The Christmas List (6 page)

Kier stopped by his office and grabbed his briefcase and a bottle of water. “I'm out of here,” he said to Linda.

“Be careful out there. I checked the weather report. Park City is expecting a blizzard. They say that they could get two to three feet of snow tonight.”

“When does it hit?”

“Later this afternoon, probably after rush hour. Do you need anything?”

“Call Lincoln, tell him to prepare the paperwork on the Allen property.”

“I will. Have a good weekend.”

“You too.”

Kier walked out the back door to his car. He started his car, then turned on his stereo, which began to play a Michael Bublé CD Traci had given him. He smiled as he considered the Allen property. It was worth a fortune. He drove out of the parking lot and headed for Park City.

The storm arrived early as Kier drove his arctic white BMW up the canyon toward Park City, his wipers flipping frantically to keep up with the snowfall. On both sides of him the canyon walls rose jagged and white, plastered with ice and snow. The traffic around him had slowed to a crawl and cars, covered in snow, moved slowly, like a herd of mobile igloos. It bothered him that he couldn't get Sara off his mind. How she looked. Her fall. Her last words to him—
I'm not your problem anymore.
He realized that he had never really confronted the reality of her dying.

Christmas Day would have been their silver anniversary: a quarter of a century. Kier hadn't much experience with death. His mother had died when he was two; he didn't remember her or her passing. His father had died six years ago, but they hadn't spoken for years and he didn't even attend the funeral. But Sara was different. He wondered how long she had left and how her death would affect him.

He took a drink from his bottle of water and set it on the seat next to him. He couldn't figure out why Sara had delayed their divorce for so long. It clearly wasn't about money; she asked for much less than she was entitled to
and they both knew it. He was still puzzling over this when he arrived at the Park City junction. In another ten minutes he turned off the highway to the Snowed Inn bed-and-breakfast. Traci would be up in a few hours. He could worry about Sara later.

The Snowed Inn was a large Victorian with three great gables set above a wraparound front porch. White Christmas lights outlined the building, creating a thin halo in the pale fog. Broad red ribbon was wrapped around the porch's supporting pillars giving them the appearance of giant peppermint sticks. The two front doors were garnished with pine wreaths adorned with silver and red baubles.

Kier parked his car. When he reached for his cell phone on the seat next to him his hand found a pool of water and his phone in it. He lifted it, dripping. The screen was blank, Kier pushed the buttons on the keypad but nothing happened. He angrily threw it on the car floor. Then he climbed out of the car, grabbed a small sports bag from the trunk, and walked up the steps into the inn.

The Snowed Inn had originally been built at the end of the nineteenth century as a home by Clayton Daly, a successful silver prospector and co-owner of the Daly-West Silver Mine. When Daly was killed in an explosion in the mine, his wife had tried to support her family by turning the home into a boardinghouse. Within a few years World War I lowered the price of silver and as prospectors left the town, the
building became just another relic of a ghost town. When developers rediscovered the city in the late sixties the old building was revived as a bed-and-breakfast and had done well ever since.

Just inside the door, under a daguerrotype of Clayton Daly, was a crescent-shaped walnut counter. Behind it stood a portly, silver-haired man wearing a red flannel shirt and brown corduroy pants with blue suspenders. He smiled as Kier entered. “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to the Snowed Inn.”

Kier, still angry about his phone, was in no mood for pleasantries. “I've got a reservation,” he said curtly. “It's under Kier.”

“Yes, Mr. Kier, we've been expecting you. You have a very pleasant secretary, I might add. Your secretary left a credit card number with me, so if you'll just sign right here I can take you right up to your room.”

Kier signed the registry. “Do you have Internet access?”

“We have wireless in every room. The access code is printed on the keycard sleeve. How many keys do you need?”

“Two, but I want to leave one here. My companion won't be here until eight or so.”

“Very good,” he said, lifting a pen. “Her name?”

“Traci.”

He wrote her name on the key sleeve. “Traci. Do you need help with your bag?”

“Of course not. Just call my room when she arrives.”

“I'll be sure to do that. You're right around the corner and up the stairs. My name is Fred if you need anything. We begin serving breakfast at six.”

“What time does it end?”

“Eleven. Have a good stay.”

Once inside his room, Kier set his bag on an end table, then pulled out his laptop and logged into the hotel's network. He checked over his e-mails and the Dow Jones, then closed his computer and walked over to open the television cabinet. The remote was on top of the television. He lay back on the bed and surfed channels until he came across the University of Utah Utes playing the ASU Sundevils. The game was only halfway through the first quarter; he propped several pillows up behind him and lay back to watch. Before the end of the first quarter he was asleep.

When he awoke, the room was dark except for the glow of the television; a weatherman was talking in excited tones about the blizzard. Kier checked his watch: 10:22. He instinctively reached for his cell phone, then remembered that he no longer had one. He picked up the room phone and called the front desk. “This is James Kier in 211. I was expecting a guest; has she called?”

“No sir, but I'll call you the moment she arrives. The weather has probably delayed her.”

“Probably.” He hung up and dialed Traci's cell phone but she didn't answer. This didn't surprise him since she made it
a point to never answer calls from phone numbers she didn't recognize. It crossed his mind that she could have been stuck in the canyon or worse, but he let it pass.
She got me all the way up here; she better have a good excuse.
He lay back, angry. Within a few minutes he fell asleep again.

The sun broke through the east windows, waking Kier to a clear, bright morning. He was still in his clothes and still alone. He looked at his watch and groaned. It was past nine. He rolled over to the phone and called the desk.

“This is Jim Kier in 211. Was the canyon closed last night?”

“I don't believe so. We had guests arrive past midnight.”

“Did anyone leave a message for me?”

“Just a minute.” The man was gone just a few seconds. “Sorry, sir, I have no messages. But we do have breakfast ready. This morning we're serving our cheese and sausage omelet, homemade granola, fresh squeezed orange juice, buckwheat pan—”

“All right. I'll be down.”

Kier hung up. From outside he could hear the scraping blade of a snowplow. He walked over to the window; it had stopped snowing but it looked like the storm had dumped over a foot of snow. In the parking lot below a red Ford pickup with a plow was clearing the parking lot, pushing snow into banks taller than the truck itself. It occurred to him why she hadn't called.
She probably tried my cell,
he thought.
Kier changed into his sweats and went downstairs. There were several couples already in the dining room. Fred greeted him with a pot of coffee.

“Good morning, Mr. Kier. Would you care for some coffee?”

“I'd like some decaf.”

“Right away. I have a nice little brew called the Mormon Blend.”

Fred walked back to the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later he was holding a coffeepot in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. As he poured the coffee he said, “I want to show you something I think you'll find interesting.” He laid the newspaper out on the table. “You not only have the same name as this fellow, but you look an awful lot alike.”

Kier took a sip of coffee as he cast an uninterested glance at the paper. “I look nothing like John McCain.”

“No, sir, the article below that.”

Kier scanned the page until he saw the picture. Above it was the headline:

Local real estate mogul dies in automobile crash

Kier set down his coffee. “What the . . .”

Utah real estate developer James Kier was pronounced dead after his car collided with a concrete pylon on southbound I-80. Rescue workers labored for more than an hour to remove the Salt Lake man's body from
the wreckage. Authorities believe Kier may have had a heart attack prior to swerving off the road.

Kier was the president of Kier Company, one of the West's largest real estate development firms. He was known as a fierce, oftentimes ruthless, businessman. He once said, “If you want to make friends, join a book club. If you want to make money, go into business. Only a fool confuses the two.”