Iced (12 page)

Regan didn’t know why she had the nagging feeling that it just wasn’t going to work out that way. She realized she also had a burning curiosity as to why seventy-five-year-old Geraldine Spoonfellow was involved with private investigators.

20

B
Y THREE O’CLOCK, the call of nature was very strong for Eben. Very strong indeed. Willeen and Judd had left at nine o’clock after feeding him breakfast and shackling him back to the bed. He was still a little glad that he had insulted their pathetic accents. They should pull off their heists under cover of darkness and keep their mouths shut while they’re at it, he thought to himself. Even though he had that little morsel to cheer him, he was still very depressed.

It’s amazing, he thought as he watched the television they had set up in the bedroom for him. It’s downright amazing how the urge to relieve yourself can wipe out almost all thoughts of the rest of the universe.

As he watched the television, Eben couldn’t believe that Judd and Willeen had left it on for him today.

“Maybe you’ll hear about sightings from people who claim they’ve seen you,” Willeen had said as she bent over to find an outlet. “I can’t promise you’ll get great reception, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I wasn’t begging,” Eben said wryly.

Willeen ignored him. “This TV is a piece of garbage. There’s no remote control. So you’ll be watching one station all day.”

“Don’t you hate when that happens?” Eben said to her.

Willeen chuckled. “Me and Judd always end up fighting over the remote control. You being all by yourself wouldn’t have that problem now, would you?”

“It’s one of the great pleasures of being alone,” Eben said. “Judd was always picking fights in the TV room in prison. He never wanted to watch what everyone else did.”

“He was probably doing it out of spite,” Willeen said casually as she straightened up, Eben’s remark just rolling off her well-toned back.

Now as Eben watched the small black-and-white set perched on the dresser, he was treated to another news brief that warned everyone to be on the lookout for him. The frizzy-haired newscaster looked both perplexed and alarmed.

“Eben Bean may be armed and dangerous. Be careful out there,” he urged his viewers. “If you have any information, please call...”

“I never hurt a fly,” Eben whispered as his eyes grew misty. I can’t start crying, he thought, because I’ll have to bury my face in this smelly pillow to wipe away my tears.

It was galling to hear that the state police had an all-points bulletin out for him when he was only a couple of miles away. So close and yet so far. Like so many things in his life.

Eben didn’t doubt that Willeen and Judd would succeed in stealing the painting at Louis’s party. That obviously had been well planned, and from the little conversation he’d been able to pick up, he was sure they were part of a larger ring.

Had they pulled off that job in Vail? Eben didn’t think so, based on their conversation he overheard yesterday. But it sounded right up their alley, and the newscaster, shaking his head in disgust, said that a man and a woman seemed to be involved. So they’re probably trying to figure out who I’ve hooked up with. Ha, he thought. I haven’t had a date since I moved to Aspen. And so much of my life before that, if you don’t count the time spent in prison, was spent on the run.

The newscasts during the day had given examples of Eben’s past crimes. Like the time he stole the Wellington family jewels. One of the necklaces, a string of flawless diamonds, had actually been replaced, probably by an unhappy relative, with pitted, poor-quality rocks one-tenth the value. It certainly hadn’t been worth Eben’s trouble shinnying down the drainpipe from the roof to the master bedroom. And of course no one would have believed that the good diamonds had already been stolen before he got his hands on the necklace.

When the news report went off, Eben rolled on his side and crunched up in the fetal position, a position he usually liked to sleep in. Maybe because he had been in the fetal position inside the womb the last time he had any contact with his mother.

Eben took a deep breath. Why are they keeping me alive? he thought. What do they have planned? When they were in prison together there’d been a rumor that Judd had killed a couple of people but it had never been proved. What’s stopping him from killing me? Of course, right now they’re both thrilled that I’m being blamed for their derring-do.

Suddenly Eben’s blood froze. Are they going to try and make it seem that I’m responsible for the art theft at the benefit and then get rid of me? That must be the reason they’re keeping me alive! How will they do it? Burn this house down with me and some of the cheaper art in it?

