Chapter 13 #2
“Anytime. I mean that. Anytime I can have you in my arms, I’ll take it.”
She looked down as her cheeks heated. “I don’t get to Denver that often, and I don’t know of any balls held in Aspen.”
“We can make our own.”
Alexis smiled. “I think that would be nice.”
After they arrived home, Peter walked her to her room.
“Stay here…in Denver…with me.” He took her hands in his.
Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head.
“I can’t, you know this. I have a life in Aspen that I’m not ready to give up.
Horace may have beat me this time, but I won’t let him win.
That is what I’d be doing if I stayed here.
I’m sorry. I’ll stay for the ten days like we planned, but no longer.
” She stepped back into the room and closed the bedroom door.
Then she walked over to the bed and removed her dress, all the while, tears ran down her cheeks.
Alexis stayed for the ten days she promised she would. Then she was ready to go home. She found Peter in his studio. She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Peter.”
“Hmm.”
“We need to talk.”
“Okay.”
“Will you turn around and talk to me?”
“I’m listening.” He was painting and in the zone. When he was like that it was hard to get through to him.
“You’re not listening.” She pounded on his back. “Peter, it’s time for me to go home. We told the sheriff we’d only be gone for ten days. It’s been ten days. I’m ready to go home.”
“Okay.” He continued to paint.
Alexis threw her hands up in frustration. “Fine.” She stalked from the room and walked upstairs to pack.
The next morning she went down to the kitchen with her bags. She’d written Peter a note last night and wanted to leave it where it would be found.
Veronica was in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee.
Alexis set down her bag. “Can you spare a cup for the weary?”
She didn’t say anything, just poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Alexis, then she got a spoon and the half-and-half from the fridge, setting them both on the island.
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m leaving?”
Veronica shook her head. “You have your luggage, so that you’re leaving is a foregone conclusion. Why isn’t Peter going with you?”
“He’s painting.”
“Ah.” Veronica nodded. “He does tend to forget everything and everyone when he gets into that zone.”
“Well, he’s in the zone. I’m not even sure he’s sleeping at all.”
“If he is getting any sleep, it’s on that old couch in the studio.
You can’t do anything to get him out of that zone when he’s there.
” She reached over and placed a hand on top of Alexis’s where it sat on the counter.
“It’s not that he doesn’t want to be there for you.
He just can’t right now. Wait for a few days and he’ll be right as rain. ”
“I can’t. He knows where to find me, if he wants to.”
Alexis returned to Aspen. She oversaw the rebuilding of her gallery and had never been more miserable in her life.
This is where I belong, she told herself every night before she cried herself to sleep.
I could never fit into Peter’s world. The ball proved that.
While I had fun, and it was nice being Cinderella for a night, that’s all it was.
One night. How could I do that all the time?
I couldn’t. I’d hate it and I’d resent Peter for making me do it.
I don’t want that. I love him too much, to be a pain in his side.
And when it really comes down to it, I’m not willing to give up my dreams in order to live in his world.
Two months later
Peter stayed mostly in his studio, trying to lose himself in his art, but he couldn’t.
He painted Alexis. Her face smiling at him.
Exhilaration as she was fitted in the dress for the ball.
At the ball as they danced. He remembered every smile and every laugh.
He’d never been as happy as he was that night when he held her in his arms. He never wanted to let her go, but he hadn’t any choice.
When he’d awakened that morning, ten days after the ball, he found the dress she’d worn was spread out on her bed and she was gone. She’d stayed the ten days she promised and then, when he tried to get her to stay, she left him and went back to Aspen.
He’s rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“She’s gone,” said Veronica. “She called an Uber and left about five o’clock this morning. She me this note for you.” She handed him a folded piece of paper.
He walked to the table and sat. His hands shook as he opened the note.
Peter,
I couldn’t stay. You know that. I had a wonderful time with you.
A vacation from my real life, but that’s all it was.
I would never fit into your world, probably filled with more balls and charity events than I can even imagine.
My life is in Aspen, at my gallery. It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember and I can’t give it up, no matter how much I love you.
Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.
Alexis
His pulse pounded in his head as he slammed his fist onto the table. “She loves me. Veronica, she said she loves me, but how can that be true if she left me?” Didn’t he mean more to her than that?
Veronica let out a deep breath and stopped kneading the bread she was getting ready to bake.
“Sometimes it’s easier to let go of the person we love than let go of our dreams. While you were painting, she and I spent quite some time together.
She’s had the dream of her own gallery since she was a child.
She told me how much it meant to her. It was her whole life and after her husband died, it was her only reason for living.
You can’t expect her to give that up. And she would be if she moved here.
