Mountain Top

by Robert Whitlow

  Maxwell Forrest and Jack Hatcher got out.

  Even on a Saturday far back in the woods, Mr. Forrest was wearing a starched shirt and silk tie. Hatcher, his brown hair closely cropped in military fashion, was dressed casually. The back doors of the SUV opened, and two men Mike didn’t recognize stepped onto the ground. Mr. Forrest raised his hand in greeting. Mike resisted the urge to jump on his bike and ride down the hill. His flight response was immediately replaced by anger at the thought of the letter Mr. Forrest had written him. Mike leaned the bike against a tree. Judge, his tongue hanging out as he panted, stood beside him.

  “You’ve come a long way to see me,” Forrest said. “It would be a lot easier to catch me in town.”

  “I thought I was banned from the office,” Mike replied.

  Hatcher cut in. “Good to see you, Mike. What are you doing out here?”

  “Just going for a ride in the woods with my dog. Sorry to disturb you.”

  “You’re not disturbing anything,” Hatcher replied. “Meet Dick Bunt and Troy Linden.”

  Two men in their fifties, one bald and the other with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, stepped closer and shook his hand. Mike tried to remember if he’d seen their names while reviewing the information supplied by Braxton Hodges. Linden sounded familiar, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Nice dog,” said Bunt, the bald man. “I have a friend in San Bernardino who has a vizsla. What’s your dog’s name?”

  “Judge,” Mike replied.

  Bunt laughed. “I’ve seen a few judges I considered dogs. Does he have a last name?”

  “No, that might get me into trouble.”

  “Mike is a lawyer who used to work with Maxwell,” Hatcher said. “Now he’s gone into the ministry.”

  “Except for one case,” Forrest grunted.

  “How long have you been the pastor at the church?” Hatcher continued.

  “Almost three years.”

  “The bank financed their new sanctuary,” Hatcher said to the other men. “As soon as Mike came on the scene, the congregation began to grow by leaps and bounds.”

  “What brings you gentlemen so far into the woods?” Mike asked.

  “Showing Dick and Troy around.”

  “Beautiful area,” Bunt added.

  “Yes,” Mike said, nodding. “But it looks as though things are about to change. Someone used several rolls of survey ribbons along the road. If I had to guess, I’d say these hills are about to be carved for residential development.”

  Hatcher spoke. “That’s happening all over this part of the country.”

  “Yes, it’s one of the reasons we’ve had so much growth at the church,” Mike said as he turned toward the two strangers. “Are you gentlemen real estate developers?”

  “I’ve dabbled in it,” Bunt replied. “Troy and I are always looking for business opportunities, but most of our work has been in the commercial real estate area.”

  “What part of the country?” Mike asked.

  “All over. We’re not limited.”

  “Anything in Las Vegas?” Mike asked.

  “Why do you ask about Las Vegas?”

  “Maybe it’s your accent,” Mike replied. “It sounds western, but not Texas.”

  Bunt stared at Mike. Forrest cut in, “Mike, could we have a private chat?”

  “So long as we don’t go to your office.”

  Forrest walked away from the vehicle toward the edge of the clearing. The other three men moved in the opposite direction. Judge, his breathing returned to normal, sniffed the ground around the SUV.

  “Don’t lose your salvation over the letter I sent you,” Forrest said. “Look at the situation from my side. The bank has an interest in the successful prosecution of an individual who embezzled money from one of its customers. I can’t give you access to our building where bank files are kept until this matter is dealt with, one way or another.”

  “Is there anything in your files that would impact my client’s case?”

  “I don’t see how there could be, but that isn’t the point. I can’t compromise the confidentiality of the firm’s attorney-client relationship with the bank.” Forrest paused. “Even for one of the best lawyers I’ve known since opening my office in this county forty years ago.”

  “A phone call before you sent the letter would have been nice.”

