Iced (25 page)

The sounds of the kitchen cabinets opening and closing filtered into the bedroom.

“It’s all ready for when we get back,” Willeen said.

“Be careful,” Judd yelled.

Eben and Bessie froze as they heard him say, “That’s chloroform in that bottle, dummy.”

Across town, the Coyote turned on his set. While watching Judd and Willeen pack, he did a little of his own. He was about to dismantle his surveillance equipment in case he had to make a quick getaway tonight.

Mentally he reviewed his plans. After the painting disappeared, there’d be a lot of confusion. He would put it in the false bottom of the car where the other Beasley was now resting. There was no problem about parking the car only a few feet from the emergency exit door of the dining room.

Listening to Judd and Willeen was exhilarating—the moment of danger, and ultimately of triumph, was approaching.

“Bye-bye, folks,” he said, turning off the set and pulling out the plug. “See you tonight.”

57

M
ARVIN WINKLE WAS on an airplane thousands and thousands of feet over the state of Illinois, enjoying a cocktail and anxious as a child on Christmas Eve. His every nerve was twittering with excitement. The bearer of good tidings, that’s what I am, he thought.

It was all so unbelievable.

Just wait until Geraldine heard the news. He was sure that she wouldn’t mind that, instead of phoning her, he’d quickly packed a bag and raced to the airport, rushing back inside his house just once to grab the short skis he had had since high school. Maybe after his good work was completed, Geraldine would urge him to stay on in Aspen. Being that it was Christmas week, and all the hotels were charging premium rates, he’d probably be invited to stay at the Spoonfellow estate.

He stared at the phone attached to the seat in front of him. It looked so inviting. Just slip in a credit card and call anywhere.

Should he splurge? Why not? The two Scotches were working their magic and Winkle was in the holiday spirit. Humming “Winter Wonderland,” he reached under the seat in front of him and pulled out his worn black briefcase. Pushing the buttons on either side at the same moment always gave him a minor thrill. The pistol-like sound of the locks releasing, springing open and snapping to attention made him smile. Just for the fun of it he reattached them and fired them off another time. And then again.

His seatmate, with whom he had unsuccessfully tried to start a friendly conversation, glowered at him.

Winkle sighed and pulled out his wallet from the briefcase. He liked to keep it in there because he knew how pickpockets were everywhere, especially during the holiday season. He found himself briefly studying his Pennsylvania driver’s license, which was a little frayed at the edges, and then pulled out his credit card.

With his briefcase resting on his lap, he slid the credit card into the phone apparatus and dialed his number. His machine picked up on the second ring, which meant there was a message. He punched in his secret code and waited while the electronic voice informed him he had one message.

Suddenly Geraldine Spoonfellow’s voice was screaming at him, forty thousand feet in the air. Winkle tried to smile and hoped that his seatmate couldn’t hear what her tape-recorded voice was saying.

“I’m going to get me another investigator if you’re never there to take my calls.
Call me back!”
Winkle sat there looking out the window of the plane as the phone clicked in his ear.

He pushed the disconnect button, not wanting to be charged for an extra minute, and shrugged.

Oh well, he thought to himself. I don’t want to call her now. I’ll give her the good news at the party tonight. I’ll go straight there when I land. She’ll be so happy, she’ll have all the publicity people taking pictures of them.

He jiggled the ice cubes in his glass. Who knows? After tonight I might be considered the next Sherlock Holmes.

58

G
ERALDINE STOOD IN front of the mirror, pinning a silver broach on her black high-necked taffeta dress. Normally she eschewed jewelry, but in honor of Pop-Pop she had decided that tonight was a night to wear silver. She’d had the dress for over twenty years, wearing it to the few formal events she attended.

Today she had written her speech. It meant tearing herself away from his diary, but the excitement of tonight had started to build in her stomach that afternoon. Finally Pop-Pop would be getting some of the recognition he deserved. Aspen would sit up and take notice of his contributions to this town, and she’d made sure to lay them out one by one. They hadn’t told her how long she was supposed to talk, but they wouldn’t dare try to stop her in the middle of her message to the people, she thought.

