To Laney, With Love

by Joyce Sullivan

  BEN HEARD THE SHOWER in Laney’s bathroom and scrawled a note on a pad by the telephone that he was going out for a few minutes to buy a newspaper. The florist probably closed at five on Sundays. He had to go now or he’d miss his chance.

  Checking to make sure he had his room key, he grabbed his ski jacket and took the elevator down to the rustic stone-tiled lobby where he asked a bellboy for directions to the florist shop.

  The cold air bathed his cheeks as his boots crunched in the snow dusting the cobblestone streets. Night had already descended on the valley. The temperature here was mild compared to Ottawa in mid-February. The alpine village was aglow with lights, the architecture of the cozy bistros, specialty shops and galleries reminiscent of a more European setting.

  Ben found the florist with no problem. The sicklysweet scent of flowers and potpourri bombarded his nostrils as he entered the shop. Six men were lined up at the counter ahead of him. The female clerk acknowledged him with a bemused expression as she wrapped a bouquet of carnations in heart-dotted cellophane. “Just remembering it’s Valentine’s Day, eh?” she said. “There are still a few arranged bouquets in the refrigerator if you’re in a hurry. But I warn you, there isn’t a rose left in the valley.”

  He flushed and decided to wait his turn, fiddling with the envelope in his pocket as he tried to figure out what to say.

  “What can I do for you?” the clerk asked, when it was finally his turn. It was past closing time, but the woman hadn’t put the sign up on the door. Three other men had entered since he’d arrived, wallets in hand and desperate expressions on their faces.

  “I was wondering if you could tell me who sent some flowers?” he began awkwardly.

  “Do you have a secret admirer?” the woman asked, tucking a pen behind her ear. Ben noticed the bubblegum-pink sweatshirt she wore bore the slogan, Express Your Love With Flowers.

  “No, I hope not. I wanted to know who sent a dozen roses to Laney Dobson today at Christine’s restaurant on Blackcomb.”

  The clerk frowned. “Wasn’t there a card?”

  “Yes, but—” Ben pulled it out of his pocket.

  Before he could stop her, the woman had opened the card and read it out loud. Ben winced. He hadn’t wanted to invade Laney’s privacy by knowing what Reese had written. At least the message was a tame Happy Valentine’s Day wish.

  “Oh, I see what your problem is,” the clerk went on. “You’re wondering who R is?” Her lively green eyes boldly skimmed over him. “Frankly, I don’t know what you’re worried about, handsome, but I could look up the invoice for you to give you a little peace of mind.”

  “You don’t understand,” Ben protested, reddening.

  “Actually, I do. You don’t know how many misunderstandings arise out of Valentine’s Day flowers. Usually turns out it’s a relative or a co-worker just being nice because they don’t have anyone special in their lives. It makes them feel better to send flowers to someone.” The woman flipped through a pile of invoices attached to a metal ring. “Dobson, here it is. Ordered by Reese Dobson last Tuesday. Paid cash.”

  “That’s my wife’s brother,” Ben stuttered, finally giving in to the clerk’s nonsense. “Did he leave a contact number or something? When he’s up here, he’s usually bumming off friends and we really need to get ahold of him. There’s a family emergency.”

  “Sorry, there’s no number or address because he paid cash.”

  “Do you remember the order?” Ben asked. “Or anything he might have said to you?”

  The clerk shook her head. “We get so swamped this time of year, I can’t remember one order from the next. I wish I could be of more help. Good luck finding him.”

  Ben sighed and turned away. He’d have to find Reese some other way.

  To his dismay, he realized he’d been gone almost an hour and a half by the time he got back to the hotel room with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He hoped Laney wouldn’t be upset with him. When he realized the shower was still running, he relaxed. She’d never even noticed he was gone. Then Ben straightened. He’d heard of women taking a long time in the bathroom, but this seemed a bit extreme.

  He knocked on her bedroom door and called out her name. When there was no answer, he turned the knob. It was unlocked. Ben headed for her private bath and knocked on the door. “Laney? Are you okay in there?”

