Iced (4 page)

Onboard, the Woods’ sons, fourteen-year-old Greg and fifteen-year-old Patrick, were playing video games. They look so young, Regan thought. They were both good-looking kids. She wondered how many girls their age were staring at their bedroom walls at that very moment, nursing broken hearts over these two, deriving whatever comfort they could from their favorite passages about romantic misery.

The boys smiled up at her, their slightly self-conscious expressions a contradiction to the rows of earrings they were sporting. God, I feel old, Regan thought.

Kendra was passing out champagne. “Regan?”

“Thanks, Kendra.” Regan took a sip, feeling the bubbles tickle her nose. “Louis wants you to be sure and be at his party. He’s really excited about it.”

“We have our tickets,” Sam said. “Just what Aspen needs, another nightspot. I hope he doesn’t fall on his face.”

“If he does, they’ll have to cart him off to the funny farm,” Regan commented. “He’ll never recover.”

“Opening a restaurant is a high-risk venture,” Sam said.

“Yeah, like producing a Broadway play.” Kendra laughed.

“My business might not be the most exciting,” Luke said, “but I’m happy to say it has the lowest failure rate of any business in this great land of ours.”

“We’re all happy for you, dear,” Nora told him.

“Seriously, Louis is lucky he landed the benefit party for the Rescue Aspen’s Past Association,” Kendra said. “I hear the competition for it was fierce. He managed to butter up the committee.”

“He told me he really wants to make his place a part of the Aspen ideal,” Regan said.

“What’s that?” Luke asked. “Sounds like New Age mumbo-jumbo.”

“Dad.” Regan rolled her eyes. “It’s serious. Aspen doesn’t want to get over developed. Because it’s become so popular, they’re having a real struggle to keep a small-town flavor. Louis is going to be displaying the works of local artists in his restaurant, and he’s also promised to sponsor weekly literary gatherings in the back room.”

Greg looked at Regan and yawned.

The old generation gap rears its ugly head, Regan thought.

“What do they do at those gatherings?” Sam asked.

“Everyone gets up and reads what they’ve prepared. It could be a short story, it could be a poem. Some people might bring a guitar and sing a song.”

“I’ll stay home and watch my toenails grow that night,” Luke drawled.

“Dad, you’re impossible!” Regan reached out for a champagne refill.

“It’s a throwback to the old coffee houses,” Kendra said enthusiastically. “Nora, you’ll have to go and read them one of your stories. You’ll scare the pants off them.”

Nora put down her glass and dramatically cleared her throat. “It was a dark and stormy night...”

Sam laughed. “The wind was blowing hard against the windowpanes...”

“A shot rang out . . .” Nora continued.

“And I got called into work,” Luke muttered.

Kendra’s laugh was a deep, hearty, pleasing sound. Regan looked at her and smiled, glad to see that she seemed totally relaxed. In her mid-forties, Kendra was a fine actress whose entire career up until now had been in television. Regan knew that Kendra had confided to Nora that she was nervous about her Broadway debut.

“Okay, folks,” the pilot said. “We’ve been cleared for takeoff. Be sure your seat belts are fastened.”

As Kendra buckled herself in, she said, “Next stop Aspen and the smiling face of our caretaker, Eben...”

5

Aspen

Sunday, December 25

L
OUIS WAS FILLED with a sense of nervous wellbeing. Things were going well. There wasn’t a single empty table for the Christmas brunch.

The place was bustling as waiters took orders and refilled coffee cups and champagne glasses, diners greeted each other with air kisses, and children clutched their favorite toys, which had been opened just hours before. Christmas music played softly in the background, and outside, a light snow was falling.

Everything is perfect, Louis thought as he smoothed down the lapels of his red velvet smoking jacket. If only I can keep this up and pull off the big party Thursday night, then I might be able to get some rest.

For months now, as the cost had mounted to put the restaurant together, he’d felt like the Cowardly Lion in
The Wizard of Oz
: too scared to sleep and afraid of witches flying overhead on a broom. For Louis they all had the faces of his investors.

The Grant family was seated at one of the central tables. They had had the big party last night and were part of Aspen’s high society. Yvonne and Lester had two young children. For the last few years they had thrown Christmas Eve parties where the children of all their friends got to enjoy a visit with Santa Claus. Yvonne was gesturing to Louis.

