Iced (7 page)

“Regan, the dinner-dance is the key,” Louis said, his voice cracking with strain.

“I know it’s an important night for you.”

“It’s more than that. I didn’t go into it all over the phone, but that Geraldine Spoonfellow, a grande dame of Aspen if there ever was one, discovered a painting of her Pop-Pop in her barn. It’s over one hundred years old.”

Regan squinted. “Her what?”

“Her grandfather. That’s what she calls him. It’s a Beasley and it’s been appraised at three million dollars. That’s the painting she’s donating to the association. In the new museum they’ll have a special room for it. It features Pop-Pop and some other miner trudging down the mountain from their silver claim. On Thursday night, they’re going to give the painting its first public exhibition and they’re also going to sell silver name plates and use them to decorate that room.”

Louis took a deep breath. “Beasley’s done for Colorado what Remington did for the West and O’Keeffe did for the desert,” he explained nervously.

“And Monet did for outdoor picnics,” Regan added.

“Oh, Regan.” Louis laughed in spite of himself. “Anyway, that’s why we’re getting so much media coverage and interest from every social climber in Aspen. We’re fully booked. I’ve paid a publicist.
People
magazine is coming. I’ve pulled out all the stops.” Louis paused to catch his breath. “Now because of Eben everybody is mad at me. They’re talking about moving the affair to one of the other restaurants. If they do, I’ll start the New Year by filing for Chapter Eleven.”

“Who’s talking about moving the party?” Regan asked.

“Well, isn’t Kendra mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“I know her friends the Grants are mad at me.”

“Bingo,” Regan said.

“You’re a big help. Yvonne Grant called to scream at me after Kendra let her know about Eben. What do you think the Rescue Aspen’s Past Association—isn’t that a dumb name?—is going to think? I’m tied to the felon who just ripped off two prominent Aspen citizens.”

“I don’t think they’ll be very happy,” Regan agreed. “But, Louis, we can’t be sure that Eben is guilty.”

He looked up at her, astonished. “Why not? The trouble with me and you is that we’re nice, kindhearted optimists. In other words, we’re big dopes. I should have laid it out for Kendra, and then, when I blabbed about him to you, you should have decided to warn her.”

“Thanks for including me,” Regan said sardonically. “Share the guilt. Why did you have to tell me about his record in the first place?”

“I’m sorry,” Louis apologized. “Regan, the cops are coming to talk to me in the morning, after they get a full report on him. Will you sit in with me?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

10

T
HE MAN KNOWN to the art world as the Coyote had spent a highly entertaining Christmas. He had thoroughly bugged the remote cottage where Willeen, Judd and their unwilling guest Eben were staying. He was able to hook up a cable through the phone line there, connecting his equipment to the hidden cameras. An electronics whiz, he could not only hear but actually see their every activity on the sophisticated portable televisions that were one of the tools of his trade.

At first, when he’d heard Willeen and Judd making their pathetic plans to kidnap Eben and steal the art from the Grants and the Woods, he had toyed with the idea of once again beating them to it.

Then he’d decided that would be a serious mistake. The art in the Woods’ home was a trifle compared to the value of the Beasley paintings. Even the Grants’ million-dollar Guglione painting was not worth the risk.

The Coyote was saving himself for Thursday night.

That the whole Aspen community would be in an uproar over the supposed guilt of that poor slob, Eben Bean, was nothing short of a gift to him. No one would even consider the possibility that Eben would return to attempt to remove the Beasley painting in front of six hundred spectators.

The Coyote leaned forward. There wasn’t much to watch now. Willeen and Judd were on their way into town to hobnob in the Timberline with the people out for a belt on Christmas night. Eben Bean was staring at the ceiling. His arms were moving, so he was probably trying to undo the knots Judd had tied so carefully.

“Go for it,” the Coyote said aloud. “I wish I could help you, pal. You’ve been a big help to me.”

After he turned off the set, he felt restless. Maybe he’d go out for a glass of cheer. He deserved it. In the morning, when he was rested and fresh, he’d mull over the plan Judd and Willeen had concocted to steal the about-to-be-donated Beasley on Thursday the twenty-ninth.

And he’d work out all the details of his scheme to add another Beasley to his collection.

