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Date Posted: 03:13:43 04/03/03 Thu
Author: dqfan
Subject: Re: Ghosts - ch.10,11,12 & 13
In reply to: dqfan 's message, "Re: Ghosts - ch.7,8 & 9" on 03:11:27 04/01/03 Tue

CHAPTER TEN

"The bullet punctured his spleen," the doctor informed Sophie as they stood at Ben's hospital bedside. "We had to remove it. He's been drifting in and out of consciousness. The next few days will be critical…"

"Could I sit with him for just a few minutes, please?" Sophie begged. "It would mean so much to…"

Sophie paused, remembering to keep up the charade. "It would mean so much to…his wife."

"Of course," the doctor agreed succinctly, keeping his opinions to himself about a woman, who would dare to shoot her husband and then ask after his health.

Quietly, Sophie pulled a chair closer so she could whisper in Ben's ear. "Hey, there, Sheriff…" she began hesitantly, not sure what to say.

The sight of Colorado Springs' burly sheriff lying so pale and lifeless gave Sophie the shivers.

Suddenly, Ben's eyes fluttered and his voice croaked hoarsely. "Charity…"

That her overture had actually evoked a response made Sophie jump clear out of her chair.

"Ben! Oh, it's so good to see you! Ben, it's Sophie…Ben, can you tell me what happened?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"Sophie…" Ben ran his tongue over his lips and tried to speak. "Peter, too?" he struggled to ask.

"Yes… Here, have a little water," Sophie offered gingerly, encouraging him to lift his head.

"Charity…" Ben choked on the liquid.

"She's fine…" Sophie reassured him, feeling it best to leave out that little part about Charity being in prison at the moment.

"Won't be…" Ben coughed violently. "Neither will Peter…"

"Peter? Why?" Sophie's heart began to pound wildly. "Ben? Ben? Talk to me…Tell me what's going on…Tell me what to do?"

Exhausted, Ben laid his head back down on the pillow. The room was spinning so much Sophie seemed to be in three places in front of him.

"Marriage…" Ben could barely speak. "A threat… See that now… The locket…"

"Threat? How? Ben!" Sophie placed her hands on Ben's shoulders and tried to focus his attention but it was too late. He had drifted back into unconsciousness, taking with him any hope Sophie had of discovering the riddle that lay before her.

^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Peter entered the lobby of The Sahara Sands Hotel. Opulent didn't begin to describe it. Cascading fountains and chandeliers made of the finest Austrian crystal glimmered everywhere. A bellman took his luggage before he'd even set in down; a cocktail waitress placed a complimentary martini in his hand; and, all signs pointed toward the casino entrance, just to Peter's right, awash in the sights and sounds of money and dreams changing hands in dangerous and intoxicating proportions.

Peter looked down at the chilled martini - his favorite drink, only a sip away - and his hand began to shake. How many times had he joked with Sophie that it was either the boxing bag or a martini for him when times got tough?

Frightened by the temptation to lose his problems in that glass, Peter deposited it hastily onto the nearest table, clumsily tipping it into the lap of a petite - and very beautiful - young woman, with jet-black hair, who had been speaking on her cell phone.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in shock.

Jumping from the lobby couch, the woman quickly ended her call and attempted to brush her dress dry.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Peter rounded the end table and came to her side. "Please, let me help you…"

"No, thank you, I'm fine," the woman replied curtly.

"Well, at least let me pay to have it dry cleaned," Peter offered gallantly. "I'm just checking in so I don't have my room number yet but if you just tell them to send the bill to Peter Scarbrow, Miss?"

The woman gave Peter a quick look, as if she were trying to judge his character. He was very good looking. And polite, too.

"Wilcox," she answered, with a smile, deciding to accept Peter's apologies. "Ivy Wilcox…"

Now, it was Peter's turn to pause. Somehow when Charity mentioned Ivy, Peter had envisioned a bookish curator in glasses. The Ivy Wilcox standing before him was anything but bookish! She was in her early thirties, Peter guessed, stylish, friendly…and very, very beautiful.

But, what was she doing here? And could he trust her? Peter grappled with the question. For all he knew, it was Ivy and not Gus Leighton who had led Charity into this mess. She seemed sincere. But, Ivy was Morrison's assistant. She might know more than she was saying. Or, she might be able to help. Either way, she was a piece of the puzzle.