Applying a bit of lipstick, which for her was an occasion, Geraldine studied her reflection. It’s hard to believe that I’m seventy-five years old, she thought. I feel so much younger, but at the same time I think I’ve lived through three life times of sadness. Not that there weren’t good times too. But not having a family always made the holidays more difficult.

It’s a good thing I’m a pain in the neck, she thought, or else I’d be sitting around here feeling sorry for myself. I’d rather be yelling at Rip Van Winkle than crying, she thought. Of course he hadn’t called back yet. Where in tarnation was he, and what was he doing anyway?

Geraldine picked up her silver brush and smoothed a few wisps of hair into her bun. If only my brother Charles had gotten married and had children, she thought, at least I’d have somebody to spoil. And someone to share tonight with. Pop-Pop is being honored and I’m the only relative to soak in the adulation.

At least I can turn my energies to this town. I could get a fortune for that Beasley painting, but I don’t need it. I’ve got plenty of money to last my lifetime. I guess I shouldn’t complain. My life’s work will be to keep the Spoonfellow name alive by helping with the new museum and donating all the junk in the barn to the cause. The parade on New Year’s Day, led by Pop-Pop’s painting, will be just the beginning.

Replacing the hairbrush on the dresser, she picked up a perfume bottle that had been resting on the same doily since her boyfriend died last year and smiled. I never bother with this stuff, but why not tonight, she thought. I gave up fussing over myself a long time ago, but tonight, well, tonight I just feel like it. She pulled on the neck of her dress, poking the bottle under the taffeta. She spritzed a few times and then misted her wrists. Before putting it back, she sprayed all around her dress.

Checking her lipstick again, she smiled. I’m not dead yet, she thought. After all, who knows just what excitement tonight will bring?

59

W
HEN MARVIN WINKLE arrived in Denver at 5 P.M., he was distraught to find that visibility in Aspen was dropping rapidly and there would be no more planes flying in there tonight. The airport was closed until morning and conditions changed.

Tomorrow wasn’t good enough. Suppose the original Greek runner had taken a couple of days to get where he was going to announce “Victory, Victory”? He might have lived longer but there wouldn’t be marathons run all over the world today.

“I need to get to Aspen tonight,” he told the ticket agent.

She pointed with her well-manicured blood-red fingertip. “The car rentals are right over there.”

There was a long line.

Winkle hurried over and pulled out his credit card. It’s the second time I’ve used it in the space of a few hours, he thought. The last time, what did I get for it? Geraldine screaming at me. Let’s hope I have better luck this time.

He calculated rapidly. It would take four hours to drive to Aspen. He waited on line for what seemed like forever and finally was taken care of. He completed the paperwork and was told to sit down and wait for the shuttle bus to the big parking lot full of rental cars. Everything was taking so much time!

He consoled himself, as he sat there waiting with his luggage and the short skis, which in the cold light of the terminal were a great embarrassment. Geraldine had told him that the highlight of her life would be to present her grandfather’s picture to the museum. When she finished, he’d present her with a highlight that would even top that.

60

A
T NINE O’CLOCK it was obvious that the party was a great success. Louis was beaming happily as he listened to the compliments on the restaurant and the paintings. The Louis painting was widely admired, and he was hearing himself referred to as the King. He loved it. He had already posed for several pictures in front of the fireplace with celebrities and moguls and the elite of Aspen.

The reception area was filled with over six hundred people sipping cocktails and mingling and checking out the latest designer evening wear adorning many of the women in the room.

The most serious looker was Ida. Threading through the crowd, she was having the time of her life, pretending to admire every black dress she was caught staring at. Where, oh where is the one I held in my hands just yesterday morning? she thought. I’ve got to find it, I’ve just got to.

Slowly the assemblage was herded into the banquet room for the dinner, dancing and program.

At a well-placed table bordering the dance floor, Kendra, Sam, Luke, and Nora took their seats. Regan, wearing a black velvet dress, found Ida in the crowd and ushered her to the table.

