The Witness

By Craig Conrad

Paul Rice is asked once again to find a missing teenager. This time, it’s a pretty blonde female, and his search takes him to a resort town in upper Minnesota near the Canadian border where women have been disappearing and their male companions winding up drowned in the nearby Chenequa River. He finds Meriden to be a strange town with even stranger inhabitants who have a connection to a forty-year-old mine disaster, a famous horror writer who lives there, an unusual witness, and a helpful priest who has a hidden reason of his own for lending a hand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796096132

Craig Conrad

Author resides in Milwaukee. Wisconsin, has been hooked on mysteries and supernatural thrillers since reading his first H.P. Lovecraft novel. He has written twenty novels, fourteen of them are Paul Rice novels, his reluctant paranormal investigator, with cameo appearances in two others that feature two of his war buddies along with two Dutch Verlander stories, and a collection of short stories.

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Copyright © 2020 by Craig Conrad.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/20/2020

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Meriden, Minnesota 1982

Part One Promises

Beaver Falls, Wisconsin

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Part Two Rabbit Holes

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Part Three Shadows

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Epilogue

PROLOGUE

There is a witness everywhere.

—Fourteenth-century proverb

MERIDEN, MINNESOTA

1982

Life was old here. Older than the trees that grew thick and strong and tall to make the forest, as old as the dirt that covered their roots, as old as the life that crawled out of the rapid rivers and white water to live upon the land. The earth suckled the trees like a mother, and the forest grew immense, stretching wide across the lands of northern Minnesota and Wisconsin all the way into deep Canada where sections of its lands were penetrated along the fringes and became cleared, wounded, and pitted by man in search of coal. The coal mines cut deeper wounds into the earth and turned the clean air dusty and dark.

The First People, the Anasazi, believed that the earth was alive because it was the source of life; the earth was mother of everything that lived and moved. And they believed that all things had a spirit given to them by the Great Spirit Father. Through time, this knowledge was passed on to all tribes through word of mouth—to the Sioux, the Cheyenne, the Bird People (the Crow), and to all tribes of the plains and forests. Every brave knew that when he had to kill for food, he gave thanks to the animal for their sacrifice and ate of its flesh, adding the power of its spirit and strength to their own; thus, taking the deer’s swiftness, the bear’s courage, the mountain lion’s cunning, and every animal’s special power as now being one with them. The forest was much like the Indian. It took the spirit and strength of all that died within its realm, animal and vegetation alike, and added it to its own spirit and became stronger because of it. The forest was old, the Indians said, perhaps older than time, and had been a silent witness to all the struggles of life and death that went on endlessly within it—like it was witnessing now—as Elder was.

Elder stood on a small rise and watched the man below him as he tore through the forest like he was running for his life, but Elder could see nothing chasing him, and yet the man was terrified. Elder had seen such strange behavior in the forest before. Within the last two years, he had seen crazy men like this one on several occasions running away from something that Elder could never see. Maybe it was something that only they could see. Whatever it was that was after them always chased the men until they reached Indian Maiden Bluff.

The man, Chuck Perry, was heading straight for it now.

He couldn’t remember how he got here. It was hard to recall. There were only fragments of memory that flashed through his mind—like the bar they were drinking in, and then getting separated from Katlyn and Chang, and then a mirror, at least he thought it was a mirror. It hurt his head to think about it, to try and piece it all together. But he did remember the snakes. After the mirror, there was nothing but snakes, large man-eating ones that wanted to swallow him whole.

And they were growing larger. Chuck Perry could see them everywhere, hanging from the trees and crawling along the ground at incredible speeds. He didn’t know snakes could move that fast. They were gaining on him, and he had to move faster. He hated snakes; they made his skin crawl. He hated to look at them. Couldn’t stand to touch one or, heaven forbid, one to touch him. Those thoughts made him gag and want to throw up, but he didn’t dare stop, not for a second, not for anything, even though his legs felt like lead and he could barely lift them to take another step, but his fear was his strength, and it spurred him on.