He hurried over. Yvonne was a beautiful woman, with none of the signs of fatigue that most young mothers exhibited, especially during the holidays. She looked refreshed and rested. Well, why not? Louis thought. She probably hasn’t washed a dish in ten years.

“Louis, dear,” she said as she rested a well-manicured bejeweled hand on his arm, “I really must call my housekeeper and ask her to make extra apple pies for tonight. I forgot to tell her we invited some people to stop back again.”

Without another word, Louis reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellular phone, a must in finer eating establishments. He flipped it open and ceremoniously handed it to her. “Madame...”

“Thank you.” Yvonne started to press the numbers, then frowned. She turned to her husband. “Sweetie, what is our number again? I always get it mixed up with the house in Hawaii.”

Lester took out his black book and checked. “Allow me,” he said lovingly as he took the phone from her and then handed it back.

Yvonne smiled at her children and picked a piece of imaginary lint off her designer sleeve as she waited for Bessie to pick up the phone. “Josh, honey,” she said to her son, “why don’t you have a few more bites?”

“I don’t want to,” the four-year-old replied.

“Just a few itty bitty bites for Mommy?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Finally she spoke into the phone. “Bessie, what took you so long to answer?” Her smile quickly faded. “What are you talking about? Hold on. Lester, the Guglione painting in the library . . . did you move it?”

“Of course not!”

Yvonne started to hyperventilate. “Bessie went in to vacuum a few minutes ago and noticed it was gone. Nobody should have been in there last night. The children and nannies were in the family room and the rest of us were in the living-room area. Who could have taken it?” She turned to her children. “Did you see anybody go in the library?”

Josh spoke up. “No one except Santa. He asked me and I told him there was a little bathroom in there but he might be too fat to use it.”

“Santa!” Yvonne screeched. “He took that priceless painting! Where could he have gone with it?”

“He said he was headed back to the North Pole,” her five-year-old daughter Julie replied practically. “It’s a long way and he had to go tinky before he left.”

Louis felt a flash of fear sweep through his body as the other diners began to stare. What have I done? he thought.

As they approached Sardy Field, the airport at Aspen, Regan looked out the window. What a sight to behold, she thought. The snow-blanketed Rocky Mountains surrounded them. Bold and powerful with their rugged terrain yet quietly beautiful, they seemed to welcome the plane as it began its descent.

“Look at those evergreens,” Nora said, gesturing to the rows and rows of stately trees sweeping up the mountainsides.

“Awesome,” Greg muttered as he peered out the window.

“Radical,” Patrick agreed.

“Kind of reminds me of our Christmas tree at home, huh, Mom?” Regan asked.

“I dragged that tree over my shoulder all the way up the basement steps,” Luke protested.

“In three pieces in a cardboard box,” Regan said. “With the screws rattling around at the bottom. Dad, you’re a regular Paul Bunyon.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Nora said.

“I love the view, but I can’t wait till we’re on the ground,” Kendra remarked. “The approach here always makes me nervous.”

“We are way, way, way above sea level, yes, sir,” Sam said. He turned to Luke and Nora. “You’ve got to take it easy on your first day here. No matter what kind of shape you’re in, the lack of oxygen at this high altitude can cause problems. Light-headedness. Fainting. An occasional heart attack. And that’s before you hit the slopes.”

“Sam, please.” Kendra winced.

“Sorry, honey. Besides, I don’t need to tell these folks. They’ve been skiing before.”

“Maybe so, but I hope there’s a bunny hill,” Nora commented.

“It doesn’t look like it from here,” Regan said. “But you’ll do fine.”

“Ever since she dislocated her shoulder on an icy slope in New Jersey, Nora’s been a little nervous in the wintertime,” Luke explained to the Wood family.

“That’sa shame,” Kendra said sympathetically. “Which ski area was that?”

“Reilly’s Lodge.” Regan chuckled. “That icy slope was our driveway.”

A few minutes later they landed amid a sea of private planes. There was no sign of Eben, so their luggage was brought inside the tiny airport.

Kendra looked around expectantly. “He’s always so prompt,” she murmured.

Sam shook his head. “A real Johnny-on-the-spot.”