  “I probably should have done that, but I’ve been very busy. Too busy. The firm is undergoing changes. Park is leaving. Arnold is smart and has a great future, but he’s not ready to assume primary responsibility for major clients.” “Any replacements on the horizon?”

  “Not yet, and until that happens, Bobby and I will be spending most of our time chained to our desks.”

  “Except Saturdays along Cohulla Creek.”

  “With businessmen who have a right to keep their plans private,” Forrest responded. “Where were you going with your cross-examination of Mr. Bunt?”

  “Who knows? You stopped me.”

  “Don’t play that game. I trained you to know the answers to questions before you asked them. You’re right about the survey ribbons. It’s no secret. There are options on record at the courthouse, although I have no idea why you would care. You’re not a trout fisherman or an environmentalist.”

  “Just a bike-riding preacher who still doesn’t understand why a busy, important lawyer like you is so interested in Sam Miller.”

  “I told you. I’m looking out for the bank’s reputation.”

  “I hear you, Mr. Forrest, but that’s not enough. My client has been offered a sweet deal to plead guilty, but I can’t advise him what to do without access to the bank’s records. That’s the only way I can properly evaluate the charges against him.”

  “If he’s guilty, let him plead. I’m sure the district attorney’s office has the pertinent information. Have you filed a motion—”

  “They’ve allowed me to copy the entire file.”

  “What was in it?”

  “Not much. Copies of two checks along with records for the accounts involved.”

  “What else do you want? That’s all the bank would have in its records.”

  “There must have been an internal investigation before the matter was referred to the sheriff ’s office. And I’d also like to know about any communication between the bank and my client.”

  “Your client should have copies of anything the bank sent him, and he’d be aware of anything coming from his end.”

  “Miller cuts grass for a living. His filing system is a shoe box in the bottom of a closet.”

  “His lack of organization isn’t the bank’s problem.”

  “I know, but it will become the bank’s problem when I file a subpoena dragging a bank officer into court so I can take a look at what they have. I don’t want to do that, and it shouldn’t be necessary.”

  Forrest glanced over at the other men. “I’ll talk to Hatcher about it,” he replied. “But not today. This meeting doesn’t have anything to do with your client. And my advice to you the other day still stands. You have no business practicing law as a hobby.”

  “When will I hear from you?” Mike asked.

  “Don’t give me a deadline,” Forrest replied, his jaw set. “I’ll get to it. You can count on it.”

  They started walking toward the other men. Bunt and Linden got into the SUV.

  “Good to see you, Mike,” Hatcher said as he opened the driver’s-side door. “We need to be on our way. Be careful on your ride. I bet the gravel on this road makes it hard to maneuver on a bicycle.”

  “I’m used to it,” Mike answered. “Maneuvering in tough places is part of the fun.”

  Hatcher backed out of the parking area and started down the hill. Mike didn’t want to inhale a cloud of dust by following too closely behind them and waited several minutes. He poured some water into a plastic bowl and set it on the ground in front of Judge, who greedily lapped it up.

  “What did you think about those men?” Mike asked
the dog.

  Judge didn’t respond. His focus in life didn’t extend beyond the liquid at the end of his nose.

  MIKE CAREFULLY COASTED DOWN THE HILL TO HORSESHOE Bottoms. By the time he reached the main road, there wasn’t any dust in the air caused by the departure of the SUV. Mike retraced his route along the creek road.

  Just before the road began to climb to its vantage point above the stream, he veered toward the water and stopped at a creek-side campsite. A well-used fire ring made from rocks taken from the streambed lay in the middle of the clearing. Judge began a circular reconnaissance and quickly unearthed a candy wrapper. While the dog investigated the smells left by campers, Mike walked down to the creek. The water rushed along at a rapid clip. Mike sat on a large rock, watched the water swirl by, and listened to the sounds of the stream. He wondered if this was the spot Sam Miller liked to visit.

