Chapter 4

Quite early the next morning, Dale ordered enough food for two people. When Angelina arrived with the service cart, he had her set things up on the patio.

"I need you to set service for two," he informed her.

"Shall I notify the front desk that your guest will be arriving?" she asked.

"No, no. I'm afraid it's a bit too late for that and in any case I don't really want them to know about my guest," he replied.

"Oh. I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to intrude in your personal business!" Angelina said with a somewhat concerned look on her face.

Dale tried to look offended but soon spoiled the effect by bursting into laughter.

"You aren't the one who needs to apologize Angelina - I am." Dale looked at her with a smile, "I am the one who has rudely awakened you by calling for service at this early hour and I am the one who has been presumptuous."

"I don't understand," Angelina said with apparent confusion. "How have you been presumptuous?"

"Why by assuming that I would be able to convince you to join me for breakfast and even ordering the food ahead of time," he said with a grin.

This time it was Angelina who smiled, "Trying to weasel your way out of dinner?"

"Oh! How could you say such a thing! You wound me to the very core!" Dale replied with mock agony.

"Well, if you are in fact asking me to join you for breakfast, I'd be delighted! Just don't mention it to anyone else so I don't get into trouble."

The two ate their breakfast while engaged in enjoyable conversation. Dale appreciated her beauty and intelligence. After the meal was finished he told her "I'm checking out today and I wanted to see you again before I leave. You have made my stay very enjoyable. The dinner offer still stands as does my invitation to call me anytime!"

"I will call. I'm looking forward to Dinner with you," she replied as she stepped towards him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You take care of yourself Mr. Young."

"You to Angelina!"

Before he left the hotel, he checked his bags at the front desk and asked to see the manager. When the man came out to speak with him, Dale asked if there was anywhere they could speak in private. The man led him into an office and closed the door. After offering Dale a seat, he sat down himself. "Well this is a bit more private Mr. Young. I'm Gary Randall," the man said as he held out his hand towards Dale.

Dale shook hands with the man who then said, "What did you wish to see me about Mr. Young?" he asked.

"I wanted to thank you and your entire staff for the wonderful stay I've enjoyed here. Everything was just fabulous," Dale said with a smile.

"I'm very happy that everything was to your satisfaction," Mr. Randall said with a smile of his own. "We do try our best."

"I believe that you people do. In particular I wanted to know what I might be able to do to show my appreciation for the fine service that Angelina Carlisle performed as my personal valet? She was so thorough and competent that I just must do something for her."

"She impressed you that much?" Mr. Randall asked.

"Yes she did! I must admit I was tempted to offer her a job myself but I'm not entirely certain that would be ethical."

"Well I hope that she stays in our employ; however, rest assured you have done something on Ms. Carlisle's behalf. I will write a letter of commendation noting your remarks and send it to our Human Resources coordinator. I will recommend that Ms. Carlisle be considered for promotion. We like to advance people like Angelina and I thank you for bringing her outstanding performance to my attention."

Dale said his goodbyes to Mr. Randall and left feeling glad that he had taken the time to speak with the man. His next stop was at Motor Classics Ltd-Porsche. He test-drove a Carrera GT. The experience was simply outstanding; but then again any car that costs you more than many small homes should be outstanding Dale thought to himself. He bought the red one off of the show room floor and bargained just a bit with the sales manager for the sheer enjoyment of dealing. He was able to knock about ten thousand off of the initial asking price by pulling out his laptop and obtaining two online quotes from other dealerships.

He picked up his small bit of luggage from the hotel and headed up I-80 towards Winnemucca. The directions he had obtained via the Internet said that the trip should take about two and a half hours. Dale managed to shave an hour off of that estimate by exercising the Carrera's engine just a bit. He turned into a gas station and fueled up. His Uncle had always bought his gas here and though Dale doubted the old man would recognize him, he had been here quite a few times in years past. After he had fueled up he picked up a few groceries and then drove on to his Uncle's place.

As he completed the last part of the day's driving, Dale's mind wandered over the information he had gathered surrounding his Uncle's last days. Ezra had been healthy most of his life and wanted to be remembered that way. He had always told Dale "If I have my way I'll live forever! No, there will never be a funeral for Ezra Stillman."

'Well Uncle Ezra got part of it his way, ' Dale thought to himself, 'there was no funeral.' Ezra had left explicit instructions on what should happen after he died. He wanted there to be no ceremony or fancy burial opting instead for a simple cremation. As he had requested his ashes had been scattered on the ground of the land he had grown to love.

The long winding drive climbed up from the access road slowly until it ended in a circle at the front of the house. Set up on a high mesa about three hundred feet above the roadway, the house offered a stunning view of the surrounding land. Logically Dale understood that the house and land around it belonged to him now; but he suspected it would always be 'Uncle Ezra's place' in his mind.

Dale opened his suitcase and extracted a small but somewhat heavy box with more than three-dozen keys in it. Each key had an attached tag with a description on it. Soon enough he found the one he needed. It was labeled 'Winnemucca, NV - Main House - Front Door.' He grabbed the bag of groceries and carried it up the porch steps to the front door. The key slipped into the lock and turned smoothly. As Dale opened the door and stepped through the doorway, it was a bit like stepping into the past. So many of his childhood memories were of this place!