  Fear gripped his heart at her lack of response. All he could hear was the sound of water drumming. He tried the knob. The door was unlocked.

  He shielded his eyes as he opened it. The room was filled with steam, but the shower curtain was drawn. “Laney?” Ben pulled the curtain open. The shower was empty.

  Laney had given him the slip while he was in the shower earlier. Where the hell was she?

  IT TOOK ONLY SECONDS for Ben to conclude she’d probably gone to meet Reese on her own. He couldn’t imagine Laney leaving the shower running just so she could slip out for a breath of fresh air, unless she was so shaken by Reese’s not showing up that she was walking around in a daze.

  Regardless, he had to find her.

  A quick search of her room told him she’d taken her purse with her and probably the spare key to their rental car.

  He wrote her a note that he was going out to look for her and asked her to stay put until he returned. Then he left the room. His heart jammed in his throat as he approached every bellhop in the lobby and described Laney. None of them remembered her. His luck improved with the concierge.

  “Sure, I remember her,” the perky blonde replied in answer to his questions. “She asked me how to get to Horstman Lane.”

  “She did? Can you tell me how to find it?”

  The concierge laughed and pulled out a map of Whistler. “I’d be delighted. It’s not far—easily within walking distance if you don’t have a car.” She circled a street.

  Ben thanked her and took off at a run through the lobby, the map clenched in his fingers. The thought of Laney being alone with Reese worried him. What if she was walking into some kind of trap?

  Laney hadn’t taken the rental car. Ben found it in the parking lot and jammed the key into the ignition, figuring it would be faster than following her on foot. The engine roared to life, the wheels slipping on the ice as he backed out of his parking spot. He’d bang on the door of every single house on Horstman Lane until he found her.

  WALKING AT NIGHT had never bothered Laney before, but walking under the stars was different than walking under a lamp-lit street. The trees here were so tall and solemn, their branches dark with secrets. An apprehensive chill clung to her neck like a clammy scarf as she peered at the massive chalets tucked back from the darkened street and tried to make out house numbers.

  Had Reese been living in Whistler all this time?

  Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, echoing the sound of her footsteps breaking the crust of the snow covering the roadside. Twenty-two. The next house should be twenty-four. Her breath caught in her lungs at the sight of the modern wood-and-glass structure that loomed out of the hillside. It was three times bigger than her home. A black Mercedes was parked on the circular drive paved with gray interlocking brick. She could see the glow of candlelight through the windows on the lower story. The rest of the house looked dark.

  With trepidation, Laney marched up the steps. She had to do this for Josh. The front door was spectacular and looked like a sheet of glacier ice. It was ajar a few inches. She peered through the crack then pushed it open. A path of white rose petals led off a luxurious Persian rug into the dark granite foyer. The source of the candlelight she couldn’t determine.

  “Reese? It’s me,” she said faintly.

  He didn’t answer. Anxiety, happiness and fear made her pulse throb at the base of her throat. Did he want her to enter? Obviously, so. He’d always been a crazy romantic. She felt guilty that Ben’s presence had spoiled Reese’s plans for their lunch.

  Laney crossed her fingers for courage and stepped into the foyer. A stone staircase curved up to a second
floor and she could see a faint light in the crack of the door. But the rose petals led in another direction. Laney shrugged out of her coat and kicked off her boots, then followed the rose petals to a pair of doors with the same crackled glass, through which she could see the cast of light.

  A huge candelabra placed on a marble-topped side table illuminated an elegant living and dining area decorated with sculptures and furniture pristine in their beauty. Gleaming silver domes rested over two place settings on the massive pale wood dining table. Three single candles flickered from crystal holders spaced along the center of the table. The appetizing odor of food lingered pleasantly in the air. Laney could see a bottle of champagne resting in a silver bucket of ice.

  There was no sign of Reese, but she refused to believe she’d been stood up again. “Ben doesn’t know I’m here,” she said, raising her voice so Reese could hear her from wherever he was concealing himself. Laney followed the scattered petals around the grouping of cream leather sofas to the dining area. What did he want her to do? Sit down? Perhaps he meant to serve her as he’d done during many of their romantic interludes.