One large one dropped down from a high tree branch, suspended by its tail, and lunged at him with a mouth big enough to swallow a cow whole, just missing his head. He screamed and fell down, struggled to get to his feet, fell again until he got solid footing, and tore through the forest.

He took a fast look behind him. He couldn’t see Katlyn or Chang. They were with him, weren’t they? He couldn’t remember. He thought they were, but they were nowhere in sight now. If they were behind him, he couldn’t wait. If he did, he knew the snakes would be all over him. Maybe the snakes got them already. That meant that he would be next; and that was an unbearable thought. He hurried on.

The forest was dense, he could barely see the moon through the trees and vegetation; the night air was cool, although his body was wet with sweat and dripped into his eyes, stinging them, and making it difficult to see. He staggered on, almost falling again, his heart and lungs nothing but a searing pain in his chest. Something swooped close over his head, probably another snake; it almost knocked him over. They were everywhere. He never saw so many, never knew so many were in the forest.

He fell to his knees again, and when he rose, he found he was on a high bluff and there was water below. He looked over the edge. It was at least a hundred-foot drop, maybe more. It was hard to tell in the dark, the only light coming from a fragmented moon reflecting off the water that he could hear running swiftly below him. He turned around and looked behind him again. The snakes were still there, still coming, even closer than before. They would be all over him in a matter of minutes. And there was still no sign of Katlyn and Chang. He turned and looked over the bluff edge again. Maybe he would be safe in the water. Anywhere would be safer than here—anywhere that the snakes couldn’t get him.

He hesitated for only a moment. He never thought about the height of the drop or what waited for him below—only that he would be safe from the snakes.

Without further thought, Chuck Perry leaped off the wooded ledge and fell to the racing water below.

Elder watched him fall. Indian Maiden Bluff had claimed another crazy man. And there would be another dead body for the humans to find and fish out of the river.

PART ONE

Promises

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

—Robert Frost

BEAVER FALLS, WISCONSIN

1

Beaver Falls didn’t have a hotel, but they did have a large motel on a major highway, sharing a huge parking lot with a Menards store next door. The motel was a two-story affair with a central building that housed the office, a bar, and a restaurant. The rooms were located in wings on both sides of the central building, which looked wet and shiny in the rain.

Paul Rice could see her through the large restaurant window. He hadn’t seen her in a year, but she was a very striking-looking woman and not easy to forget. She still looked good—a very tall, slender, attractive blonde with short hair and blue eyes and great legs. If she was nearly sixty, like her brother told him, you could never prove it by her appearance. He stepped out of the rain, skirted the office, and walked into the restaurant and approached the table where Claire Thayer-Prescott sat alone drinking a cup of coffee. She looked out of place, dressed expensively, as always, in a navy-blue designer suit-skirt with a pale-blue silk blouse that was open at the throat; those legs of hers, covered in taupe-colored nylons, were crossed, pointing into the aisle between the tables; the black high-heeled shoe of her upper leg dangled slightly from her heel. The restaurant was a step down from their last dinner at Pleasantville’s Ambassador Hotel Dining Room. But this is where she asked him to meet her.

Hello, Paul, she said, looking up.

Hello, Claire, Paul said, bending down and kissing her on the cheek.

That was nice, Claire said, but your navigation is off. My lips are a little more to your right.

Paul smiled. Let me try that again. He did and found her lips.

That’s much better, she said and smiled back at him. I see you found our little country oasis. Any trouble getting up here?

Paul took off his raincoat and folded it over the back of a chair and sat down. No. No trouble. Your directions were very good.

It’s not as long a drive as it is to Pleasantville, she said, but it’s still a drive. I’m glad you came. It’s nice to see you again. You look good. And he did—tall and lean and as handsome as the last time she saw him.

Nice to see you too, Paul said. And you always look good.

She smiled again, glad he noticed. I try. How long has it been, about a year, hasn’t it?

He nodded. Claire, he started, as I told you over the phone, I don’t think I’m right for this.

The waitress came over, and Paul ordered coffee.

Claire waited for her to leave. Where have I heard that before?

Paul started again, but she cut him off.