“I want you to sit down for a few minutes,” Regan told her. “You’ve been wandering around this party for too long.”

“Don’t worry, Regan. This is the best time I’ve had in years. I’m just getting frustrated that I haven’t seen the dress or my customer!”

Kit and Regan had been standing in the cocktail area with Derwood and Stewart and flashes of Larry when Regan went to find Ida. Larry was making the best of every last moment of socializing.

“I hate to sit down at the table, Regan,” he said. “I get antsy. That’s why when I get married, it’ll be a buffet reception.”

“I can’t wait,” Regan had said. “I’ll see you guys inside.”

After Ida had sat down and started chatting with the group, Regan looked around the room. The band was playing music with a pulsating energy. Everyone looked great and the drinks were flowing. The party had that indefinable quality that made it a winner. Louis should be happy, Regan thought. So far so good.

Regan spotted Geraldine Spoonfellow at the table closest to the stage, in a place of honor with the Rescue Aspen’s Past group. Her seat was closest to her grandfather’s paintings, which were now both onstage. The Beasley was covered with a drop cloth with a blue-spruce decor, the symbol of Colorado. The other Pop-Pop, a portrait of a resplendent senior citizen with white goatee, string tie and a sternly benevolent expression, was highlighted and impossible to ignore.

Regan hurried over to say hello. Geraldine shook her hand and seemed genuinely glad to see her. “Regan, the other day when you and Louis first came to the house, I didn’t think we’d be together here tonight,” she said warmly, covering Regan’s hand with hers.

“I’m awfully glad we are, Geraldine,” Regan said. “I can’t wait to hear you speak.”

Geraldine held up a notebook. “It’s all in here.”

From over Geraldine’s shoulder, Regan could see a tall older man approaching. It was Angus Ludwig, the old-time resident she’d met when she visited him with the reporter. He was crisp and elegant in his tuxedo with a red cummerbund. “You look mighty sharp, sir,” she said admiringly.

“Thank you, Regan. You look very sharp yourself. I just came over here to see if this pretty lady would like to share this dance with me. But I’m a little nervous, seeing as how she turned me down nearly sixty years ago. My feelings are still a little hurt.”

Geraldine’s head swiveled and she looked up at the man she hadn’t laid eyes on since she was a young girl. Her mouth dropped and her heart raced. “Angus Ludwig,” she whispered.

Simultaneously they both laughed and said, “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Angus took her hand in his. “My lady?”

Geraldine rose from her chair, never taking her eyes off him.

“If you’ll excuse us, Regan . . .” Angus said.

“Of course,” Regan replied and walked back toward her table. Let’s see, she thought, who might come back looking for me in fifty years? She couldn’t think of anyone.

Kit was making a beeline for the bathroom from the cocktail area. Regan hurried to follow her. “Kit, wait up,” she yelled.

Kit turned and smiled. She was wearing a bright red dress, her blond hair swept up in a chignon. “Regan, I feel like a louse,” she said.

“Why?”

“Derwood just asked if he could come and visit me in Connecticut in a couple of weeks.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I was seeing someone and it was starting to get serious.”

Regan paused. “Poor thing. He really seemed to like you.”

“There’s just no chemistry. He’s nice, but I don’t think it’s there for us. I figured that was the best way of getting out of it.”

“It is. It’s just too bad that it had to happen tonight.”

Kit’s face looked pensive. Her eyes wandered and quickly they brightened. “Look, Regan. He doesn’t waste any time. He’s already out dancing with somebody else.”

Regan turned and there was Derwood out on the floor, dancing his heart out with a very attractive blonde.

“I guess he likes you blondes,” Regan said. “I never had a chance with him.”

Kit laughed. “I feel better now. He is a nice guy. I still say you should go for his friend Stewart.”

“Whatever.” They pushed open the ladies’ room door and went inside.

61

J
UDD AND WILLEEN were randomly seated at a table for eight, which the other people at the table sourly observed might as well be in the kitchen. But it suited Judd and Willeen’s purposes admirably. Only a scant twelve feet behind them was a discreet arrow that pointed to the rest rooms.