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Date Posted: 03:33:47 04/15/03 Tue
Author: dqfan
Subject: Re: Ghosts - ch.31
In reply to: dqfan 's message, "Re: Ghosts - ch.30" on 16:12:30 04/14/03 Mon

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE


With her head pounding from Janet's musical selections, Sophie returned to her hotel room grateful for the silence - and the fact that she still had her clothes on.

Exhausted, she swallowed a few aspirin, plopped onto the bed, and reached for the sports bottle of water she'd left on the nightstand.

At 7:30, the day was still young.

Her morning so far had been quite illuminating. She'd reacquainted herself with Dolores; learned that Gus had experienced a disastrous first love; and, discovered that Ivy's diminutive exterior hid a will of steel, a craving for the spotlight, and a deep resentment toward the male population as a whole.

She'd also perfected the turn and peel, the hair toss, and something Janet called the shimmy, shimmy, shake. All in all, not bad for a half hour's work.

But, it was Ivy's diatribe against men that kept playing over and over in Sophie's head. Now, granted, Sophie had railed against the male psyche as recently as last night - Reggie and Peter's champagne ruse still fresh in her mind. But, for Ivy, the battle of the sexes seemed so very much more.

"Champagne…" Sophie uttered the word aloud and took a sip from her water bottle.

"That's what Ivy said…" she recalled, the conversation inexplicably nagging at her.

"What's wrong with a little champagne?" Although she and Peter stuck strictly to sparkling cider now, Sophie had always found that a few bubbles, of any variety, never hurt a romantic evening.

"And moonlit drives…" Sophie had nothing against those either. What was Ivy's problem, anyway?

"Slow dancing under the stars is good, too." If she and Peter hadn't been surrounded by over a hundred students when she proposed to him on the night of the Morp, there was nothing Sophie would have enjoyed more than a slow dance under the stars to seal their pledge.

Smiling broadly, Sophie began lifting the sports bottle to her lips once again. "Never had a five minute kiss," she chuckled, "but it sure sounds like fun…"

Abruptly, Sophie's hand froze in mid-air, the water in the bottle sloshing from the sudden halt.

"A five minute kiss…" Sophie was a million miles away now - or, more precisely, a few floors up.

"No… It couldn't be…" she whispered aloud, her fingertips brushing her lips.

But, maybe it could? It would make sense. But, how could she prove it? There would have to be a record somewhere. But where?

Suddenly, Sophie recalled Peter's reminiscences on his marriage to Chloe. "We got in on Friday, stopped by the county courthouse for our license…"

"County Courthouse…" Sophie's expression was a mix of astonishment and excitement.

"That's it!" she gasped, as she raced into Peter's room and rifled through the envelope containing Ben's belongings.

Her fingers shaking, Sophie anxiously hit re-dial on Ben's cellphone once again.

"Reno County Courthouse…" the voice answered.

"Hi," Sophie steadied her voice and sat down at Peter's desk. "Uh, I'd like to verify a marriage and divorce, please?"

"Yes, the names are Gus Leighton and Ivy Wilcox…" Desperately, Sophie tried not to sound too eager.

"No, no, I don't know the exact dates," she flustered. "Probably within the last, oh, ten years," she guessed.

The wait seemed interminable until…

"Uh-huh…Uh-huh…" Sophie scribbled a few notes quickly as the person spoke.

"And was there a settlement?" she asked with as much detachment as she could manage.

"Why am I asking?" Sophie felt a wave of panic surge within her. This was worse than losing her footing on the highest mountain climb.

Thinking fast, she took a deep breath and recovered. "Oh, sure…I'm calling from the…ummm…Horizon…Mortgage Company. Ms. Wilcox has applied for a loan with us and we need to verify any sources of outside income…"

"Uh-huh…" Sophie smiled as her fib achieved the results she'd hoped. "Delayed? Really? Three million or fifty-one percent? And that clause activates when?"

Sophie leaned back in her chair, a satisfied look creeping over her face.