  Taking off his shoes, Mike dipped his feet into the water. Spring might be in the air, but the water in Cohulla Creek hadn’t received the news. It felt ice cold. Mike left his feet in the water until they became slightly numb, then put on his socks and shoes. He returned to the campsite. In search of fresh scents, Judge had ventured farther into the woods. Mike unzipped his backpack to get a snack bar and saw the message light flashing on his phone. Maintaining an adequate service signal in the woods was difficult, but he had a single bar. Mike pressed the button to retrieve his message and waited. It was Peg.

  “Please call me! I’m at the emergency room. I’m bleeding, and the doctor is going to order an ultrasound!”

  Eighteen

  PEG DIDN’T ANSWER WHEN HE HIT THE SPEED-DIAL NUMBER for her cell phone. Mike left a voice mail that he was on the way then mounted his bike. Pedaling furiously, he tore along the road. Mike had read in a pregnancy brochure that prenatal bleeding often occurred during the first trimester of a pregnancy. But that didn’t lessen his concern. Peg wouldn’t have gone to the doctor unless she thought the situation might be serious. Judge gamely tried to keep up but began to lag behind. Mike came around a corner and waited for the dog to rejoin him and continued at a pace the dog could manage. There was no use sprinting ahead; he’d have to wait for Judge at the end of the ride anyway.

  Mike rounded a corner and skidded into the parking area. He quickly locked his bike onto the rack. Judge hopped into the car and lay down in the backseat. Skidding around corners, Mike didn’t encounter any other vehicles on the way out of the wilderness area. He reached the main highway and tried Peg’s number again, but there was no answer.

  The Barlow County Hospital was outside the Shelton city limits on the south side of town. Mike reached the parking lot for the emergency room and saw Peg’s car. He dashed through the sliding doors, rushed up to the desk, and introduced himself.

  “Your wife is in zone three,” the attendant told him. “I’ll have someone take you to her.”

  Mike waited impatiently until a nurse’s aide appeared and led him into the treatment area. Peg lay in a bed in a room divided by a white curtain. Her eyes were closed. Mike leaned over her.

  “Peg,” he whispered intensely. “It’s me.”

  She opened her eyes. They looked listless.

  “The pain,” she said, touching her abdomen. “It was horrible.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. They did an ultrasound, but Dr. Hester hasn’t talked to me.”

  “Do you still hurt?”

  “Not as much. They gave me something to stop the pain. I didn’t want anything, but they said it wouldn’t hurt the baby.”

  “Is the baby okay?”

  “I don’t know. The technician who did the test wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  Mike pulled a chair to the edge of the bed and held Peg’s hand. It was shocking how quickly she’d gone from vibrant energy to lethargy. He heard footsteps. A short, dark-haired man entered and introduced himself as Dr. Hester. A female nurse accompanied him.

  “The baby appears fine on the ultrasound,” the doctor began.

  Mike exhaled in relief. Peg nodded slightly.

  “Thank God,” she said.

  “How are your cramps?” the doctor asked.

  “Better, but I’m afraid it’s because of the medication.”

  “It’s safe. That’s why we gave it to you.”

  “What’s causing this?” Mike asked.

  “Bleeding and cramps this severe can be the precursor to a miscarriage, but fortunately the placenta appears intact. I want her to stay in the ER until we’re sure the bleeding has stopped, then I’ll let her go home to bed rest.”

  “Total bed rest?”

  “Until she sees her obstetrician. I called Dr. Crawford, and she concurs. Make an appointment with her the first of the week.”

  “Can she walk up steps?”

  “Do you have a downstairs bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put her there. The next few days are about avoiding unnecessary strain of any type.”

  The doctor left, and Peg closed her eyes. Seconds later they popped open.

  “Where’s Judge?” she asked.

  “In the car with the windows cracked. He’s passed out in the backseat, as worn out as you are.”

  “Take him home, then come back for me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Peg didn’t argue. She closed her eyes. Two hours later, an orderly rolled her to the curb. Mike held the door open so she could get in the car. Judge, his tail wagging, watched.