Eben heard a car pull up in the driveway. No such luck that it would be a wayward traveler asking for directions, a person he could scream to for help. Instead he heard the door open and Willeen’s usual nasal voice. “We’re here to walk you, Eben,” she called.

She and Judd appeared in the doorway.

“We made a lot of nice friends today,” Judd said. “You’d be jealous, Eben. We got the addresses of a whole bunch of rich people who told us to give a call if we come to their town.”

Willeen giggled. “We figure we’ll just drop in unexpectedly. Like when they’re not home.”

“Yeah,” Judd said, “we’re going back to do the whole apre`s-ski number and make some more friends, but we figured we better give you some relief in case we don’t come home before dinner.”

“This is worse than having a dog,” Willeen pronounced.

“Shut up,” Judd said.

They both stared down at Eben as though he were the prize exhibit.

I feel like the lamb about to be slaughtered, Eben thought. I’ve got to find a way out of here.

21

B
ESSIE WAS GLAD to be getting out of town for a few days. Enough is enough, she thought. I’ve worked hard the past few days, between the party and getting ready for Christmas and the fiasco of the stolen painting. I’m not a robot and my nerves are frazzled.

Damn, she thought. That joker masquerading as the very essence of trust and goodwill, Santa Claus himself, really got her goat. If only I’d paid closer attention to him, but once I saw his boots were clean, that was enough for me. I had other things to worry about, like making sure those slowpoke waiters kept making the rounds with the hot hors d’oeuvres.

It was mid-afternoon and she was relaxing in her room, waiting until it was time to go down and catch the bus to Vail. One of the daytime soaps was on. “I don’t know why I love these,” she said to herself, “working for this family, I live through this crap.”

Bessie had worked for the Grants for seven years, ever since Lester and Yvonne had taken their vows to love, honor and cherish each other for as long as they both shall live. Bessie had given it a year, two at the outside, and was surprised and pleased that the Grants had lasted and she was able to build up her pension plan. Aside from Yvonne being a little snooty at times, they weren’t so tough to work for. Hawaii, Aspen and New York weren’t such bad places to hop among, even though it slightly annoyed Bessie that the Grants never bought her a first-class ticket. I’m the one who needs it most, she always thought.

As the woeful strains of the theme music of
To Love or Not to Love
played, the credits rolled over a couple who had just been reunited after he had been lost in the rain forest for seven years. “I wouldn’t want to get back together with anyone that dumb,” Bessie mumbled even as she brushed back a tear. When the embracing couple faded to black, a picture of Eben Bean was flashed on the screen.

Bessie stood up and ran to the TV as if it would make a difference, as if Eben would be able to hear her cursing at him. The fervent newscaster again recounted the story that Eben Bean had been in Vail the day of the other major art theft, and it was now believed he might be working with a female partner.

Bessie’s heart started palpitating. Oh my God, oh my God, she thought. I can’t believe it’s happening to me again. I’ve got to get out of here. I’ll go get a drink at the bar before I catch my bus.

As she scrambled around the room, gathering her belongings, she caught her reflection in the mirror. A sturdy woman with brown hair and eyes, it was hard to tell if she was in her late forties or north of sixty. She was fifty-six. She’d never married but had found satisfaction working for four different families in the past thirty-five years. Having her own home was almost unfathomable, an alien concept, something that other people thought about but not Bessie.

She yanked the zipper of her tubular all-purpose paisley travel bag and quickly looked around the room for anything she might have missed. Whatever I forgot, Carmel can lend me, she thought. She’d left a message on her cousin’s answering machine saying she was coming down for a few days. Carmel had always urged her to take some time off. And she would be good to talk things out with. Bessie couldn’t believe that there had been a second theft.

She picked up her bag off the bed. “Let’s go, Mary Poppins,” she said to herself.

Fifteen minutes later Bessie was seated on one of the comfortable lounge chairs in a bar near the bus stop. Her chair was farther away from the fireplace than she preferred, but you had to get there pretty early to get one of those choice seats. Today she didn’t really care. Usually she enjoyed watching everyone parade around like peacocks in their fashionable skiwear, but today she quickly ordered a gin martini and barely noticed her surroundings. A piano player was tinkling his heart out in the corner, but Bessie’s jiggling leg was moving at three times the beat.