"Thank you so much," she beamed, hanging up the phone.

"That's all I need to know…"

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Deciding that he'd been stood up by Gus, Peter was about to forsake the Tequila Trail when Sheriff Leroy Carter arrived, looking all business.

"Scuse me, Sir…" Leroy began solicitously. "I understand I can find Gus Leighton around here somewhere?"

Curious, Peter wondered exactly how Leroy would know that since he and Sophie and Gus and Ivy were the only people present when their running date was made over dinner last night.

Fairly certain the information had been exchanged during the late night huddle Reggie had witnessed, Peter, nevertheless, kept his suspicions to himself.

"Not at the moment," Peter stalled, hoping to keep Leroy talking. "Why are you looking for him?"

Leroy eyed Peter warily. Ivy had reassured him that her interest in Peter was purely monetary but still… "Didn't I see you in the courtroom the other day?" he drawled nonchalantly.

Leroy knew darn well that he had so Peter saw no harm in telling the truth. "Peter Scarbrow," he introduced himself. "Charity Lawson's nephew…"

Leroy nodded, holding some sort of official document tightly in his hand.

"Well, you'll be pleased t'know she's off the hook - for the Morrison murder, at least." Leroy pulled his pants up by the belt and rocked on his heels with unabashed satisfaction.

"How's that?" Peter knew better than to get too excited too soon.

"A fingerprint's been found at the crime scene," Leroy detailed, enjoying his job just a little too much.

"Really? Congratulations." Peter played to Leroy's vanity. "I should have known you'd catch the murderer. Who did it?"

"Can't say…" Leroy hedged, lowering his voice. "But the judge has reconvened yer aunt's bail hearing. She'll be free by tomorrow morning, most likely."

"Thanks for the information." Peter shook Leroy's hand, wondering just how much Ivy had instructed Leroy to divulge and how much Leroy had let slip through sheer arrogance and stupidity.

"You'll let me know if you see Leighton," Leroy demanded, taking a final look around.

Peter agreed without hesitation, but he couldn't help feeling this was another one of Ivy's tests. "Sure…no problem."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Reggie was standing sentinel at his concierge post when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ivy Wilcox walking across the lobby, past his station, to meet with a shady-looking character, partially obscured by a potted palm.

Carefully, Reggie inched closer. Pretending to place a few brochures for Cirque de Soleil on the tables nearby, he listened in on the conversation.

"It's in here? You're sure?" Ivy took a small letter-size envelope from the man and peeked in.

"Just shoot it into his chest," the man whispered, greedily counting the cash Ivy had just given him. "He'll be dead in seconds."

Blanching, Reggie quickly blended into the lobby crowd and disappeared, hoping to find Peter before it was too late…

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

After another few minutes, spent mulling over Leroy's surprise announcement, Peter was prepared, once again, to leave the Tequila Trail.

But, as he turned, Peter came face to face with a man bigger than any boulder on the trail. He wore a dark suit - undoubtedly just to prove he could withstand its weight, even in the Vegas heat -and in his ear was a communications device not unlike that of the secret service. Under his jacket, Peter glimpsed the shiny gleam of a revolver, handily close by.

Instinctively, Peter gulped, trying not to panic.

"Come with me…" the man said simply, in a tone that indicated the matter was not open for discussion.

"Actually, I was just on my way into…" Hopelessly, Peter tried anyway, until he felt the vice-like grip of the man's hand around his arm. The guy was a walking blood-pressure cuff…assuming Peter still had any left.

Deciding not to protest any further, Peter forced a smile. "Okay. Fine. Sure. Lead the way…"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Not far from the Tequila Trail, construction was ending on Gus' latest addition to the hotel. Scaffolding and machinery surrounded an access tunnel where workmen were busy putting the finishing touches on The Sahara Sands' River of Dreams. Designed primarily for the honeymoon crowd, the ornate subterranean level would feature a candlelit cruise past some of the most romantic spots in the world. Paris…The Pyramids…The Taj Mahal.