11

Monday, December 26

E
BEN SLEPT FITFULLY. Being tied up didn’t help. He had dreams of a line of Santas marching toward him, ringing their bells and yelling, “Merry merry merry Eben.” I wish this were a dream, he kept thinking. When he finally came out of it and awoke, he was flooded with relief, until he realized again where he was. From bad to worse and back again, he thought.

Gray winter light was beginning to filter through the ratty shade. I feel as stark and hollow as this room, he thought. Normally I’d be getting up soon and fixing a pot of Kendra’s fresh-ground gourmet coffee. Then I’d sit at the big butcher-block table, read the local papers and get ready to take on the day. But this dawn felt incredibly lonely, as dawns can when you’re alone and have got no plans, nothing in particular that needs to be done. Like the days back in prison. He shook his feet, which were chained to the foot of the bed. “I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere soon,” he mumbled softly.

Eben’s body ached. His muscles were cramping up but good. Normally he liked to sprawl out in his sleep, planting himself in the middle of the king-size bed at Kendra’s house and getting her money’s worth out of every inch of the mattress. With his hands tied behind him, there weren’t too many positions to get comfortable in. When he tried to rest on his back, the only parts of his body that got any sleep were his hands. He’d spent several cheerless minutes trying to shake out the pins and needles.

I could use Daisy to give me a good massage, he thought. He’d known Daisy and Buck ever since Buck had done some construction work on the house. A couple of times Eben had splurged and hired Daisy, and it had been well worth it. He always felt like a new man after the massage, and Daisy was good company too. So relaxed. “Not a hassle,” was her favorite expression. He would have liked to have gotten to know them better, but he kept mostly to himself. Sometimes they had invited him to dinner, but he usually declined. He didn’t want to get too close for fear they’d find out about his past. A deeper sense of gloom struck Eben’s heart. I bet they know now, he thought.

Last year there’d been a nice little write-up in the local paper on the Grants’ party. Eben had been a little disappointed that they hadn’t used one of the pictures he was in, but he was happy they mentioned the “spirited” Santa who made the “children of all ages” smile and laugh. What did they have to say about Santa this year? he wondered. Santa the Swindler?

It wasn’t until about eight o’clock that he heard voices in the living room. The walls were thin and the place was small. On top of that, Eben had been blessed with excellent hearing. But as he listened, he was shocked to realize that it was not Willeen and Judd talking.

“I enjoyed meeting the Smiths from Arizona. It was their first time at the Timberline too,” a cultured woman’s voice was saying.

“He’s in reinsurance, dear,” a well-modulated man’s voice answered back.

Who are they? Eben wondered. Should I try to attract their attention? Who could they be? Then, at the next words, he realized what was going on.

“Geez, Eben, it’s a pain in the butt trying to talk nice,” Willeen yelled. The door swung open and she walked over to the bed. “Did we fool ya?”

“You deserve an Academy Award,” Eben said sourly. “But I’d keep your day job.”

Judd joined Willeen. “We took elocution lessons. They were expensive.”

“Demand a refund,” Eben snapped.

Willeen laughed heartily. “You’re a card, Eben. Hey, Judd, let’s let Eben stretch his legs and use the can. Eben, you can even sit in the living room and have breakfast with us. But don’t try anything.”

“I won’t,” Eben replied as Judd freed him from the bed.

A few minutes later, Judd was pouring coffee into Eben’s cup. A gun lay on the table next to Willeen.

Eben sipped the bitter black brew and almost choked. “Do you have any sugar?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Willeen said. She got up and flipped on the radio.

“You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille,” Kenny Rogers was singing mournfully.

Eben found himself tapping his foot.

When the song ended, Marty, the DJ, said, “Well, that’s a song the Wood family could be singing this morning, referring, of course, to their caretaker, Eben Bean. Come on now, Eben, how could you do it? We at the station are hereby nominating you for America’s Most Ungrateful Criminal.”

Judd’s laugh was a series of braying snorts punctuated by slaps on his thigh.

“But seriously, folks,” Marty continued, “the police are putting up Eben’s picture around town and want you to be on the lookout for him. Of course he’s probably in Tahiti by now!”

Willeen widened her eyes and pointed at Eben. “There he is!”

