Iced Page 4

  “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.

  For Daisy, it was not meant to be. At a sit-in in Aspen, she met Buck Frasher. She noticed him across the crowded green, wearing love beads that matched hers. Cupid struck. Buck came over to her and never left. How square, Daisy sometimes thought. I of all people never thought I would get married so young. She and Buck had settled happily into life in Aspen together and never looked back.

  Buck got a job giving snowmobile tours during the winter. During the summer he worked in construction. Daisy became a traveling masseuse, visiting hotels and private homes, her clients ranging from Hollywood stars to regular folks with aching backs.

  “Feel better now?” Daisy asked as she released her hands and headed for the sink.

  “A little,” Ida said as she reached back and caressed her shoulder under her brown polyester jacket. It was her favorite outfit, the jacket with the matching skirt and pale yellow blouse with the ruffle around the collar. Even though Ida worked at the dry cleaner’s, the best part of it was that it was wash-and-wear.

  Ida was in her mid-seventies. She had a pleasant face framed with salt-and-pepper hair, large glasses, and an understanding smile that greeted customers who brought in their stained clothes and were upset that they might never be able to wear them again. She always promised that they would try their best and if that wasn’t good enough to remove those pesky stains, then darn it, they’d run those dirty clothes through the machine again. If all their efforts failed, Ida had the sad task of putting a bright orange sticker with a frowning face on the ticket. She hated that.

  Ida still lived in Ohio but came out to spend a couple of months every year with Daisy and her family. A local dry cleaner always needed extra help, and Ida’s experience at the One-Hour Cleaners back in Columbus had gotten her hired for some part-time work when she was in town. She kept an autograph book behind the counter, and when the stars came in, she always got them to sign it for her.

  She also took a secret delight in going through their pockets, hoping that they left something interesting that she could tell the girls about when she went back to Ohio in the spring. But of course, she always returned everything.

  “You’re the eyes and the ears of the world,” her boss always said, but she never did anything to threaten his business. She didn’t even put up that much of a stink when he told her to leave her camera home. The stars in Aspen don’t like having their pictures taken when they’re running around town doing their errands like everyone else.

  “Honey, what time are we going to eat?” Buck asked from the family room, which was an extension of the kitchen. He was a hearty, bearded man who was at the moment sitting on the floor playing with six-year-old Zenith and seven-year-old Serenity, the children who arrived one after the other after years of unexplained infertility.

  “It just goes to show what can happen when you forget about trying so hard,” Daisy always preached to anxious would-be mothers among her clients.

  Daisy and Buck gave their children the names they had picked out so long ago when they decided it was time to go forth and multiply.

  Buck got up, walked over, and helped himself to a stalk of celery that was lying on the counter.

  Daisy pushed back her long brown hair. “About six,” she said. She hadn’t changed much at all from her hippie days. She always said she wouldn’t know what to do with all that mousse and spray and gel some women put into their hair. Not to mention the fact that the aerosol cans wreck the ozone layer.

  The phone on the counter began to ring. Buck picked it up. “Merry Christmas.”

  Ida turned to Daisy. “He shouldn’t say that. What if they’re Jewish?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “ ‘Happy Holidays’ would be more appropriate…”

  Daisy motioned for her mother to be quiet as she saw the concerned expression on Buck’s face.

  “Kendra, I haven’t talked to Eben in a few days.” Buck leaned on the counter. “When I saw him on Friday he said he was heading out of town to do some shopping.”

  “Who’s Eben?” Ida asked.

  “A caretaker we know,” Daisy whispered. Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Buck, what happened?”

  Buck covered the phone with his hand. “Kendra and Sam Wood just got into town with their kids and some guests. Their artwork is missing, Eben is gone, and there’s no sign of forced entry.”

  “Oh wow!” Daisy exclaimed.

  “Kendra Wood is a lovely actress,” Ida observed. “Who are her guests this weekend? Anybody famous? If so, I’d like to get their autographs.”

  7

  EBEN HAD HAD a terrible night. And to think it had been Christmas Eve. It just wasn’t fair. He knew he should never have trusted old Mr. Smoothie. Hell, Judd had never been very nice to him back in their days of confinement. Why the change of tune now? If I’d had my thinking cap on, I would have been suspicious. How often does a leopard change his spots anyway?

  And sweet little Willeen. Give me a break. She had a pretty tight grip when she yanked his arms behind him and helped Judd snap on the handcuffs. Judd knew that Eben’s fingers worked like magic at removing jewelry, so he also tied a rope around his wrists with double knots that would have made Houdini pause.

  Eben was not only scared but was also homesick for Kendra’s house. Tears welled in his eyes as he once again thought that even if he did get out of this alive, he’d probably never get his job back. Not after Kendra realized he’d been taking advantage of all the little luxuries the house had to offer. Like sleeping in the guest suite.

  If only, he thought. Eben knew that one of the most painful things a person can do is mull over all the “if onlys” in his life. Like the endless hours in prison, this newfound free time was getting him started again. If only the police commissioner hadn’t been watching him. If only he’d wiped out the tub. If only he’d been born with the innate ability to make tons of money. If only he’d been born into a family that wanted him. Oh forget it, he decided. No use torturing myself. I’ve got Judd and Willeen for that.