Plagued by neighboring competition, but lacking the space or funds for any sizeable expansion, Gus had considered his tunnel idea to be pure genius. Unable to build any further up or out, he would create an enchanting, magical, world below. There, amidst the flickering lights, soft music and gently lapping waters, quaint, picturesque gondolas - floating a discreet distance apart - would transport each couple from one elaborate fantasy world to the next. Whether or not the couples enjoyed the scenery or each other was entirely up to them…

Later today, the emergency exit would be secured. And tomorrow, several thousand cubic feet of water would be pumped into the tunnel, establishing the hour-long route, which would be ready for guests by the end of next month.

It was into this fairytale world, that Peter was lead, through the maze of construction, until he and his tour guide traversed a narrow walkway painted to look like a boulevard in Paris. Brusquely, he was shown to a seat on one of the wrought irons benches overlooking the canal, perfectly placed there to complete the mood.

From where Peter sat, an illuminated Notre Dame and the Monmartre steps were but a stone's throw away.

"Nice view," he commented to his less-than-talkative companion.

In reply, a familiar voice surprised Peter. "Not bad for a basement, huh? 'Beneath the Sahara Sands Lies a River of Dreams…' Just wait til the water and the music get piped in. The women are gonna love it."

"Gus!" Uselessly, Peter squirmed in his captor's grasp. "What the Hell!"

"Sorry, Peter…" Gus had entered via the staff elevator, the only elevator currently in service to the construction level. He was still wearing the pants and shirt he had on last night. His jacket was slung over his shoulder and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. "There was no other way."

"No other way except for Lurch here to kidnap me?" Peter motioned to the big guy behind him.

"His name's Bruno. Don't hurt his feelings," Gus warned ominously. "He's very sensitive…" he whispered, nodding for Bruno to release Peter.

"Nice to meet you, Bruno." Somewhat underdressed for this little gathering, Peter smoothed his t-shirt and composed himself quickly.

"What are you up to, Gus?" Peter demanded answers.

"You want Charity free and I can help you," Gus offered casually. But, Peter wasn't buying it.

"Let's try this…" he countered, vehemently. "You're running scared and YOU need my help."

"Okay, that, too," Gus admitted with a wry smirk.

"So, who are you running from?" Peter asked pointedly.

Gus shook his head and grimaced. "Can't tell you…"

Peter placed his hands on his hips and stared Gus down. "How 'bout if I guess? Leroy Carter."

Gus couldn't hide his surprise. "How'd you know that?"

"Because I ran into him on the Tequila Trail less than fifteen minutes ago," Peter revealed. "He was hunting for you - with something that looked suspiciously like a warrant clutched in his hand."

"Shit!" Gus' anger burst. "I knew it!"

"He say why?" Gus asked, taking a deep breath.

"Fingerprint found in Stanley's office…" Peter told him plainly.

"Fingerprint?" Gus thought for a moment and then it hit him. "The glass… Damn her!"

Peter was growing tired of this one-sided exchange of information. "You wanna tell me what's going on? Or are you planning on adding kidnapping to the murder charge Leroy's about to hang on you?"

Gus' brow creased. "If I tell you," he bargained, "we work together - as a team. Agreed?"

Peter didn't trust Gus Leighton as far as he could throw him - or Bruno. What if this was just some kind of a trap to see how much Peter actually knew? Or what if Gus really had killed Stanley? Charity obviously hadn't done it, and Gus was as good of a suspect as anyone. If Peter helped him, he'd be aiding and abetting.

Nervously, Peter considered Sully's advice. Sure, he'd be a fool not to accept Gus' help if the offer was genuine. But, Sully knew Hank a whole lot better than Peter knew Gus. Could he honestly count on Gus not to betray him in the end?

With a heavy sigh, he realized there was only one sure way to find out…

Peter shook Gus' hand and nodded.

"Agreed."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

With Bruno protectively standing watch, Gus and Peter sat side-by-side at the edge of the dry canal bed, their legs dangling over the open pit.