“Shut up, Willeen,” Judd ordered as he turned up the volume of the radio.

“. . . possible link between Eben Bean and a Mace attack three days ago on an elderly dude in Vail in which a painting worth mucho bucks was stolen,” the DJ concluded.

“Oh my God.” Eben’s tone was barely audible.

“Perfect,” Willeen declared as Judd snapped off the radio. “Everything is working out just beautifully.”

The clock on the nightstand that used to hold Eben’s Vicks and tissues read eight-fifteen.

“Darling, I can see why that Eben fellow slept in this bed. It really is rather comfortable,” Nora murmured as she rolled over and faced Luke.

Luke pulled her close. “Nothing like helping yourself to a few perks. Remember the guy I had at the first home who kept stealing the flowers?”

“Wasn’t he dating a bunch of girls at the same time?” Nora asked drowsily.

“I’ll say. I knew something was up when we got to the cemetery to bury a client and there weren’t as many flowers in the hearse as there’d been at the home. That it was Valentine’s Day made it even more suspicious. When we got back I pretended that I was thinking of buying a car like his and could I get a look at his trunk space.” Luke chuckled at the memory.

“When I opened it, there were two big bouquets staring us in the face. One was from the Moose Lodge and the other was from the Shriners.”

“That’s terrible,” Nora said as she rubbed her eyes. “Thank God he didn’t have a bigger trunk. Or the only flowers around your client’s grave would have been the daisies he eventually pushed up himself.”

“You’re sick,” Luke declared.

“It runs in the family. Ohhh”—Nora stretched her arms—“I guess it’s time to get up. It’s so nice not to have to hurry.”

Luke kissed her. “I’ll jump in Eben’s shower first. Sam said we should take a day to get used to the altitude before we ski, so why don’t we take them out to lunch? It’ll take their minds off all those blank spaces on the walls.”

“Let’s hope we don’t pass too many art galleries,” Nora said as she pulled the covers around her. “I’ll just rest my eyes for a few minutes longer.”

Fifteen minutes later Luke opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom, drying his hair with a scraggly hunter-green towel.

As he had expected, Nora was fast asleep. He tiptoed over to the bed, leaned down, and was shocked when her arm reached up and grabbed the towel.

“I’m going to do this to you when I’m in one of your caskets,” she threatened, then looked with distaste at the towel she was holding. “Where did you get this rag? Surely Kendra’s decorator didn’t select it.”

“A towel is a towel, my dear. It was in the linen closet in the bathroom. As far as I can tell, it was serving its purpose until you so rudely grabbed it.”

Nora sat up and pushed back the apricot quilt. “Look at this. It’s disintegrating.” A shower of green nublets had settled on the bed, and some had drifted onto the beige carpet.

“Would you have minded if they matched?” Luke asked.

“Oh, be quiet,” Nora chuckled as she swung her legs onto the floor, walked across the room, and shut the bathroom door behind her. She turned on the shower and glanced at the thick monogrammed towels on the racks. A suspicion formed in her mind. I’ll bet anything Eben brought in his own towels when he stayed here, she thought.

Twenty minutes later she was convinced that her guess had been accurate. When Luke helped her make the king-size bed, she noticed a slip of paper between the nightstand and the dust ruffle. When she picked it up she realized it was a receipt from the Mishmash Bargain Store in Vail. The items purchased included a dozen bath towels at ninety-nine cents each. The date on the receipt was December 23.

“Luke, look at this,” Nora said, showing him the receipt. “Your towel might be brand-new.”

Luke studied his wife. He recognized the analytical frown of Nora the mystery writer’s investigative mind. It always amused him that Regan had that same expression when she was puzzled.

“He just bought them a few days ago,” Nora said. “Why wouldn’t he take them with him?”

“He must have taken some of them,” Luke said. “There aren’t more than five or six in the closet.”

“Then he might have forgotten them,” Nora reflected, “but on the other hand, the fact that he was in Vail could be significant. Maybe he has a connection there. I’m going to call Regan and talk to her about it.”

12

A
T NINE O’CLOCK on Monday morning, Regan and Louis met with Detective Matt Sawyer, who had been assigned to investigate the Christmas-weekend thefts.