taxes for open space that if what
they like is urban sprawl they should move to Denver or L.A. Not
well-liked by local developers.”

“Well it looks like women like him,” I said.
“That babe he’s with is hot. I wonder what she sees in someone so
much older.”

Pablo laughed. “Money and power are big
aphrodisiacs. I’ve seen it before. Usually when a woman like her is
hanging out with an old guy, there’s more to it then love. She’s
probably getting what she wants.”

“What about his wife?”

“I think she died a couple of years ago. And
then his only daughter died. He probably needs some cheering up.
But, hey—his daughter who died was Mirabel Townes, the woman who
drowned that you were talking about today.”

“Really!!! His daughter! So his grandson
Shane must be Lacey and Angelica’s brother.” The way Mirabel’s
family kept showing up was getting spooky. Was Tyler finding ways
to push this family in my face until I took on the case? In two
days I’d met—or at least seen—Mirabel’s two daughters Lacey and
Angelica, her son Shane, her husband Derrick and now her father
Vernon Evers. And in this haunted hotel I might well meet Mirabel
herself before the night was over.

After the party, Pablo and I carried the
romantic wedding atmosphere up to our room along with half a bottle
of champagne. We slipped out of our clothes and lounged on the bed
in each other’s arms, sloppily sipping champagne and dripping it on
each other—which led to earth-shaking sex.

Afterward, Pablo rolled over and cradled me
softly in his arms. “That was amazing!” he said softly as he
stroked my face. I snuggled into him, loving the tingly totally
relaxed feeling. I felt connected to him at such a deep level that
I had no need to say anything. I just knew we were in complete
synch. Maybe he was having wedding fantasies that matched my
earlier ones.

Well, not exactly. Pablo cradled my face,
looked deeply into my eyes, and said, “You know, I was thinking
when we were dancing tonight that we’re so lucky that we enjoy each
other so much without feeling any pressure to get married. That we
both agree about that.” He hugged me close.

My heart sank. This is how it always is with
him, I thought. Close but not too close. How could I forget? At
that point I realized he was right—we do best when we enjoy what we
have, without a long-term commitment. And I didn’t want marriage
either. I had gotten caught up in the romantic wedding atmosphere,
but was now back to reality. “I know what you mean,” I said. “What
we have is perfect for me. I don’t want to think about
forever.”

We curled up and slept spoon-style until 3:00
a.m., when I startled awake. The room was dark but enough light
shone under the room door from the hall that I could see the shapes
of the furniture. I had that momentary disoriented feeling you get
when you wake up in a hotel room not knowing at first where you
are. The room was quiet except for Pablo’s snoring. I felt a
prickly sensation at the back of my neck, a strong impression that
someone was in the room, and that odd lightheadedness I often get
when Tyler shows up.

I sat up and turned my head slowly from side
to side, casing the room, expecting Tyler to pop up. But he didn’t.
Then I found myself looking into a large mirror hanging over the
antique dresser across from me. A bit of light crept in around the
window curtains and reflected in the mirror like a tiny lamp. As I
stared at that light, I saw a beautiful teen-aged girl with dark
hair, blue eyes and fair skin looking longingly in my direction.
“Please,” she said. “Please. They need you.” Then she vanished.

I sat quietly and waited for more, but I knew
she was gone. The feeling of an otherworldly presence wasn’t there
any longer. Who was she? And who needed me? The Townes family?
Someone else? I ran questions and possibilities through my mind as
I snuggled back into Pablo, and the next thing I knew it was 9:00
a.m. Sunday morning.

We grabbed a quick breakfast and set off down
the canyon because Pablo needed to get back to Boulder by early
afternoon. He was leaving that night for a weeklong training course
in Atlanta. Something about crisis intervention where officers get
trained to deal with people who are having a mental health crisis
or are on a mood-altering substance. I wondered briefly whether
training like that would make him more understanding of my
occasional emotional outbursts or whether he’d just try to “handle”
me in some new professional way.

When we got down as far as Lyons, I turned on
my phone to check for messages. The mountains are iffy for cell
phone reception, so I hadn’t even bothered to keep my phone on
while I was up there. There was one from Tim Grosso in his
volunteer ombudsman role letting me know about a family meeting set
for Sunday afternoon at Shady Terrace. Then six from Lacey Townes,
each more urgent than the last, going on and on about how she
absolutely had to meet with me. I skipped to the end of most of
those, saving them to listen to later.