While Peter wondered how best to play his hand, Ivy saved him the trouble.

"Scarbrow? As in Scarbrow Capital Investments?" she asked, suitably impressed by the name.

In a city of high rollers, where money and power were king, Peter couldn't choose a better cover for himself than the truth. He would be what, in fact, he was - the wealthy son of a wealthy man.

But, what was it to Ivy? Was she out hunting for a rich husband or was it something more?

"Yes…" Peter answered, offering as few details as possible, while trying to discover as much as possible. "Are you a broker, Miss Wilcox?"

"Oh, definitely not!" Ivy laughed warmly. "I run an antique gallery…Or, at least, my boss does, with my help, of course. One of our clients has found herself in a bit of trouble. I'm here to help if I can…"

Peter smiled at the woman's bubbly personality. She was quite delightful, and…more importantly, her story so far matched Charity's word for word.

"I only recognize the name because our gallery provided some of the art for Scarbrow Capital's New York offices," Ivy continued talking a mile a minute.

Easy enough to verify with Mark, Peter thought quickly. No con artist would concoct a lie that could be disproved with a single phone call.

More than a bit charmed, Peter took a leap of faith and decided to tell Ivy the truth.

"Your client who's in trouble," Peter began, watching Ivy's expressions closely. "It's why I'm here. She's my aunt…"

Once again, Ivy's apparent ability to talk without benefit of oxygen amazed Peter.

"Oh, my goodness, you're THAT Peter," Ivy seemed surprised. "Charity said you'd come. I'm so glad you're here. I feel just awful about what's happened. I never should have sold the painting before the end of the reception. But we'd had no other bids all night long and Stanley hadn't bothered to call me, so when Mr. Leighton made his offer…Now Charity's in jail and her husband's dying…and here I stand apologizing, when you've just arrived, and must be tired. Not that you look tired…You look perfectly fine to me…better than fine…"

Peter grinned at Ivy's compliments, nodding and waiting for a moment when it seemed that she was, at least, slowing in her recitation of the week's events, in order to interrupt…

"Why don't I go check in and then I'll meet you back here in an hour?" Peter suggested, hoping she'd heard him.

Evidently, Ivy had no trouble digesting incoming information as quickly as she expelled it and answered him easily. "An hour'd be fine."

"Great," Peter smiled, amused. "See you later then…"

With Ben's personal effects tucked safely in a small manila envelope inside her bag, Sophie entered via the hotel's side door, still contemplating what little Ben had told her. "The marriage was a threat…"

"Which marriage?" Sophie wondered. "Ben's supposed marriage to Charity? Her own marriage to Peter? Someone else's marriage?"

Sophie's mind raced. She had to talk to Peter. But maybe they shouldn't be seen together. If Ben had been attacked because of his claim to be married to Charity, could her own marriage to Peter prove harmful to their safety as well?

Sophie looked down at her left hand, her engraved wedding band and emerald engagement ring sparkling comfortingly up at her. Should she remove them, she wondered? Her head told her "yes" but her heart said "no." Whatever deceptions were necessary, she wouldn't remove her rings. That was final.

Approaching the lobby, Sophie watched with curiosity as a beautiful, and altogether too perky, younger woman gave her husband a long, cheerful, wave as he headed toward the registration desk.

"And will Mrs. Scarbrow be joining you?" the desk clerk asked solicitously.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter suddenly caught sight of Sophie. Camouflaged behind a potted plant, she was frantically shaking her head, "No."

"Uh…no…" Peter mumbled, confused. "I guess not…"

"Very good, Sir. That'll be room 2404," Sophie heard the clerk reply.

Peter took the card key and hesitated a moment, wondering what he should do next. Lacking the opportunity to speak with his currently concealed wife, Peter had no choice but to head to the elevator, making sure to match Ivy's still invigorated waving with a lackluster version of his own.

^^^^^^^

CHAPTER TWELVE

Suspicious, Sophie continued watching Ivy, curious to see her next move. She didn't have to wait long. For, with Charity's very handsome nephew returning in less than an hour, Ivy had only one mission. Less than a minute had passed before Ivy sprinted into the lobby's boutique, hoping to buy herself a new dress.