  She ran her hand over the back of the chair. Was Reese in the kitchen, then? “Darling, please come out. I don’t think I can stand the suspense a moment longer.”

  The house answered her with silence. Laney waited, anticipation screaming from her pores.

  Still, nothing.

  Setting her jaw, she ignored the rose petals and walked toward a door she believed must lead into the kitchen. It was almost six-thirty. Perhaps Reese hadn’t expected her to arrive so soon.

  The kitchen was dark, but she found the switch. The stainless-steel panels of the restaurant-quality appliances shimmered against the stark whiteness of the cupboards. There were cartons of Chinese food warming in the oven.

  Laney turned on her heel. She’d seen a faint gleam of light upstairs. That’s where Reese must be. If he wasn’t, she’d leave. Her heart couldn’t take any more of this. She didn’t need drama and suspense in her life. She needed a man to hold on to at night. Every night.

  The staircase was dark and she clung to the rail as she mounted, wishing she’d bothered to find a light switch for the chandelier over the stairwell that reminded her of a frozen waterfall of icicles. Light glowed through another pair of crackled glass doors at the head of the landing. Laney touched the glass and said a small prayer. Then she turned the chrome knob and stepped into the master suite and met her husband’s gray-eyed stare.

  Reese was leaning back into a mountain of snowwhite pillows heaped on the bed.

  The scarlet stain on his blue silk pajamas told her she was too late.

  Chapter Four

  The woman’s scream pierced the stillness of the night and opened a vein of terror feeding directly to Ben’s heart.

  “Laney!” he bellowed, running down the dark street toward the sound, his arms and legs pumping. Damn it, this couldn’t be happening. Which house? There were two here at this end—a large contemporary monstrosity shared the hillside with a cedar-log cabin. Ben pulled up short on the road, chest heaving, as the cold air burned in his lungs, and listened. Nothing.

  The scream had stopped.

  Ben couldn’t even let himself speculate on what that could mean. He’d already lost one woman he loved. There were more lights on at the log cabin, but Ben made a split-second decision and chose the monstrosity for its sheer, clamoring pretentiousness. Fear swelled in his throat as he pounded up the steep brick drive and leapt onto the front step. The damn house looked eerie. Hell, what was that? Candlelight glowing through the door?

  The melodic ripple of the doorbell made the skin crawl at the back of his neck. He couldn’t hear any footsteps. Ben banged on the door, then decided he couldn’t wait for niceties and opened the damned thing himself. It would suit him just fine if someone called the police. The door opened easily on silent hinges. A woman’s soft, broken sobs trickled down the stairwell into the cavernous foyer. He saw a pair of boots in a puddle of melted snow and Laney’s ski jacket draped across a carved chair.

  Ben’s stomach clenched with dread. If Reese had hurt her he’d...

  Caution heightened his senses as he stole across the foyer and took the steps two at a time, mindful that the stone treads could well be taking him to something he didn’t wish to see. A muted pool of light spilled onto the carpeted landing from an open door. Halfway up the staircase, Ben peered over the edge of the landing into the room and felt his knees turn to rubber. Laney was on the bed with a man, on her knees, leaning over him, her back to Ben. Ben didn’t have to guess who the man was. Laney’s near-hysteria told him it was Reese. Her shoulders shook as he heard her say between gulps, “I’m so sorry....”

  Ben closed his eyes for a second as grief exploded like a grenade in his chest. Reese was alive. He should be happy for Laney. Happy for Josh. Ben thought about walking out of the house and finding his car, which he’d left near the head of the road when he’d started going door-to-door, but he couldn’t leave Laney. Not yet. Not until he knew for certain Reese wasn’t in some kind of trouble.

  With a heavy heart, Ben mounted the rest of the stairs and called her name from the doorway. “Laney?”

  She whirled toward him in fright, her eyes wild. Ben looked from the bloody towel in her hand to the glass rod embedded in Reese’s chest. Ben’s body turned ice-cold despite the heat generated from the gas fire blazing in the corner fireplace. Reese was in trouble all right, and now they all were.