A couple came through the front door and walked over to the love seat right near Bessie.

“Judd, how about here?” the woman asked.

They sat down and the man crossed his legs in that macho position, with one foot resting on his knee, the sole of his black cowboy boot facing Bessie. It took a moment for her to notice, but when she did she froze. A raggedy orange sticker was stuck to the bottom of the shoe. She glanced at the rest of the boot and recognized the silver scroll on the side. That was Santa’s boot! She was absolutely positive it was the one she’d examined. But this guy wasn’t Eben. I’ve got to call Regan Reilly, she thought.

She jumped up quickly, too quickly, just as the waitress came over with her drink.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said.

“But the drink is already made...”

“I’ll pay for it,” Bessie said and pulled out several bills from her wallet. With trembling fingers she laid them on the waitress’s tray. She wanted to get to a phone as fast as possible.

As she turned to go, her purse slipped out of her hands. It landed at the feet of the man wearing the cowboy boots. When she bent over to pick it up, he leaned down to help. Her face was inches from the sole of his foot when their eyes met. His brown eyes darted between the sticker and Bessie. When a flicker of recognition passed over his face, her whole body shuddered.

“Thank you,” she whispered and hurried down the long hall to the phone, her purse and travel bag flying behind her. She fished out Regan Reilly’s number and dialed the phone.

A clerk answered and informed her that Regan was out. Could he take a message?

“This is Bessie Armbuckle. It’s very important that I talk to her—”

A hand reached over and pushed down the receiver. Willeen and Judd were standing right behind her.

“Honey, we’re going for a ride,” he said. “Just act nice and nobody will get hurt. Make a fuss and there’s no telling what will happen.”

Bessie replaced the phone in its cradle and walked between them out the side door to the parking lot.

22

I
CAN’T BELIEVE how late it’s gotten,” Regan said as she and Louis carefully guided Louis XVIII through the door of his restaurant. “It’s four o’clock already.”

“Time for a cocktail,” Louis purred. “A drink to Geraldine. And to you for forcing me to face her.”

“Sometimes you just have to face these things head-on,” Regan said. “No matter what happens, you usually feel better for getting it over with.”

“That might be true,” Louis said. “But if Geraldine had refused to keep the party here, you’d be giving me smelling salts right now. Where do you want His Majesty to go?” he asked.

“Let’s bring him up to my room. I’ll keep him there until I drop him off to get cleaned and framed, which I’ll have to do soon so he’ll be ready for the party.”

Tripp was just coming out of the office with message slips in his hands. “What a dude,” he said appraisingly as he checked out Louis XVIII in all his regalia.

“He was the King of France,” Regan said.

Tripp smiled at Regan. “I figured he wasn’t an Olympic skier. I did take an art history course in college, you know.”

Regan laughed. “Sometimes I like to state the obvious.”

Tripp looked down at the messages in his hands. “Oh Regan, you just missed a phone call.”

“Who was it from?”

“Some lady named Bessie Armbuckle.”

Regan raised her eyebrows. “Oh really?” Tripp handed her the slip. “What did she say?”

“She sounded a little wired. She said she needed to talk to you but she hung up pretty fast. I was like ‘whoa.’ ”

“I just met her today. She can be a little abrupt,” Regan said. “She didn’t leave a number?”

Tripp shook his head. “No. Also, some guy named Larry Ashkinazy called. He said to meet him at Little Nell. He’ll be there between four and six. That place really hops at that time.” He looked at his watch. “He must be there now.”

Regan turned to Louis. “We were going to have a drink....”

Louis waved his hand at her. “Don’t worry, darling. Go have some fun. I’ve got to get ready for the dinner crowd anyway. We’re pretty booked tonight. I’ll have to go back to the kitchen and start bothering them. We’ll get together later.”

Regan smiled. It would be good to get out for a little while. She’d only been in Aspen for twenty-four hours and wouldn’t mind seeing what the rest of the world was up to. “All right. But first I’m going to go upstairs and change. I’ll give Bessie a call at the Grants’ to see what’s going on with her.”