Finding the coast clear, Sophie approached the front desk.

"Sophie Becker, I'd like room 2406, please…" Sophie plunked down her credit card and smoothed her hair.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but that room isn't available," the clerk replied. "I can put you in room 2201…"

"No," Sophie shot back in a huff. "It has to be 2406…"

"I don't mind waiting," she added in a firm but nicer tone.

"Ma'am…" the clerk was not happy.

"You heard the lady," a deep voice retorted. "Now, don't keep her waiting…"

"But…Sir…" the clerk's complexion faded.

Sophie turned to see the man who had rescued her. He was tall and thin, in his mid to late thirties, sandy hair, cocky smile, and he had somehow managed to perfect the art of looking casual, even while wearing a tux.

"Welcome to the Sahara Sands," he greeted her charmingly. "I'm Gus Leighton, the owner…"

Unprepared, Sophie was positively speechless. The man before her didn't look like a killer. He didn't look at all like she'd expected - not that she was entirely sure what that was.

"Sophie…Sophie Becker," she finally stuttered, annoyed to find herself wondering how he'd look in jeans and a t-shirt.

If this was the enemy, war was hell.

"Pleased to meet you, Sophie Becker," he smiled. "Why 2406?" he asked cheekily.

"What?" For a moment, Sophie forgot her request. "Oh, uh…it's my birthday," she scrambled for something to say.

"You don't look like you were born in 1906," Gus flirted shamelessly, eyeing Sophie up and down.

"Well, no…" Sophie blushed, more from her feeble excuse than the compliment, although Gus' eyes seemed to see right through her.

"It's 6-24, June 24th…" she fibbed creatively. "But I like the view from the higher floors so I just reverse it."

"Makes sense…" Gus seemed to find Sophie's explanation quite endearing.

"And what brings you to the desert, Ms. Becker?" he delved, placing both hands on the desk, trapping Sophie in his sights.

Unfortunately, Gus' question had a familiar ring to it and, flustered, Sophie answered off the top of her head. "I came for the waters…"

Gus considered kissing her right then and there. "You were misinformed," he laughed broadly.

Sophie found herself laughing right along with him. So, he liked old movies. An admirable trait in a killer…

"Uh, the spa…" she covered nicely. "I mean, I came for the spa…"

"Well, we've got the best in the country," he boasted. "Why don't you let me show you around while you wait for room 2406?"

Gus repeated the room number with enough emphasis for the desk clerk to come smartly to attention. "Move the guest in 2406 to the Presidential Suite with my compliments…now."

"Yes, Sir, it'll be done in fifteen minutes, Sir."

"Make it ten…" Gus ordered, pleased as punch to be able to throw his weight around in front of such a captivating woman.

"Shall we?" Gallantly, Gus offered his arm to Sophie and when she took it, for the first time, Gus noticed her rings.

"Oh, is your husband…" Gus asked politely; yet, from the way he continued holding her hand, Sophie had the feeling it wouldn't have mattered much, even if she'd said "yes."

"We're separated…" And wasn't that the truth, she grimaced inwardly.

Gus nodded sympathetically and then added with the utmost reassurance, "Best kinda husband there is…"

^^^^^^^^^^

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Awkwardly, Peter settled into a suite so large he could assemble all of Horizon's graduating class in it and still have room to spare. From the marbled hallway, to the plush bedroom with its king-sized bed and balcony overlooking the Las Vegas Strip, the room reeked of excess. It was exactly the same excess that had sent Peter spiraling out of control, less than ten years ago - too much money, too much success, too much everything…

Beginning to feel sickened and trapped, Peter contemplated renting a motorcycle and driving out into the desert to clear his head. Before he could act on his impulse, however, he heard the faint sound of Sophie's voice entering the adjoining suite.

And she wasn't alone…

From the small bits of conversation he managed to discern, Peter could have sworn his wife had just made a dinner date with another man.

Soon, there was the muffled sound of a door closing, then a soft knock against the connecting panel between the two suites, and, finally, a whispered plea, "Peter, are you there?"

"I'm here…" Peter replied, opening the door.

"Who's the guy?" he asked, tilting his head toward the hallway.

"Now, don't get upset…" Sophie started defensively.

"Upset? That my wife has a date with another man," Peter asked, cranky.