  Laney stared at Ben as if he were a ghost. She’d never needed anyone as much as she needed him right now.

  “Oh God, Ben, help me! Call 911. Maybe they can still save him.” Her hands trembled as she bunched the towel over the wound in Reese’s chest and bent over to breathe more air into his lungs.

  His skin was still warm, but she couldn’t find a pulse. Vaguely, Laney heard Ben’s anxious voice on the phone through the dense fog of fear enveloping her mind. Somehow she knew that no matter how many times she breathed air into Reese’s lungs, he was irrevocably gone from her. Why hadn’t she been more careful when she’d gone up the mountain this morning? Had he risked his life to come out of hiding to see her?

  Laney straightened and felt the comforting brush of Ben’s palm on her back as he joined her at the bed. “An ambulance and the police are on their way,” he told her, his fingers searching for a pulse in Reese’s neck. Her eyes met his and Laney knew the horror she was living was real because it was reflected back at her in Ben’s eyes.

  Reese was dead.

  The police? Oh, God, what was she going to tell the police? “It’s my fault,” she told Ben, feeling the hot glide of tears wetting her cheeks.

  “Wh-what do you mean it’s your fault?” Ben said tightly.

  She stroked Reese’s face. His fair hair had thinned at the temples in the last year and he combed it differently. How could he seem so familiar and yet a stranger at the same time? Her jaw quivered with the effort of trying to contain the emotions pummeling her heart. They’d missed so much in the last year.... Her chest ached with the hollow ring of renewed loss. Why had it come to this? “I think he canceled lunch because he saw you. If I’d met him then, this might not have happened. Someone else must have found out about this meeting.”

  “Laney, it’s not your fault. And if you had met him, maybe you’d be dead, too.” Ben’s bluntness was underscored by the wail of approaching sirens.

  Laney turned to him, numb with shock at the prospect of Josh growing up without her. Could Ben be right? Someone had killed Reese. Were she and Josh in danger now? “Oh, Ben, what am I going to do?”

  Ben’s arms slipped around her and drew her into the safe haven of his chest. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. We’ll get through this. Just tell the police everything you know...and for Pete’s sake, don’t tell them it’s your fault.”

  “LET ME SEE if I have this straight, Mrs. Dobson,” RCMP Corporal McBain said, incredulity sneaking into his tone. “Your husband
died here at Whistler in an avalanche over a year ago. But somehow he survived and sent you a valentine with an invitation to meet him for lunch today—only he doesn’t show up. Instead, a woman whom you meet in the ladies’ room—whom you can’t name—gives you an address and you show up, only to find your husband dead?”

  “I know it sounds like the plot of a TV movie, but it’s the truth,” Laney said, glancing warily at the large-boned officer dressed in gray corduroys and a navy fisherman’s sweater. McBain was a barrel of a man with a voice like a ringmaster that seemed to carry into the vaulted ceiling of the log cabin. She hoped Ben couldn’t hear him. Ben was in another part of the house with a constable. Laney was so distraught, she and Ben had been taken to the house next door—the log cabin being the home of a friend of someone on the force. A forensics team from Vancouver had been called in to comb the house. A police dog had already been dispatched from Squamish and was conducting an outdoor perimeter search on the off chance Reese’s assailant had dropped something. Laney clutched the mug of lemon-scented herb tea the homeowner had thoughtfully made for her. “I have the valentine and the other letter to prove it back in my hotel room,” she insisted.

  “We’ll send someone back to your hotel with you to pick them up,” McBain replied. “Does the name Graham Walker mean anything to you?”

  She mulled it over for a minute, then slowly shook her head. The name didn’t ring a bell. “Should it?”

  Corporal McBain’s expression was infuriatingly bland as he pronounced, “According to the ID we found in the victim’s wallet, his name is Graham Walker.”

  “Graham Walker?” Laney frowned. “I don’t understand. Are you suggesting he wasn’t my husband at all, but a look-alike? Why would someone pretend to be Reese?”