She uncrossed her legs and moved them under the table. Look, Paul. I know what you’re going to say. All I ask is that you talk to these people and then decide. Besides, if I thought you weren’t right for this, I would never have suggested it.

The waitress brought his coffee and left. Paul took a sip and nodded. Okay.

She gave him another smile. Thank you. I got you a room. Number eight. I’m next door in number nine. You have to register and pick up your key. Claire paused. How are Shela and Dallas?

They’re fine. How’s Merredith doing?

Better. But she still has problems. It would help if you could see her.

Paul drank more coffee. I can do that, he said.

Good, she said. I know she’ll be pleased to see you.

Paul wasn’t so sure. Maybe seeing him would bring back memories of her rape.

Where is this place we’re going? he asked.

Not far from here, she said. Beaver Falls isn’t that big.

She finished her coffee and waited for Paul to finish his.

We had better get going, she said. We’ll take my car.

Claire was right, Beaver Falls was a small town. The drive to the Ruskin residence took less than fifteen minutes. James Ruskin reminded Paul a little of William Bendix, when he played a more serious movie role. Amy Ruskin looked very much like an older version of her daughter, Katlyn—long blond hair, striking blue eyes, attractive features. Unfortunately, Paul could only make the comparison with a colored picture of Katlyn. She was missing.

She’s lovely, Paul said, handing the picture back to Amy Ruskin. How long has she been missing?

It’s going on three months now, Mrs. Ruskin said, her eyes beginning to tear at the memory.

The four of them were sitting in the living room. Paul and Claire on one small couch, the Ruskins opposite them on another, a coffee table between them. The rain seemed to have picked up in force; Paul could hear it lashing against the windows.

And this happened on a school outing? Paul asked.

Sort of, Mr. Ruskin said. Katlyn’s high school graduating class went up to Meriden to celebrate their graduation. Meriden’s a resort town with lots of water, rocks, and forest. He took his daughter’s photo from his wife, looked at it, and then set it gently on the coffee table. Her class came back, but she didn’t.

She the only one? Paul asked.

No. She was with her boyfriend and another friend, Mrs. Ruskin explained and started to cry, not being able to finish. Her husband put his arm around her shoulders.

Amy told me that Katlyn was with Chuck Perry, her boyfriend, and another boy, Chang Vue, Claire picked up the story. Authorities found the Perry boy’s body in the Chenequa River, which runs through Meriden. They concluded that he had been drinking and fell into the river and drown after leaving a local tavern.

What about the other boy? Paul asked.

Claire shook her head. No. His body wasn’t found. Nor Katlyn’s. Although the police believe that the three of them fell into the river.

And they still haven’t found anything? Paul said. That seems rather odd. Were the local cops the only ones looking into this?

Local cops, SIB from the state, FBI, the whole alphabet soup, Mr. Ruskin said. They all miraculously agreed that the three of them drowned.

And you don’t agree with that, Paul said. Why?

Because it’s too pat an answer. My daughter’s not the only one that disappeared in that town. There have been others. The boys always wind up in the river with always the same results—death by accidental drowning—but they never find the girls. That’s why I think there’s some foul play involved up there, regardless of what the authorities say. It just doesn’t seem right to me.

Did the three of them leave this tavern together? Paul asked.

Ruskin nodded. Yeah, some place called the Last Stop.

How appropriate, Paul thought, but only nodded.

We hired a private detective, Mrs. Ruskin said in a tight voice, after getting her tears and breathing under control, but he hasn’t turned up anything either.

Yeah, in fact, now he’s missing, Ruskin added. His partner, Dan Simson, said he hasn’t heard from him in over a week.

What’s this private eye’s name? Paul asked.

Carl Archer, Ruskin said. Do you know him?

No, I don’t.

They have an office in Milwaukee, Ruskin said. That’s how we found them. They were recommended by the Hmong family down the street. They knew a friend that knew a friend.

Before Paul could ask, Claire said to him, That’s Chang Vue’s family. They’re just as devastated.

Mrs. Ruskin gave Paul an intent but hopeful look. We’re running out of options and places to turn. Claire suggested that she knew of someone that could help us. She hesitated and her jaw trembled, her voice quivering with emotion when she spoke. Can you help find our daughter, Mr. Rice?