He took the bag of groceries to the kitchen and put the perishables in the refrigerator. Once that was out of the way he took a good look at things. Mr. Edwards had told him that he'd had the place cleaned after Ezra had passed away. Everything was neat and tidy. His Uncle had always kept things pretty much that way all of the time. He'd always had an orderly mind and couldn't stand to have too many things out of place. Dale found himself to be quite a bit like that as well. Soon enough he snapped out of his reverie and decided to get the car unloaded and put it in the garage. His Uncle had built the home himself and though he hadn't married, Ezra had built the place large enough for a family if one ever came along. Dale carried everything into the master bedroom and then moved the Porsche into an empty slot in the four-car garage.

It was around two-thirty in the afternoon and he hadn't eaten since breakfast so he made a sandwich and some iced tea and sat down in the wooden rocker on the back porch to enjoy it. While he was enjoying the meal, the sun, and the light breeze, his mind turned to a childhood memory; His Uncle Ezra had been sitting in a rocker, much like the one he was in now, and was holding Dale on his lap. Dale thought he had been about seven or eight years old at the time. Uncle Ezra had told him the tale of spirit mount. He claimed that some of the Indians who had once lived nearby had asked if they might camp near a small mountain on his property. When he asked them why they wanted to camp there they told him of a small mountain where 'the spirits talk to us'. They claimed that the spirits gave them visions of great beauty and deep meaning. When, as a small boy, he had asked his Uncle where this mountain was, his Uncle would refuse to tell him saying, "It wouldn't be wise for white men to make light of the red man's beliefs."

Although Dale had assured him many times that he had no desire to make light of anyone else's beliefs, his Uncle had never felt inclined to tell where the fabled mountain might be. How ironic it would be if, now that the land was his, Dale were unable to discover whether the mountain did indeed exist or if his Uncle was just trying to keep a young boy's imagination engaged. He walked back into the house; rinsed off the few dishes he had used and placed them into the dishwasher.

After he had cleaned up after himself, he walked into the Den and sat down in one of the leather chairs next to the stone fireplace. Another memory came to mind of his Uncle instructing him "If I need to leave you a note I will place it on the fireplace mantle. If you need to leave me one you do the same. So if I'm gone and you get back to the house after you've been out, you just remember to check there." As he looked up on the mantle where so many notes and messages had been left before, Dale noticed that there did indeed seem to be some note or perhaps a piece of mail laying there. He rose up out of the chair and stepped over to the fireplace for a better look. There he found, lying on the mantle just where his Uncle had always left them, an envelope with a single word on the front. Scrawled in his Uncle's handwriting was his name: Dale.

He picked up the envelope and went back over to the chair. He pulled out his jack knife and carefully opened the envelope.

"Dear Dale,

I'm sorry to say that if you are reading this letter - we probably never had the chance to spend anymore time together before my time on this blessed earth was through. Just so you know, I understood that it was Cynthia who didn't like my company very much. When you two had been married for a year or so, she made it clear that she considered me to be a bad influence on you and didn't plan on letting you get out here very often.

I'd be lying if I said that it didn't bother me. Your mother was the daughter I never had the chance to have and you were like a grandson to me. I'd always wanted the best for you and at first I was devastated when you didn't come to see me anymore. At least you wrote when you could. When the letters stopped I really wondered what had happened; but I finally figured that out as well. I received a box in the mail filled with letters that I had written to you. Cynthia sent them to me with a typed letter that said you didn't want to hear from me ever again. She had even attempted to fake your signature; but I was pretty certain you probably didn't know anything about it. I kept writing for a bit longer until the next box of letters came. Your phone number was unlisted and sooner or later you must have moved since even Christmas and Birthday cards were returned with markings indicating that no such person lived at that address. I knew that Cynthia was really important to you, and though it hurt, I didn't want to do anything that would spoil your marriage, so I finally just gave up.

Then I found that the old body is giving up on me. I wanted to see you just one more time if I could, so I hired a detective agency to track you down. They told me quite a few things that let me know that your life and your relationship with Cynthia had brought you great pain. At first I felt guilty that I hadn't seen things as they were and talked with you earlier about what Cynthia had done; but then I wondered if she wouldn't have found some way to make me look like an old fool who was out to get her. Then another thought occurred, if you're already divorced from her and yet you haven't called me or written to me since the divorce happened, maybe you don't want a relationship after all - or maybe things are just too painful for you to talk about.

In any case, this old man loves you as a father loves his son and that has never changed. If I have hurt you in anyway I ask your forgiveness. If you feel any guilt about the awkward situation Cynthia put us in please know that I feel that there is nothing to forgive.

My detective friend told me that Cynthia had put you through an especially nasty divorce and left you with little or nothing to live on. I leave you with all of my earthly possessions and hope that you use them to build a new life for yourself. Make it a life that you can enjoy!

Love,

Uncle Ezra"

Dale carefully folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. The bitch had taken so much! Why was she so malicious and hateful? He had heard of greedy and selfish spouses trying to get as much money as they could no matter what it did to their former partner; but Cynthia had gone way beyond simple greed. She seemed to enjoy causing as much pain as possible!