Iced (22 page)

“I’d invite you in,” Willeen said halfheartedly, “but we had some friends over last night and I must admit we haven’t cleaned up yet.”

“I don’t mind—” Angus started to say.

“We totally understand,” Ellen cut in. “We’ll look at the house after you leave.”

“Good enough. Nice meetin’ ya,” Willeen said, pulling on a strand of her hair. She walked back up to the house, turning every few steps and waving, making sure that they were on their way.

Back inside, she dropped her coat on the couch and plopped down on top of it. “Judd, this is getting very dangerous.”

46

W
ILD WITH IMPATIENCE, Geraldine waited for Marvin Winkle, the investigator, to return her call. He called himself “the private eye who never winks nor blinks until he’s solved your problem.” Never
thinks
, either, Geraldine muttered to herself as she once again checked the clock on the wall. Never thinks to check his answering machine. If there was anything she hated, it was that lie that everybody leaves on their machine saying they’ll call you right back. Hogwash. It had been three hours now since she’d made the call at 6 A.M. Aspen time.

Suppose the loafer was taking time off during the holidays? The last time she had talked to him had been six weeks ago. The report had been no progress, but his bill had come in right on the button. Well, now he could start earning his money.

Geraldine was afraid to go out to the barn for fear she’d miss the call. Instead she sat at the kitchen table and read more of the diary. A smile played over her lips when she came to the part where Angus Ludwig asked Pop-Pop if he could court her. He was a handsome rascal, she thought, but I was in no frame of mind to see anybody. Oh well. Everything in its season. In other words, my timing really stunk on that one. Would that damn phone never ring? At that moment it did.

An instant later she was shouting into the phone, “I was about to nickname you Rip Van Winkle.” In a loud, excited voice she filled Winkle’s vibrating eardrums with the news of her discovery.

“That’s wonderful, Ms. Spoonfellow,” he bubbled enthusiastically. “Fantastic. Amazing. Overwhelming. It’s going to make the whole thing a lot easier.”

“Enough drivel!” Geraldine barked at him. “Get to work!” She slammed down the phone and stared at Pop-Pop’s handwriting on the crinkly pages. I’ve got to get my speech ready for tomorrow night, she thought. A lightbulb went off in her head. For the unveiling of Pop-Pop’s portrait, I’ll read excerpts from Pop-Pop’s diary. But with so many selections to choose from, I’ll never know when to stop.

47

R
EGAN AND KIT hurried over to the framer’s. His office was in the back of a gallery that was filled with large paintings, many with a western theme. The floors were shiny and a hushed, reverential tone prevailed.

Eddie, a grizzled man in his fifties, with long gray hair and sinewy hands, greeted them with a nod of the head.

“This painting of King Louis the Eighteenth should have a thorough cleaning. It was filthy when it came in here! We’ve been wiping it down with a cloth dampened with turpentine and have gotten a lot of the dirt off, but it’s just a start. At least now you can see his face.”

“He does look good with a clean face,” Regan commented. “The colors are so much sharper.”

“Yay-uh,” Eddie said, staring at the portrait. “This painting needs to be restored properly, but we’ll have it looking good for the party tomorrow night. It’s a real dandy.”

“It’s beautiful,” Kit murmured. “Hey, Regan, is there a Queen Kit portrait you’ll buy for me?”

“I’ll look for it when you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown,” Regan said.

“I’m almost there.”

Eddie didn’t seem to register their conversation, so intent was he on pulling out his frame selection for their perusal. “Yay-uh,” he said, “this gold frame here is real pretty. Do you like it?”

Regan studied the gold leaf. “It’s definitely regal, which is what we need. What do you think, Kit?”

“Go for it.”

“It looks good to us,” Regan said.

Eddie took the pencil off the back of his ear and started making notations on an invoice. Regan had once tried storing a pencil over her ear while she worked, but it kept falling off. “We had a specialist come in and take care of the Beasley painting,” he said, putting the pencil back. “I wonder what else Ms. Spoonfellow has up in that barn of hers.”

“I don’t know,” Regan said, “but I’m dying to see
The Homecoming
. I’ve heard so much about it.”

“That’s a dandy too.”

Regan paid him for the order. When he handed her the receipt he said, “We’ll deliver this to Louis’s restaurant tomorrow afternoon. This painting is perfect for someone named Louis.”

