Too Far Under

by Lynn Osterkamp

  I teared up a little at the love and sympathy I felt from Pablo. He knew me so well and he’d known Gramma before the Alzheimer’s hit, so he could really understand what I was going through and how much I was worried about her.

  “No,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I don’t think any of that will help. Elisa says the developer who’s buying the place—his name is Hugh Symes—has been trying to get his hands on that land for years. Apparently he’s not the sympathetic type who’d care that he’s displacing a bunch of old people.”

  “You’ve got that right. Symes is one of those guys who does what he wants and then later says, ‘Oh did I run over your foot? Well you shouldn’t have been standing so close to my car.’” Pablo suddenly swerved off into a turnout where we could look at the trees back down the valley. We got out of the car, Pablo gave me a big hug, and I kind of collapsed on his shoulder for a minute. Then we turned arm-in-arm to the stunning display of leaves below, oohing and ahhing like tourists.

  When we were back in the car driving along the highway again, I asked, “So you know Hugh Symes?”

  Pablo clenched his teeth and tightened his face in that way he does when he takes a dim view of someone or something. “More like I know about him,” he said grimly. “There are lots of nasty Symes stories out there. Like last year he was getting ready to build on some land he owns when the animal-rights activists started protesting that he was going to be destroying prairie dog burrows and that those prairie dogs had to be relocated before he could build. You know Boulder has those laws against killing prairie dogs or damaging their burrows unless you have a permit. Well, those permits aren’t easy to get. First, you have to make what they call reasonable efforts to relocate the prairie dogs to an approved site.”

  “Who approves it? The prairie dogs or the city? Do the prairie dogs insist on mountain views like everyone else in Boulder?” I’m not unsympathetic to wildlife preservation, but sometimes the way we talk about issues in Boulder can be so holier-than-thou I can’t resist poking fun. Plus I wanted to see if I could get Pablo to lighten up.

  I succeeded. His face relaxed and he laughed. “Very funny, Cleo. Maybe you’re more like Symes than you think. Anyway if developers can’t get the prairie dog colony moved, they can apply for a permit to use lethal control, but the permits can take more than a year to get after all the reviews and cost thousands of dollars, and Symes didn’t want to mess with all that. He just wanted to get on with his development.” Pablo shook his head and took on that disapproving look again. “Somehow some of his workers plowed the burrows under, which Symes later said was all a big mistake, that he wasn’t there when it happened, the workers didn’t speak English, yada yada yada.”

  I shook my head right along with him at that point. “Wow! Power triumphs again! Didn’t the city do anything about it?”

  Pablo gave an exasperated sigh. “One of Boulder’s local activists was pushing the city attorney into filing criminal charges against him, but then she drowned in her hot tub and I guess the other people in the prairie dog group didn’t feel like pursuing it, so Symes got away with it.”

  Wait a minute! I gasped and almost grabbed Pablo with both hands as I tried to digest this stunning news. But even in my agitated state I realized that pouncing on him physically wasn’t a good move while he was negotiating mountain curve. Instead I pulled back and screeched at him. “Drowned in her hot tub! Was that Mirabel Townes?” How did this woman’s name keep popping up? Could Tyler be sending me hints?

  “Right,” Pablo said. “Did you know her?”

  I could have just said, “No, I don’t know her,” and left it at that, which probably would have been better, but I decided to go ahead and tell him about Lacey’s issues. I took a deep breath and said, “No, I never met Mirabel Townes, but her daughter Lacey is in my class and yesterday she told me she and her younger sister think someone pushed Mirabel under and drowned her. They want me to help them contact her to find out what happened.”

  “What?” Pablo turned to face me and nearly slammed into the back of a car that had slowed down to take in the view. His good mood had taken a definite nosedive this time. “Dammit, Cleo. I thought you had enough of that last summer when you almost got yourself killed.”

  I knew he didn’t want me getting involved with another possible murder. But I’m an adult and bottom line I get to make my own choices. So I didn’t give an inch. “Back off, Pablo,” I said. “You’re going to kill both of us if you don’t pay more attention to your driving.”

  But he didn’t back off. He scowled and said, “How about you don’t smack me with ugly news while I’m driving then?”

  What happened to enjoying the day? I took a calmer tone “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I was just telling you what Lacey said to me, what she asked me to do. Why do you have to react so fast and get all bossy and overprotective?”

  “Cleo, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but I don’t want you in danger either.”

  “I hear you,” I said. “And I know your concern comes from caring about me, but I have a lot to consider in this situation. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet, so can we let it go for now?”

  “Okay, Cleo,” he said with a sigh. “I hope you use good sense making your decision, and I don’t want to talk about it now either. We’re almost to Estes, so how about we head straight for the park so we can get in a hike before the wedding. We could both use some exercise to work off our stress.”

  I agreed, so we went right through the town of Estes to Rocky Mountain National Park, home of some of the most fantastic mountain scenery in the world. It’s only an hour from Boulder, but I don’t go there nearly as often as I wish I did. It’s one of those places people come from all over the world to see, but because I know it’s right next-door—well, you know how that goes.

  October is elk mating season at the park so there were lots of elk and tourists everywhere. We stopped briefly at Moraine Park to watch some male elk butting heads, each trying to win the right to mate with a nearby female elk. As I watched, I couldn’t help but think that while facing conflict head on may be violent, it has the advantage of being clean and quick.

  We sat silently as we drove on along the curvy Bear Lake Road to the Glacier Gorge parking lot where a popular trail leads along Glacier Creek to Alberta Falls, less than a mile each way. I wanted to focus on the scenery, but I couldn’t get the Townes family out of my head. I truly didn’t know what to do about Lacey and Angelica Townes’ suspicions about Mirabel’s drowning. Tyler had been—for him—very clear about what I should do. And Tyler is a determined spirit who finds ways to get me to follow his directions. But if Lacey is a drama queen and Angelica some sort of precocious psychic kid, Elisa might be right about them being trouble for me. And—despite what Pablo might think—I’m not looking for trouble.

  Plus, it had only been twenty-four hours since I’d found out that I had to find a new place for Gramma to live, and apparently I’d have to act quickly. So should I start with that and put other unpleasant stuff out of my mind?

  As we hiked along the creek, I played a game I sometimes use, where I mentally toss my problems into the creek and let them pitch and bob along beside me. It helps me prioritize, as in my mind’s eye I see some issues sail to the front while others barely remain afloat. I know, it sounds like Tyler-the-surfer has gotten to me with his water imagery, but trust me, I was doing this long before he showed up.

  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.”

  Chapter 7

  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.

  Chapter 8

  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.