  Eben rolled a little bit sideways on the bed. This blanket smells as if some drooling dog spent a lot of time snoozing here, he thought. No one is ever going to find me. This place is remote.

  The door to the bedroom opened. Willeen was standing there in her black stretch pants and cheerful holiday sweater. “Are you having a nice Christmas?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Never been merrier,” Eben answered.

  “Well, you sure helped to make ours a better one,” Willeen said. “We got lots of nice presents, thanks to you.”

  Last night they had gone out after securing him to the bedpost. Hours later they returned, flush with victory. Judd was decked out in the Santa suit, the cap and fake beard in his hand.

  “Willeen makes a good Rudolph,” he’d told Eben. “She was waiting in the car for her secret Santa, protecting the pretty pictures we took off Kendra Wood’s walls. When I got out of the party I jumped in and we dashed out of town.”

  How galling, Eben had thought. Judd and Willeen had cleaned out Kendra’s house of all her art and then had gone on to the Grants’ party, where they’d pulled off another heist. So much for the Christmas moratorium of peace on earth and good will toward men.

  And to make it even worse, they had grabbed most of Eben’s clothes from his room at Kendra’s. Now everyone would think he was the thief and had run out of town. No one would be thinking kindly o
f him!

  “Would you like a little snack?” Willeen asked now. “A little Christmas porridge?”

  “You’re not going to poison me, are you?” Eben retorted, only half kidding. He had no idea what they were planning for him, but he was worried. How could they ever let him out of there alive when he knew what they had done?

  “Eben, you’re our Christmas blessing,” Willeen said.

  “I’m sure not one of the three wise men,” Eben muttered.

  As Willeen walked out of the room, Eben could hear Judd’s voice in the living room. “Willeen, this stash should save our butts with Claude. He’ll blame us for not beating the Coyote to that painting that was stolen in Vail. But the party on Thursday will put us over our quota in the group’s sales club.”

  “Yup, the Beasley will save our butts,” she agreed.

  Oh my God, Eben thought. Does that mean that Judd and Willeen are planning to steal old Geraldine Spoonfellow’s Beasley painting from Louis’s party? Spoonfellow is famous for making a stink about law and order. If anything happens to her property in Louis’s place, she’ll have it closed down. Louis will be ruined. He’s probably halfway there already if everyone in town found out that he’s the one who recommended a jailbird to Kendra Wood. Tongues must be wagging all over the Roaring Fork Valley.

  Eben tried to breathe steadily. He felt himself getting light-headed, as if becoming detached from reality, floating above his handcuffed, shackled self. This can’t be happening, he thought. They will probably kill me. Why didn’t they kill me right away? Maybe because they’d be stuck with my remains. After they steal Geraldine’s painting, they’ll be hotfooting it out of town. I don’t think they’ll want me along. They won’t leave me here to talk about them. So…

  Eben forced himself to cease and desist the dreary path on which his thoughts were leading him.

  Trying to be an optimist, he whispered to himself, “If I do have until Thursday, maybe I can figure out a way to bust out of here.”

  What a way to spend the holidays.

  8

  NOT EXACTLY WHAT I expected to find at Kendra’s house on Christmas afternoon in Aspen, Regan thought. It reminded her of the story of the three bears. Eben was missing, but his presence was everywhere. After Kendra phoned Eben’s acquaintances Buck and Daisy, and while they awaited the arrival of the police, they’d begun to walk through the house.

  “Somebody’s been sleeping in the guest bed,” Kendra said, her voice and finger shaking in unison as she pointed out that not only had her house been robbed and her art was missing, but her caretaker had enjoyed the pleasures of the guest suite as well.

  They were all standing around the spacious room. Obviously Eben had made himself very comfortable. Several books on how to ski were scattered on the king-size bed. The television was pulled out from the armoire and tilted for better viewing. The pillows were propped up just so and a bottle of Vicks and a box of tissues were placed within handy reach of the bed on the handcrafted night table.

  “Eben loved the smell of Vicks,”Kendra said flatly. “He told me one of his few good memories of the orphanage was standing in his crib when he was sick and inhaling the steam from the vaporizer. It made him feel loved.”

  “I would have bought him a vaporizer for his own room,” Sam grunted. He picked up and leafed through a stack of adventure and mystery magazines that were piled on the chaise longue. With a disgusted look he remarked, “I should have known about that guy.”

  “He seemed so trustworthy,” Kendra protested. “He said that he wanted to take care of a nice house because he’d never gotten the chance to live in one while he was growing up. It’s just so hard to believe he would do something like this.”

  I’m going to have to tell them, Regan thought miserably. She had met and liked Eben when he worked for Louis in Los Angeles a couple of years ago. That was when Louis had had a small catering business. But she had also known that Eben had spent five years in the clink for jewel theft. When Louis told Regan that he had recommended Eben for a job with Kendra Wood, Regan had ignored the warning voice in her head that told her Kendra should be made aware of Eben’s background. Now, as one after another of the paintings Kendra had loved were noted as missing from the walls, Regan’s guilt deepened. She felt a tug at her arm.