I don’t know, he said softly. He didn’t have the heart to discourage them, but he wanted to be honest.

Ruskin stared at Paul, while his wife turned her eyes to Claire.

Paul’s being much too modest, Claire said, shooting him a look. He solved a difficult situation for me in Pleasantville last year.

I heard about that, Ruskin said. Some sort of ritual killings up there.

Paul was silent, but Claire answered for him. Yes, some very bad people had a killing-cult going. Paul broke it up.

Can you . . . will you, help us, Mr. Rice? Mrs. Ruskin pleaded.

The local police aren’t doing anything, Ruskin said. They’re not very cooperative or friendly. No one seems to care.

The Ruskins had hope that their daughter could be found. Paul could see it in their eyes, in the tone of their voices, but he could also see a creeping uncertainty bordering on despair. Their belief was fragile, and they were clinging to it with all the strength and resolve that they had left. They were looking to him for comfort and reassurance that their belief was not hopeless. He could not deny them that, could not take that from them.

Paul looked at Claire and shrugged. I’ll try, he said and turned to the Ruskins. Let me have the addresses for the Hmong family and the private detectives.

2

Bobby Ruskin stayed out of sight and eavesdropped on the conversation going on in the living room from a nearby hallway. He could hear his parents retell the story of his missing sister to a new savior—a man named Paul Rice, whom Aunt Claire had brought into the Ruskin home. Claire wasn’t really his aunt but a close friend of his mother’s whom he had called aunt since he was old enough to talk. He knew she had meant well by bringing this man here, only Bobby hadn’t much faith in him. He looked and talked competent enough, more so than the detective who was here months ago and still hadn’t found his sister or turned up any evidence pointing as to what happened to her. Bobby wasn’t holding out much hope that this man would be any different. These people who were supposedly looking for his sister seemed to be just spinning their wheels and not really doing anything or making any progress.

Sure, the cops found Chuck Perry’s body in the river, and although he guessed that was some sort of closure for his family, it wasn’t much of a success. Chuck was dead. A big fat lot of good that was to find him that way. And a lot of good that was for Chuck. By the time the cops got off their asses, he was already dead. And Chang was still missing as well as Katlyn.

And Katlyn was more than his sister; she was his best friend, his confidant, and he was hers. Even though she was younger, she was very understanding and supportive. When he was down, she knew just what to say to raise his spirits. She sang his song when he needed to hear it, and he did the same for her. Through the years, they always stuck up for and stood by each other no matter what—he for her against Rose Ashely when she took Katlyn’s lunch money in the fourth grade; and she for him, when Billy Wheeler was saying some unkind remarks behind his back. Katlyn walked up to Billy on the school playground, called him a liar and a coward, and slapped him across the face. At the time, she was only in the sixth grade and Billy was in the eighth. It had always been like that between them. They were closer than close.

They talked and shared dreams. Hers was to be a veterinarian. She loved animals, always had, and always would. Even as a kid, she would bring injured animals home and nurse them back to health if she could. Sometimes, some of the animals she brought home were bigger than her, like the time she came home with the neighbor’s horse because it was limping. Bobby smiled at the memory. After high school, she was planning to attend the University of Wisconsin–Pleasantville’s School of Veterinary Medicine.

His dream was not as defined. He started out in college with the idea of becoming a chemical engineer. He was good in chemistry and math in high school, but the school he had attended had no lab facilities; consequently, when he got to college, he was lost. And after a year of school, that dream faded away, and so did his enthusiasm for the subject. So he switched over to journalism the next year only to find that after a short time, his attention was waning there too. After much thought, he decided to leave school for a while because he didn’t have the slightest idea what to do with his life. But now, he had only one thought, one purpose in mind, and that was to find his sister.