"I was working security at an art gallery in Reno," Gus explained briefly. "Mel Bingham used t'come in all the time whenever he was in town. He'd buy a painting or two. We'd talk…"

"Mel Bingham?" Peter didn't recognize the name.

"Last of the old-time casino czars," Gus smiled proudly. "Mel was one of a kind."

"Everything was going great until…" Gus stopped, a wry chuckle escaping him as he observed the Paris landscape. "What was it Bogie said? 'Mister, I met a girl…'"

Curious, Peter leaned back on his elbows and listened.

"She came into the gallery one day with a painting she wanted appraised. The owner offered her a fair deal but she wouldn't sell. Said it was a family heirloom. They started talking - boy, could she talk - and the next thing I knew she'd managed to talk herself right into a job, as the gallery's new receptionist."

"Oh, she was beautiful…full of fire," Gus recalled vividly. "Kept her heart locked tighter than a steel drum, but I could tell how much she wanted to be loved. It was in her eyes every time she looked at me."

"I did love her," Gus admitted softly. "So much so that I married her."

"And we were happy, I thought, until…" Gus stopped short.

"Until?" Peter pressed, wanting to hear the rest of the story.

"Until Mel offered me a job as security chief at his casino." Gus stood and began to pace.

"It was the chance of a lifetime. I couldn't pass up an opportunity like that."

"I didn't want to," Gus said angrily. "Not even for her."

"She didn't want to move?" Peter guessed at the problem.

Gus shook his head. Peter had it all wrong.

"She didn't want me working for a casino," he explained. "It was like she heard the word and she snapped. Said Mel was gonna turn me into all the others. That I'd be no better than Hank - whoever he was."

Peter sat up straight, all the pieces finally starting to fit. The woman Gus had married in Reno was Ivy.

Reno… Silently, Peter recalled the courthouse number Ben had last dialed. Somehow, Ben must have found out about their marriage.

"The marriage was a threat…" Peter mumbled Ben's words.

"You can say that again," Gus responded to Peter's musings.

"You're divorced right?" Gus asked, as Peter nodded, choosing to preserve his and Sophie's cover for now.

"She get everything?" Gus probed cynically.

Sadly, Peter recalled the millions he'd squandered during his first marriage. He hadn't been in any shape, physically or emotionally, to challenge Chloe. She'd taken it all and he hadn't even cared.

"Wasn't much left to get," he replied with a shrug, "but, yeah."

"Man, she went after me like a shark to blood," Gus railed. "Any love I thought she felt… It didn't just turn to anger, it turned to hate, vengeance, something so ugly…"

"She demanded a small fortune in alimony - money that I just didn't have," Gus detailed. "And when I refused, she threatened to tell Mel that I beat her."

"Mel was an old-fashioned guy. Believed in treating a lady right. As fond as he was of me, I wasn't sure he'd believe my side of the story."

"For a woman who hated casinos," he noted with irony. "She placed a helluva bet."

"Bet? How?" Peter asked.

"She offered to let me off the hook for ten years - no checks, no demands, she'd disappear from my life, just like that."

"And at the end of the ten years?" Peter cringed, certain Gus had, indeed, made a deal with the devil.

"I'd pay her three million in cash or fifty-one percent of everything I owned." Gus slumped onto one of the benches, fully aware of his predicament.

"Yow…" Peter whistled. Ivy made Chloe look like an angel.

"Back then, I'd have been happy not to see her for a day, let alone ten years. So I figured, what the hell? I could always get lucky. Maybe she'd fall off a cliff or something. If not, she'd get my car and some cash, same as she would've gotten before - fifty one percent of nothing…"

"Even drunk, I could never have imagined all this." Gus waved his hand over the grandeur he'd created.

"But, she did." Gus still couldn't believe it. "I s'pose, in the end, she had more faith in Mel's love for me than I did."

In Gus' soft regret, Peter suddenly gleaned the truth. "You didn't win the hotel in a poker game, did you?" he delved, suspecting otherwise.