Kendra hurried over to one of the pay phones and dialed the house. She stood tapping her foot as the connection went through, glancing at her watch. “It’s four-fifteen. I can’t believe he’s not here. It’s the machine . . . Eben, it’s Kendra. We’re here at the airport, and I was wondering where you were. We’ll be waiting out front.”

“Eben’s bound to be along any second,” Sam assured Kendra. He turned to the Reillys. “This guy is really good. You couldn’t find a caretaker like him in a million years. Treats the place like it was his own. Always a smile. He’s a pretty good cook and even knows how to serve a dinner party. He used to be a waiter.”

Regan had heard the story from Louis about the night Eben the waiter tried to separate the police commissioner’s wife from her necklace.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam pronounced, “It’s time to make an executive decision here. Let’s all pile into a couple of taxis.”

After negotiating the baggage into two vehicles, Kendra got into the first cab with Regan, Nora, and Luke. Sam and the boys followed.

“What a glorious place this is,” Nora said as they drove along, admiring the views of the mountains from both sides of the cab. The sky was darkening and they headed up into the hills, passing stately homes along the way.

“I always have so much energy when I’m here,” Kendra said. “There’s something in the air.” She leaned forward and instructed the driver to make a right at the private bridge.

After the turn, the narrow gravel road they traveled was surrounded by snow-covered spruce and pines. “It feels like the forest primeval,” Nora breathed. “It’s wonderful.”

But when they approached the sprawling log house nestled against the mountain side, Kendra was shocked to see that it was completely dark. No welcoming lights. No signs of life. “I don’t understand it,” she murmured. “I hope nothing happened to him.” She dashed out of the cab, keys in hand.

Nora, Luke, and Regan scrambled to follow her.

Kendra quickly unlocked the door and pushed it open. “The alarm isn’t on.”

Not a good sign, Regan thought.

The side door led into the open area that encompassed both kitchen and family room. Kendra flipped on the light. The kitchen was in perfect order except for a few dishes in the sink, a personalized cereal bowl that said EBEN in big orange letters and a matching EBEN mug.

“Where did he ever manage to find dishes with such an unusual name?” Nora wondered aloud. “Regan, remember when you were little and used to cry because we could never find anything with your name on it? Not a license plate for your bicycle, not a key ring, not a—”

“Mom, please,” Regan said as a sense of impending doom drew closer.

Kendra opened the dishwasher. “It’s full,” she said flatly. “The caretaker cottage has its own dishwasher.” She hurried to the breakfast bar and flipped on the lights that illuminated the sitting area of the room and gasped, “Oh my God.”

“What?” Regan croaked.

“There, and there, and there, and there.” Kendra was pointing at blank spots on the walls. “My paintings,” she wailed. “My beautiful paintings.”

Please don’t let it be Eben, Regan prayed, trying to remember the name of the saint in charge of hopeless causes.

6

I
DA BOYLE OPENED the door of her daughter Daisy’s oven to take a peek at the turkey that was roasting inside. “Umm-hmmm,” she murmured to herself. She poked a fork at the bird’s opening in an attempt to retrieve some of the stuffing that looked so golden and crunchy.

“Mom!” Daisy said from behind her. “What are you doing? You’re not supposed to open the oven while it’s cooking.”

“Just testing, my dear, just testing. I’m not ruining anything. I cooked a lot of turkeys before you were even born and your father always thought they were delicious.” Ida turned to her as she blew on her fork. “I hope we didn’t add too many onions.”

Daisy pulled out a chair for her mother at the kitchen table. “This group will eat anything. Now sit down, Mom, please. You’re on your feet too much.”

“If I sit down too long, I’ll never get up,” Ida said as she eased herself into a seat. “Maybe you could rub my back a little.”

Daisy, a trained masseuse who serviced the tired and aching muscles of skiers in the Aspen area, complied. She put her hands on her mother’s shoulders and started to massage.

“How’s that?”

“You’re the best, Daisy. That’s why you’re always so busy.”

Daisy was forty-six years old. She’d come to Aspen from Ohio in 1967, when she was eighteen. Word of Aspen’s free spirit and “anything goes” attitude had reached the growing number of hippies all over the country. Fresh out of high school, Daisy had jumped into her red Volkswagen bug and driven cross-country with a couple of her girlfriends. They hadn’t planned to settle in Aspen, just maybe spend the summer there and then move on to California, where flower power was really going strong.