He didn’t think his sister was dead, or he would have felt something. They had always been tight and perceived things about each other. Being two years older, he was her big brother, her protector, her champion. He had stood up for her against school bullies and bitches, gave her comfort and protected her against evil—like Mr. Boogey, her imaginary monster, who would come out of her closet at night or crawl out from under her bed to frighten her when she was a child. She would climb into his bed crying and shaking, hugging him, afraid she would be carried off to Mr. Boogey’s lair. Not that much older or wiser, Bobbie never let on that Mr. Boogey frightened him too, his imagination running wild with all sorts of grisly thoughts. So he had to be brave for the both of them and not show any fear for her sake. Sometimes, that took all his nerve.

Now that they were grown up, there was a new Mr. Boogey who had crawled out from somewhere and was frightening his sister, carrying her off to some place he only knew.

And that knowledge was frightening him as well.

3

They drove back to the motel, and Paul looked up at the sign—The Paradise—and wondered how many of these establishments around the country claimed title to that name.

Claire parked her Mercedes in the slot opposite her room number and turned off the ignition. The rain had lightened for the moment and made runny water patterns down the windshield. The drive back had been without conversation.

Are you angry at me for getting you into this? Claire asked.

No, I’m not angry, Paul said. Just thinking.

And what are you thinking about? she asked, turning to him.

About the Ruskins? he said. I don’t know. They’re hurting, that’s obvious. They make it sound like Meriden is an unfriendly town.

It is, she admitted. I think everyone in both states knows that.

Then why don’t they do something about it? Paul asked.

The Guardians control the town, she answered. People are afraid to get involved.

Sounds like a branch of the KKK.

They’re not as extreme, at least not that anyone can see. But they have some of the same philosophies.

I think the Ruskins would be better off hiring another private detective, Paul said.

They can’t, Claire said. They’re broke.

Doesn’t seem like they got their money’s worth. He didn’t find out much.

Only some theories. He hit a stonewall. And Ruskin doesn’t have any more money to pursue this. She met his eyes. I’ll pay you.

I didn’t mean it that way, Paul said. But why you?

Amy Ruskin is a close friend of mine, she said.

I don’t know if I’d do any good, Paul said, looking away for a moment. You might just be wasting your money. I didn’t have much luck finding your grandson alive.

He turned back, and she held his eyes. "Will you stop? You found my grandson. It’s not your fault that he was already dead by the time you got involved. No one can find this girl, Paul, and you have a talent for turning things up when no one else can. Even my brother says that."

Still—

She took his hand and held it. "No stills."

Paul shrugged. Just one. As I’ve said, you could be wasting your money.

It’s my money. She looked at him for a long moment. I thought after Pleasantville you told Clive that you were thinking of doing this sort of work full time.

I did, but I haven’t decided to take the leap of faith yet.

You should, Paul. You’d be good at it. You are good at it.

They were both quiet for a while.

If I go up there, Paul said, I’ll need some things, and a four-wheel drive vehicle.

Merredith has a four-wheel-drive SUV. Take her along.

Paul frowned. I don’t think that’s a good idea. She might not be safe.

She’ll be safe with you. She needs to be with someone. She hasn’t been the same since—well, you know. Besides, you’ll need a cover. You just can’t go in there and start asking a lot of questions. This way, you can go as a couple taking in the sights. She knows the town. And she likes you very much. And I like you very much.

For an old bag, which she sometimes thought of herself, she felt she was still desirable to men. She took pride in her body. Her boobs were still good, and her legs were trim and shapely, as well as her ankles, clear of any swelling or unsightly varicose veins. And that was a plus too. Paul seemed to be a leg man. She noticed his interest that first day they met, when she walked across her office to give him a cup of coffee, and was secretly flattered by it. In fact, it caused a little stirring of heat between her legs.

And how many decades had gone by since she felt anything vaguely familiar; not since she first met her husband, and that was a lot of years washed down the river. She came from a hardworking middle-class family that wasn’t poor but wasn’t that well-off either. Still, there was enough money to send her to college. She graduated from the University of Wisconsin with a bachelor’s degree in political science. Less than a year later, she met her husband and married into the Prescott fortune. She dabbled in politics, while he ran the family business ventures, remaining married and happy for the next thirty years, until he lost a battle with cancer, and then she was alone.