"You heard?" Sophie was hoping to have broken it to Peter gently.

"Floor's marble but the walls are paper thin," Peter retorted. "Somebody should tell the owner…"

Sophie gulped and took her chance. "I'll mention it to him tonight at dinner."

"Oh, no…" Quickly, Peter's jealousy was replaced by out and out panic.

"That's Gus Leighton?!" he asked, stunned. "The Gus Leighton who may have shot Ben? The Gus Leighton who's responsible for Charity being in prison right this minute?"

Peter's tirade was reaching apoplectic proportions. "You are NOT going anywhere near him, Little Girl, do you understand me!"

During the past year, Sophie Becker had learned a great deal about the importance of compromise in a marriage, but if she lived to be a hundred, she would never adjust to the dictatorial tone in her husband's voice right now.

"Excuuuse me?" Sophie took a deep breath and gave Peter a look that could freeze lava.

After all, she was an educated, independent woman; and, she felt extremely confident that she could have one dinner with Gus Leighton in a hotel restaurant without ending up dead!

"You heard me…" Peter didn't budge. "He's a killer, Soph."

"He's a polite, charming man, who just took me on a very nice tour of his hotel," she countered sternly. "And we'll never know if he's a killer unless I learn more about him!"

"Besides," she added with a touch of bravado, "he knows Casablanca…"

Peter stood there, astounded by Sophie's penchant for jumping off a cliff, with or without a parachute.

"Oh, well, he knows Casablanca…" Peter scoffed sarcastically. What more was there to say?

"I just mean, that I don't feel threatened at the moment and neither should you," she soothed, softening her tone.

"I do not feel threatened," Peter lied, turning his back on her.

"Good," Sophie smiled, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"So," she whispered seductively in his ear, "you wanna tell me about the woman you picked up in the lobby?"

Peter chuckled low and spun around to face her. "That…" he explained, placing his hands firmly on her hips, "was Ms. Ivy Wilcox."

"Guess we're making progress in the investigation," she smiled, her fingers entwining in his hair.

"Divide and conquer…" Ben's words popped frighteningly into Peter's head.

Suddenly, Peter and Sophie were playing the same game Charity and Ben had begun. The thought sent chills down Peter's spine.

"We've got to be careful, Soph," Peter warned, seriously. "Really careful. We don't know how much they know about us. They could be setting us up, instead of the other way around."

"I know," Sophie nodded as they touched foreheads, both aware of just how dangerous this game could be.

"How's Ben?" he asked her, wondering how the hospital visit had gone.

"Weak, but holding his own," Sophie reported as they sat down on the bed. "He said something about 'the marriage is a threat,' and said you might be in danger, too. I got scared that maybe he meant our marriage and that's why I thought we should have separate rooms."

"Probably not a bad idea," Peter considered all Sophie had told him. "We might be able to learn more this way."

"I'd never do anything to hurt you, Peter," Sophie looked deeply into her husband's blue eyes, praying he'd known she meant both physically and emotionally.

"None of this makes any sense. Why would I be in danger?" Peter wondered aloud.

"Maybe the locket?" Sophie guessed, realizing immediately that she'd hit a nerve when Peter rose from the bed quickly.

Why would you say that?" Peter quizzed her sharply, his defenses rising once again.

"Ben mentioned it," Sophie answered freely, confused by Peter's wild mood swings.

"What did he say?" Peter demanded.

"Nothing…" she mumbled, frightened. "Just 'the locket.'"

"Peter, please, tell me what's wrong…" she begged and, for a moment, Sophie thought that he would.

"It's getting late," Peter covered, looking at his watch. "I need to shower and get downstairs to meet Ivy."

"Don't let Gus take you out of the hotel…" It was less of an order this time but his tone was still harsh.

Seeing Sophie's hurt expression, Peter offered a brief apology. "We'll talk more later…" he promised, still unsure if he could face the truth.

"Sure…" Sophie nodded, confused.

"Be careful, please, Soph," Peter begged. "I'll keep an eye on your table…"

"I'll be fine," she vowed, relying on the power of positive thinking.

But, as she stared at her husband as he headed off to shower and change, Sophie couldn't help feeling that she had more to fear from what Peter wasn't telling her than she ever would from Mr. Gus Leighton.

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