  “What about my car?” she asked.

  “Why did you drive in the first place? You could have called Marla or Elizabeth.”

  “Marla wasn’t home, and I thought it would be quicker to come myself.”

  “We’ll figure out how to get your car later. First, I want to get you home and into bed.”

  Peg was more alert during the ride home.

  “I don’t need to ask Sam Miller about my dream,” she said as they reached traffic light six.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I think I know what it meant.”

  “Do you want to tell me?”

  Peg paused before responding. “Yes. I was sitting in a lounge chair on the top deck of a huge cruise ship. I was alone, which was odd because you know how they’re always jammed with people. If I wanted something, all I had to do was ring a little bell, and a waiter would bring it to me. I ate the best fruit you can imagine. I thought about getting up but decided there was no better place to be on the boat than resting in the chair.”

  “Were you pregnant?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “Why did you think it was a religious dream?”

  “Because in addition to the crew assigned to take care of me, there were angels present.”

  “How did you know they were angels? Did they have wings?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did you know?”

  “I’m not sure. I just did. That’s one of the things I still want to ask Sam.”

  Mike’s face was troubled. A dream about angels, especially before a trip to the hospital, worried him.

  They arrived home. Judge, revived by his long nap in the car, ran around the corner of the house. Mike tried to help steady Peg as she got out of the car, but she shooed him away.

  “I’m not an invalid. I can walk to the downstairs bedroom. Just get me into bed so I can dream about my cruise ship.”

  Mike opened the door of the house for her.

  “Was I on the cruise?”

  Peg stepped up into the kitchen. “I’m not sure. If you put on a waiter’s uniform it might come back to me.”

  Mike managed a slight smile. The return of Peg’s wit was a sign of health.

  THE DOWNSTAIRS BEDROOM WAS AT THE REAR OF THE HOUSE next to the computer room. For years, Peg had used it as her art studio and emergency dumping ground for items that needed to be quickly removed from sight when guests arrived. Mike opened the door. To his surprise, it was as neat and tidy as a pho
tograph in a home decorating magazine.

  “What happened in here?” he asked.

  “Nesting urge. I cleaned it out last week without any idea I’d be using it myself.”

  Mike pulled back the covers. Peg slipped off her shoes and climbed into bed. “I’ll put on my pajamas later,” she said. “The medication is making me tired.”

  Mike tucked her in and kissed her on the forehead.

  “I’ll put on my ship waiter’s uniform while you sleep,” he said, trying to be more lighthearted than he felt. “I want to be a part of both your conscious and unconscious lives. Should I close the door?”

  “Open is fine. Judge might want to lie on the floor beside the bed.”

  An hour later, Peg woke up hungry. Mike opened a can of soup. While it was heating up on the stove, he called Sam Miller. Muriel answered the phone, and Mike told her what had happened.

  “Is her mother coming?” Muriel asked.

  “She lives in Philadelphia and has severe arthritis. She needs daily assistance herself.”

  “Then I’d like to come over and help out.”

  “Uh, let me check with Peg.”

  When Mike turned around, Peg was standing in the doorway.

  “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “I had to go to the bathroom. Who are you talking to?”

  Mike kept his hand over the receiver. “Muriel Miller. She wants to come over and help. I wasn’t sure if you wanted one of your friends or someone from the church—”

  “Tell her yes,” Peg said, turning toward the bedroom.

  Mike lifted the receiver. “We don’t want to impose on you, but that would be great.”

  “Sam should be home in a few minutes. I’ll get him to bring me.”

  MIKE WAS IN THE COMPUTER ROOM REVISING HIS SERMON when the doorbell rang. Sam and Muriel Miller stood on the front landing. Muriel stepped into the front hall. Mike led the way.

  “Peg is in a bedroom behind the stairs.”

  Peg was sitting up in bed reading a book. Her face lit up when she saw the older woman.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said.