She met Paul last year through her brother, Clive, who was a police chief in Lanark. Her grandson was missing, and Clive recommended Paul to her. Clive swore by him and wasn’t wrong, as she later found out for herself. It seems that Paul got involved in a couple of bad cases down in Lanark that he helped the police solve. Since then, Paul and Clive had become close, and she knew she felt and wanted his closeness too.

I’ll have to start asking questions sooner or later, Paul said. Just eavesdropping or poking around the edges will take too long.

She patted his hand. I’d like you to do this, Paul. I’ll pay for everything, and I’ll even throw in a bonus.

Oh, Paul said. A bonus?

Yes, me, she said, trying not to blush. But whether you do this, the bonus still stands. Which brings up an interesting question—your room or mine?

Paul looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

Don’t look so surprised, she said. I didn’t drive all the way down here just to introduce you to the Ruskins. She paused for a moment. Well, I did, but I had another motive in mind. And I have never been forward with a man in my life, but in your case, I thought I’d better speak up because you probably wouldn’t.

She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, pulled back, and kissed him again, longer. She watched his reaction. When he didn’t say anything, she continued. If you’re apprehensive because of my brother, don’t be. I’m a big girl now and make my own decisions. I dress myself, cut my own meat, and everything. Besides, he doesn’t have to know. It’s none of his business.

They exchanged smiles.

Unless you think I’m too old, she said, or not attractive enough for you to be interested in?

Stop it, Paul said. You’re not too old, and I find you very attractive. You’ve always reminded me of Janet Leigh.

An older Janet Leigh, I’m sure. But that’s nice to hear. I’ve been attracted to you since the first day you walked into my office. I suppose my brother told you how old I was.

No, why would he? Paul lied.

You’re a charming liar.

Look, you’re not too old, he said. Everyone’s the same age in bed.

She smiled. Did you just make that up?

No, I think it was Hemingway who said it.

She leaned over and kissed him again. He held her and kissed her back.

Then you are interested, which is nice, she said, judging his reaction. I don’t believe you usually make advances to women, do you? she asked and then answered her own question. No, I don’t believe you have to.

He didn’t say anything.

They watched the rain fall, distorting the car windows.

C’mon on, she said, breaking the silence. I have a bottle of cognac I brought along that’s going to waste in my room.

Paul followed her inside. She turned on the lights, threw her purse and coat on one of the beds, and hunted up the cognac and some glasses, filling them with a generous amount of the liquor.

She handed him a drink. See, I remembered. Take off your coat and stay awhile. She searched his eyes. I want you to stay, Paul.

Paul took off his coat and tossed it on the bed with hers.

She reached over and touched his glass with hers. Here’s to an enjoyable night, she toasted.

They both drank.

Claire, he said, do you know what you’re getting yourself into? Are you sure about this? You’d be better off getting yourself involved with a man that can commit to you.

You mean, do I know about your coven of women? Yes, I do, she said, taking another sip. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make any difference to me. I don’t care. And I know about Shela and Dallas too. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need a commitment. There are no strings attached. This isn’t something I just dreamed up. I’ve thought about it for some time now. It’s what I would like and want.

Where have I heard that before? Paul thought.

You can tell me this isn’t any of my business, Claire said, giving him an inquisitive look, but how did you manage that—the coven, I mean? You’re not a cult leader, are you?

He frowned. Is that what you think?

She shook her head. No, not really. I guess I just don’t understand.

Paul smiled a shy smile. I don’t understand it myself. It really wasn’t any of my doing. It just happened while I was helping your brother catch a mass murderer. I’m not that smart or lucky to arrange anything like that.

How could he tell her the truth that it all started with four sisters in Salem, Massachusetts, during the witch trials without her thinking that he had a few loose screws? And he wouldn’t blame her. He had a hard time believing everything that had happened to him in the last few years himself.

She studied him for a moment, trying to figure out his nonanswer. It was clearly evasive, but she didn’t press him for details, deciding to move on to a more important subject. Paul kept some things to himself. She was sure he hadn’t told her everything that had happened in Pleasantville, probably for her own good. She always felt he was protecting her and her daughter, and that thought was endearing.