Admittedly, Gus shook his head. "Mel died of a heart attack five years ago. In his will, he called me 'the son he never had.' He left me everything."

"The casino'd gone bust, but the land was worth plenty. I sold some and rebuilt on a smaller scale. Only the finest, though…Mel would have wanted it that way."

"So, now you owe Ivy three million dollars." Peter stated the facts.

"Did I say Ivy?" Gus queried, his eyebrow raised in subtle admiration. Underestimating Peter Scarbrow was a mistake he wouldn't make again.

Peter just smiled innocently. "Go on…" he urged.

"Go on? What more is there to tell? I can't come up three million in cash!" Gus lamented, punching the cold wrought iron out of sheer frustration.

"Sure, the Sands is a success but I have bankers, contractors, employees to pay. All my money is tied up in the hotel. It's all I've ever worked for."

"And Ivy will own 51 percent." Peter saw Gus' problem quite clearly.

"Over my dead body…" Gus vowed. But, would it actually come to that?

"How does the painting figure into all this?" Peter still wasn't sure.

"A few months ago I get a phone call from Ivy. Hell calling collect," Gus quipped. "Said she'd found the answer to all her dreams - and a way out of my nightmare."

"All I had to do was pretend to buy that stupid painting and she'd relinquish any right to the hotel. Said she had a buyer lined up who'd pay dearly, especially if they thought someone else wanted it."

"Pay dearly…" Peter mulled over the phrase. Without a doubt, Ivy intended from the very start that Charity would pay dearly.

And she'd had Charity pegged perfectly. A lowly shill purchasing the painting would have immediately aroused Charity's suspicions. But a wealthy casino owner who reminded her of granddaddy Hank…there'd be no telling how much she would have paid.

But, then, what went wrong? Undoubtedly, if Ben hadn't pretended to be married to Charity, the portrait would have changed hands more simply. Still, from what Gus had told him, Peter doubted Ivy ever had any intention to sell the sketch. It obviously meant too much to her. She had been using it as bait, Peter realized, nothing more.

But was Charity's money all that Ivy was after? No, Peter felt certain Ivy saw dollar signs whenever she looked at him, too. And what about Gus? Would Ivy really let him off the hook that easily?

"Do you think she killed Stanley?" Peter sought Gus' opinion.

Gus paused for a moment and then shook his head. "My bet is the Sheriff. Ivy doesn't like to get her hands dirty if she can help it."

"And what if she can't help it?" Peter feared.

Gus' silence said it all.

Suddenly, Peter remembered Sophie's plan to join Ivy at Janet's exercise class. Maybe it had been a mistake for him to leave her.

"I've gotta go…" Nervously, Peter shot to his feet.

"What's wrong?" Gus asked, confused.

"Uh, I was supposed to meet Ivy after her morning exercise class," Peter lied, unwilling to say more just yet.

Gus looked at his watch and smirked. "She should be down to her thong by now…"

"Huh?" Peter eyed him quizzically.

"Strippercise. Janet teaches 'em how to strip," Gus replied. "Not that Ivy ever needed lessons."

"You're kidding?" The look on Peter's face was priceless.

"Don't take my word for it," Gus said wryly, "I'm sure she'll be happy to show you."

"Gus, Ivy and I aren't…" Peter felt he should explain.

"Hey, none o' my business what she does," Gus shrugged. He'd closed that door a long time ago. He thought he'd closed his heart then, too, until Sophie Becker came along…

"I still love my wife," Peter said simply. "If she'll have me."

"Better not let Ivy hear you say that." Ominously, they both considered Ivy's wrath.

Just then the loud crackle of static in Bruno's earpiece punctured the quiet. "Yeah, I read ya…hold on a minute…" Bruno instructed.

"What is it?" Gus asked him, startled.

"One of the concierges is down at the construction entrance," Bruno reported stonily. "Screamin' his head off, yellin' Fargo or Frisco or…"

Helplessly, Peter closed his eyes and hung his head.

"Fresno…"

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