  “Regan, what’s up?” Nora whispered. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Regan shook her head as the front doorbell rang.

  “That will be the cops,” Kendra said. She darted for the door, returning with two police officers. “This used to be known as the guest suite,” she explained. “But it’s obviously where my caretaker took up residence.”

  “He has very good taste,” the cop, who introduced himself as Officer Dennis Madden, observed dryly.

  “I’m on the next shift in this room,” Luke remarked. “The last guy checked out in a hurry.”

  The other officer, a slender young woman who looked to be in her late twenties, raised her eyebrows. “Did you have any knowledge of him playing Santa Claus for the Grants last night?” she asked Kendra and Sam.

  “Last year at their party he stepped in for someone who got sick at the last minute,” Kendra said. “Eben said he had been a department-store Santa years ago and loved it. They asked him back this year. Why? Didn’t he show up?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Today they discovered a blank spot on the wall in their library. A Guglione painting is missing.” She glanced down at her notes. “We talked to the Grant children and they said that Santa ‘had to go tinky’ before he left for the North Pole. He asked to use the bathroom off the library. Nobody else from the party went in there. The kids said that his bag looked full when he left.”

  “Oh my God!” Kendra cried. “Yvonne is a friend of mine. Sam, that painting is worth a fortune. I can’t believe that Eben could have done this!”

  “How much did you know about him when you hired him?” Officer Madden asked.

  Kendra looked at Sam. “We had placed an ad but hadn’t found anyone we felt comfortable with. Then an acquaintance we’d met in Los Angeles through Regan, Louis Altide, recommended Eben. Said he’d known him for years. Louis lives in Aspen now. He just opened the Silver Mine Inn.”

  Regan inhaled sharply. I’ve got to tell them now, she thought. Here goes nothing. Or everything. “Kendra,” she began.

  Kendra looked up at her. “Yes, Regan.”

  “There’s something you should know about Eben. Something I should probably have told you before…”

  The whole group waited.

  Regan found herself cringing as she mouthed the words, “Eben spent a few years in prison.”

  “For what?” Kendra’s voice rose.

  “Jewelry theft.”

  Kendra and Nora both unconsciously grabbed at their necklaces.

  “Why didn’t you say anything before this, Regan?” Nora asked.

  “I didn’t find out until after Kendra and Sam hired him and he was already working here. I didn’t think it was my place to interfere.”

  Kendra hesitated, then said, “If you knew before I hired him, it might have made a difference. But he did do a good job and I wouldn’t have fired him if I had found out.” She paused. “So he’s an ex-con?”

  “No wonder he never wore stripes,” Sam said.

  “Did Louis know when he recommended him?” Kendra asked.

  Regan gritted her teeth. “Wel-l-l, I guess so. But he seemed to be such a nice guy and so accommodating. There was nothing Louis asked him to do that he wasn’t perfectly happy to do.”

  “That much is true,” Sam grunted. He waved his hand around the room. “We just didn’t know how much in perks he was taking on his own. And how much he was planning to take.”

  “I was thinking of giving him a raise.” Kendra sighed. “He was so agreeable. You know, I looked in the refrigerator and he’d done some of the food shopping.” Then she looked at Regan and shook her head. “Regan, I’d have given him a break if I were in your shoe
s. Louis is a different story. The way he praised Eben I thought he was his long-lost brother.”

  Officer Madden had his notebook out and began firing questions at Regan. “What name did this guy go under? Was that his real name? Where was he in prison?”

  “He was in prison in New York State. I think it’s his real name but I don’t really know.”

  “I’ll talk to this Louis guy. Some friend,” the cop muttered. “Pass off a jailbird on you.”

  Deep in thought, Regan wandered over to the bathroom and glanced inside. This place is bigger than my living room, she thought. All done in tones of apricot, there was a large Jacuzzi, a separate shower with a gleaming glass door, a toilet set off on its own with a view of the snowy mountains right in the backyard, and a long countered area with two sinks and a mirror covering the whole wall. You could have an aerobics class in here, she mused. A pair of big black boots with jingle bells attached sat under the counter on a green towel.

  “Look at these,” she called as she picked them up and carried them into the bedroom. “Wouldn’t these be the type of boots you would wear if you were going to play Santa? They look as if they are all shined and ready to go. Even the bells are attached. But there’s no sign of the rest of his outfit.”

  “We can check his apartment,” Sam said.

  The policewoman, Officer Webb, opened the closet door. A man’s terry-cloth bathrobe was hanging by itself. A few brightly colored polyester shirts were on the floor. Several hangers were askew. “It looks like someone might have left here in a hurry.”

  You would think that anyone who loves his Vicks would have brought along his terry-cloth bathrobe, Regan mused. People get attached to their bathrobes like children to their security blankets, wearing them to tatters, often throwing them away only after a long-suffering family member buys them a new one.

  Nora had her arms folded and a thoughtful look was on her face. “Maybe he came back here after he was at the Grants’ and then took off.”

  “That would be taking a big risk,” Regan said. “If they discovered right away that the painting was gone and they knew who Santa was, this is the first place they’d have looked for him.”