“Thanks,” Regan said. “If the party is a success, he’ll be the King of Aspen.”

“No reason it shouldn’t be,” Eddie said.

I hope you’re right, Regan thought.

48

I
T WAS A wonderful day for snowmobiling. Ida’s son-in-law Buck led them on a tour through the snowmobile trails in the mountains. They stopped at a tiny wood shack where instant hot chocolate was served in paper cups. Mini-marshmallows were an added bonus. The whole group huddled inside, stomping their feet to get warm.

“It makes you feel like a pioneer, huh?” Kit muttered. “My feet are freezing.”

“Think of how good it’ll feel when they’re warm again,” Regan suggested.

“I have an extra pair of heavy socks on. Do you want to borrow them?” Patrick offered.

“How come no one I’ve ever dated would have done that?” Kit asked rhetorically, smiling at Patrick. “I’ll take you up on your offer, and if I’m still available when you’re twenty-one, or eighteen, or whatever the legal age is, let’s get married.”

Greg smiled. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

“That’s okay,” Kit said, pulling off her boots. “As long as he isn’t gaga over computers.”

Regan laughed and stepped outside with her cocoa. She walked over to her snowmobile and sat down. Silence reigned. There were no signs of movement anywhere, no signs of modern life. The snow-covered mountains surrounding her were quiet and peaceful, probably looking pretty much the same as they did on December 28 a hundred years ago. Moments like these, Regan thought, taking in the beauty and the awesome scope of nature, are a cause for real wonder. Like the wonder of where the heck Eben disappeared to. The world is so vast, she thought, swallowing a runny marshmallow. He could be anywhere.

She finished her drink and got up to throw the cup in the trash by the shack. She smiled at the little sign that said, DON’T WORRY, WE RECYCLE. You wouldn’t have seen that sign here a hundred years ago.

The others came out of the shack, Kit buoyed by the newfound warmth in her toes.

“Thanks to Patrick, I’ve fended off frostbite,” she said happily.

“You’ve got to learn how to dress in the cold weather,” Buck advised.

“I can’t wait to go socks-shopping,” Kit said. “It’s funny how the little things in life give me such pleasure these days.”

“We’ll make a day of it,” Regan said. “Lunch and socks.”

They all got back on their snowmobiles and revved the engines. It was now three o’clock. They fell in line and headed back down the path. Regan was glad they were on the last leg of their adventure. She was dying for Bessie to get back. She couldn’t wait to talk to her. Why had she called her and never called back?

49

I
DA WAS PULLING a load of wash out of the dryer when she heard the car pull up. “Oh dear,” she said to herself. “I don’t want to be stuck here in the laundry room folding towels while they’re all talking.” Quickly she scooped them up in her arms and brought them out to the butcher-block table in the kitchen.

Kendra and Nora were heating up apple cider. The two couples were just back from skiing.

Such excitement, Ida thought, when the boys came through the door, followed by Kit and Regan. Hellos were exchanged while Ida helped Kendra get out cups for everyone.

“How was it?” Kendra asked.

“Cool,” Greg answered. “We should get some snowmobiles for around here.”

“Snowmobiles you’ll use about two weeks a year,” Kendra said wryly.

Sam came into the kitchen. “If Eben comes back, he’ll get plenty of use out of them.”

“Will you stop!” Kendra laughed.

“Never,” Sam said. He pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet. “How about an apple smasher?”

“Don’t be rude,” Kendra said.

“It’s the name of a drink, my dear,” Sam protested.

Kendra turned to place the mugs on the table and got a good look at the laundry. Green nublets from the lone green towel were liberally sprinkled all over the luxurious pastel towels that were color-coded to the bathrooms. “Where on earth did that green towel come from?”

Nora looked at the pile. “My darling husband is the guilty one,” she said. “He used it.”

“What did I do?” Luke asked, appearing in the doorway.

“You used a towel, Mr. Reilly.” Kit laughed.

“We’re not blaming you for anything, Luke,” Kendra said. “But where on earth did it come from?”

“It was in our bathroom,” Luke said, his eyes amused. “I figured a towel is a towel. My wife was surprised that I chose it. I must say I wasn’t paying much attention. I just reached in the closet and grabbed it.”