She’s only known you for a few weeks and yes, she might love you, but it’s not enough,” she lowered her jaw and looked at him. “Especially when you don’t love her.”
“How do you know I don’t love her?” How do I know if I love her?
“Do you? Can you stand there and tell me that you love her enough to do whatever it takes to be with her? Can you give up flying to Hawaii for a showing during her busy season? Or flying to Cannes like you have been for the last two years?”
“I…I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”
“Well, when you know, you come see me.” She went back to the bread she’d been kneading.
Peter sighed, took the note and went to his office. Do I love her? Why don’t I know?
Even after all this time, as miserable as he was, he wasn’t sure. What if she had learned she didn’t love him?
And why was he being so selfish? Did he love her?
Yes. A resounding—yes! Why had it taken him so long to realize it?
Did he have to make himself miserable first?
Was he some sort of closet masochist? He must be if he put himself through all of this, when he could have just gone to her.
But what if it was too late now? He was meeting with A.J.
today and he would leave for Aspen after that.
He had to know if A.J. had found anything to use against Beecher.
After that he was out of there. He went upstairs to pack.
When he was done, he brought the single bag downstairs and left it at the bottom of the staircase. Then he went to his office to wait on his P.I. And to pray that he found something to take Beecher down.
A.J. Watson drove up to the home of Peter Kincaid.
The mammoth three -story log home was no less than what he expected given Peter’s wealth.
Though he’d worked for Peter before, he’d usually met him in Denver at his art studio when he was in town.
He’d met him in Aspen, last, but that was an unusual circumstance.
Given the size of this property, A.J. had to wonder why he needed an art studio in Denver.
The door opened and a small dark haired woman stood there.
“May I help you?”
He nodded. “I’m A.J. Watson. I have an appointment with Peter Kincaid.”
She smiled and took his right hand with both of hers. “Oh, come in. Please, come in. I’m Veronica Chase, the housekeeper.” She finally released his hand and stepped back so he could enter.
The first thing he noticed was the size of the foyer. It was huge and the chandelier was also huge to light the entire room. And it was a room, or at least it was the size of one. A.J. could have fit his entire bedroom including his king-sized bed in there beneath the shining chandelier.
“I am supposed to show you to his office when you got here. Please follow me.”
She took off at a fast clip for being someone with such short legs.
A.J. was hard-pressed to keep up even with his long legs.
They walked down a long hall and suddenly made a sharp right. About ten feet down this new hall was a closed door.
Veronica knocked once and then opened the door. “Mr. Watson is here to see you.”
“Show him in,” he heard Peter say.
Veronica stepped out and to the side of the hall. “Peter will see you now. Can I get you something to drink? Iced Tea? Coffee? Bourbon?”
A.J.’s mouth dropped open.
Kincaid chuckled. “Bring us both coffees, please, Veronica.”
She nodded. “Sure. Be right back.” She exited down the hall but left the door open.
A.J. stepped into the room. Peter pointed at a chair in front of his desk, then leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled over his stomach. “So, Watson, what have you found out? Anything useable?”
“Yes, sir. I believe so. I found record of a phone call between Horace Beecher and one of the perpetrators from not even five minutes before you arrived to give Beecher his alibi.”
“How did you find that?” Peter leaned forward and picked up a pencil on his desk.
Watson smiled. “You don’t want to know. Plausible deniability and all that.
Anyway, Beecher has the habit of recording his telephone conversations.
All of them. That’s unfortunate for him but very good for us.
I made copies of his flash drives with the recordings from the entire six-week period in question.
Both from before and after you arrived until Ms. Armstrong returned from Denver.
There was something that I found exceedingly odd.
Even though her gallery is being rebuilt, Horace seemed surprised that she had returned to Aspen after only ten days. ”
“What do you mean he seemed surprised? What did he do?”
“That’s the thing.” He crossed the ankle of one leg over the knee of the other.
“He went to the sheriff’s office and reported her.
They have been trying to keep it under wraps, but I think they were trying to pin the fire and the murder on her, but they can’t find the evidence to do so.
That’s because there isn’t any evidence.
I know from the phone conversations that Horace is the one who ordered the gallery to be torched.
As for the woman’s murder, he was angry.
From what I could gather, his men did that on their own.
Although, I don’t think that will make much difference to the prosecutor or the judge. ”
Peter’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw. “Do you think the sheriff is honest? Can we trust him with the evidence?”
“Only if I make a backup, which I’ve already done, and make sure he knows it will be going to the prosecutor’s office. Apparently, they have no love for each other.”
“Then let’s do it. I’ll call and get the plane set to go. It should be ready by the time we get there. Come on, I’m driving.”