It doesn’t matter, she said.

He sampled his drink and watched her turn and move between the beds, turning sideways to him, running a finger around the rim of her glass. She didn’t think she could face him and say what she wanted to say; talking to a man this way was new and strange for her. She had never even spoken this way to her husband.

My husband’s been dead for over seven years now, she started. There have been men interested in me but none that I really wanted to be with—that is, until I met you. I’m probably not saying this very well, which is funny in a way. I undoubtedly got elected mayor because of my gift of gab.

She looked down into her drink. Truth is I want to be a treat for you. I want you to want me. And tonight’s a rainy night, a perfect night for a warm drink and making love.

Paul walked up behind her and took her glass and his and set them on the nightstand, taking her in his arms and kissing her long and passionately.

Well, that’s a start, she breathed between kisses. She gave him a big smile and stepped out of her heels. They kissed several more times, each one more passionate than the last, running their hands over each other. She began to unbutton his shirt, while he undid her blouse and lifted the straps of her slip off her shoulders and then unhooked her bra as the slip dropped to her waist. He cupped her breasts with his hands, and they kissed again. She pushed her skirt, slip, and panties down, letting them fall to her ankles, and stepped out of them and then worked on his pants. They were both breathing hard when she fell on the empty bed with him, feeling his erection grow harder against her nylons. She thought about taking her garter belt and stockings off, but she was too sexually hot to bother with them now, and he didn’t seem to mind. All she wanted was for him to take her.

You’re nice and hard for me, she said and smiled, liking the evidence of his desire for her, immediately taking his erection in her hand, thinking how good it would soon feel inside of her.

Did you think I wouldn’t be? You underestimated the power of your desirability, he said and smiled back, giving her a long kiss, and then raised up slightly and entered her.

She felt the heat of his erection slip deep between her legs and closed her eyes as he began to move in her.

Oh, Paul, she breathed after a while and then moaned in climax, arching her body up to meet his.

4

Late the following morning, they sat in the motel restaurant eating an eggs -bacon-and-toast breakfast and drinking coffee at a window table, watching the rain darken the day and bounce spears of water off the parking lot’s surface. It was still raining.

On days like this, I just like to stay in bed, she said, looking at him with a smile.

We could do that, he said. When do you have to go back?

She frowned. Soon. Mayoral duties await. What are you going to do? I hope you’re going to take this on.

I intend to, but I’m not sure about Merredith.

Claire started to bite into a piece of toast and then changed her mind and put it back on her plate. My daughter hasn’t been the same since she was raped by that bastard Crowe. And her marriage to Quinten was a rape of another kind. I want my daughter back. I don’t want her to keep feeling that she was to blame for anything. I don’t want her to feel like she’s damaged goods and not worthy of any man.

Being with me might make her worse, Paul said. I’m not a therapist.

No, you’re not. But you’re a man and a caring person—which I think she needs more than a shrink right now. You were a very calming influence that helped the both of us from falling apart during a very hard time. Besides, she’s been seeing a psychiatrist.

Our good friend Dr. Singh, no doubt, he said. Dr. Devon Singh had been instrumental in helping him find out what had happened to Claire’s grandson; using regressive hypnosis on Rachel Marsh brought out the truth.

Yes, she said. He’s been helpful, but progress has been slow.

Paul finished his eggs and pushed his plate to the side. If you know how things are with me, then you know I can’t make a commitment to her. She’s already been involved in two bad romances, and I don’t want this to be the third—if it comes to that.

You’re worried about hurting her? she said.

Yes.

That’s because you’re a good person, Claire told him. You won’t.

You could be wrong.

Trust me on this. If I thought for a second that going up there with you was a mistake, I would never have mentioned it. She needs this, Paul. She needs to feel like a whole woman again. She needs to be with good people—a good man for a change.

Paul shook his head. You’re a hard person to say no to.

Look, she said. I understand you’re trying to build a bigger house.

"Trying is the right word, he said. I don’t have all the money in place yet. How did you know?"

My brother told me, she said and paused and then went on. "Do this for me. Take Merredith along,