“Luke,” Nora said. “These other fluffy towels were all lined up, and you picked...”

“. . . this rag,” Kendra said, holding it up.

Sam looked sympathetically at Luke. “Us men never get a break, do we, Luke?”

“Absolutely not,” Luke agreed. “I thought the other towels were too good to use. And now look at them.”

Ida started to get nervous. “I’m sorry, Kendra, I didn’t mean for it to be washed with the light towels. I did a dark load first and then I put most of it in the dryer when the phone rang. When I came back I wasn’t thinking and I thought I’d unloaded it all and I started throwing in the light towels to be washed.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kendra said immediately.

“A red sock played hide-and-seek with me in the wash once. Then I threw in bleach and some white blouses,” Regan said. “I was just glad I liked the color pink.”

Ida smiled at Regan. “That’s terrible,” she said.

“It must have been one of our friend Eben’s towels,” Kendra said. “As a matter of fact”—her fingers moved along the towel to the inside corner, where she found a cardboard store tag was still stapled—“he must have just bought it.”

“What does the tag say?” Nora asked.

“The Ritz.”

“The Ritz?” Nora said.

“Just kidding,” Kendra said. She squinted. “I can just about make it out. The name of the store is the Mishmash. Ninety-nine cents,” she pronounced in her most dramatic tone. “Yes, indeed. The Mishmash.”

“That’s the store I found the receipt for,” Nora said. “The Mishmash in Vail. I remember it said towels and socks and underwear. I told Luke the other day it must have been one of his towels.”

“If he left his socks around, I’ll take them,” Kit offered.

Patrick and Greg laughed while Regan explained the joke to the others.

“Well, if the socks are anything like the towels, I don’t think you’re missing out on anything, Kit,” Kendra said. “And I don’t think you could find rags like these in Aspen. One more thought-provoking gift from our good friend Eben.”

“According to the slip, he bought about a dozen,” Nora stated. She picked up an apricot hand towel and examined it.

“I wonder where the rest of them are,” Kendra said.

“Did he stick them in other nooks and crannies of the house?”

“You know, it’s funny,” Ida said as she shook an apricot washcloth with great gusto. “I had a man come in this morning with these green nublets sticking to his cream-colored corduroy pants. He said his wife had washed them with some green towels and what a mess! The towels shed all over. So I said, ‘Where did you get towels like that? You should take them back.’ He said they were staying somewhere. They weren’t their own towels. He also brought in his tux and her formal dress to be pressed.”

“The same thing happened?” Regan asked.

“Isn’t that strange?” Ida said, as she folded the washcloth.

“I think it is,” Regan said. “I wonder where they’re staying around here that supplies them with such lousy towels. And has a washing machine.”

The phone rang and Greg grabbed it. “Mom, it’s for you.”

“Hello,” Kendra said. “Oh my God, you’re kidding!”

Everyone fell silent. “What?” Nora whispered.

Kendra put her hand over the phone. “It’s Yvonne. Bessie’s cousin just called from Vail. She was in Denver for a couple of days and came home and got Bessie’s message that she was coming down.” Kendra paused. “She never made it.”

50

K
IT HELD THE phone and waited as Regan stepped out of the bathroom in her terry-cloth robe. She recognized the distracted look on Regan’s face. She knew she could say almost anything to her right now and it probably wouldn’t even register.

“Heathcliff is on the phone,” Kit whispered.

“What does he want?” Regan asked absently as she opened a drawer and pulled out a wine-colored sweater.

“It’s actually a wrong number. He’s looking for someone named Catherine.”

“Oh.” Regan unwrapped the towel from her head, picked up a comb from the dresser, and caught Kit’s reflection in the mirror, twirling the telephone wire. She suddenly snapped into the present. “Kit, what are you doing?”

“Well, join the ranks of the living. Stewart is on the line. He and Derwood want to join us for dinner.”

Regan raised her eyebrows and smiled. “I was having deep thoughts.”

“I know. Here.” Kit handed her the receiver.

Regan took it from her and sat on the bed. “Hi, Stewart,” she said. “. . . snowmobiling was fun . . . actually my parents and Kendra and her husband are coming over here to Louis’s for dinner . . . do you and Derwood want to join us?”