Iced Read online

  Officer Madden nodded in agreement. “That’s right, ma’am.”

  I hate being called ma’am, Regan thought.

  Regan was still holding Eben’s clunky boots. “Well, since it looks as if he left here of his own volition, I say there’s something strange about him not taking these with him.”

  “Very often when criminals are in a hurry, they make stupid mistakes,” Officer Madden said flatly. “But I wouldn’t wear boots with bells if I wanted to make a quick exit and disappear.”

  Regan was agitated. The whole thing didn’t sit right with her, and she was determined to find out what the heck had happened. When she’d met Eben at Louis’s place in California he’d told her how much he enjoyed being a caretaker. “I get to live in the place while the owners are away making money to support it.” When Louis admitted Eben’s past, she had questioned him on the recommendation to Kendra.

  Louis had said, “Regan, I believe Eben when he said that he wouldn’t even steal a salt shaker from a restaurant. He hated prison.”

  What had changed his mind?

  Luke was talking. “As I was saying, why don’t we check Eben’s apartment and see what else he might have left behind?”

  Not bothering to put on their coats, they exited the side door and headed back to the garage apartment. The door was unlocked and they hurried up the steps.

  This place isn’t so bad, Regan thought. The living room was small but cozy, with a little kitchenette at the end.

  Sam pushed open the door to the bedroom. “The bed is neatly made,” he pronounced. “Why wouldn’t it be? He probably hasn’t slept in it for months.”

  Well, Regan thought, I can see why he preferred the main house. The room was small. A portable television was resting on a folding chair near the bed. But the quilt is cheery enough, and you can’t knock the view of the Rockies. And it’s certainly peaceful.

  In Los Angeles, Regan regularly had to scare off a group of early-morning walkers who often paused outside her first-floor bedroom window for a loud chat before they went on their separate ways. It always called for an indignant “DO YOU MIND?” Eben didn’t have to worry about that here. It was a perfect place to find solitude. Or a perfect place to be secluded if that’s what you wanted, she thought.

  Ceremoniously, Sam opened the closet. A couple of sweaters were folded on the shelf. A handful of work shirts, jeans, and corduroys were hanging on old wire hangers. Scuffed-up shoes were thrown around the closet floor.

  “Not many clothes here, Luke,” Sam said. “No Santa suit, either.”

  “Come to think of it, I don’t think he owned a suit,” Kendra said. “As I recall, he had a blue blazer that he sometimes wore.” She turned to Luke. “He wasn’t the type to get too dressed up.”

  “No sign of a blue blazer, no, sir,” Sam said.

  The top drawer of the dresser was not closed properly. It looked as if it had gotten stuck on the tracks when someone tried to shove it shut. It squeaked as Sam pulled it open. “It looks to me as if he didn’t want to leave without his socks and underwear. A man can’t do without those, now can he?” He held up a raggy pair of B.V.D.s and two mismatched socks. “I can’t say that I’m surprised he left these behind.”

  “Sam!” Kendra shook her head.

  “Yes, sir, here’s a man who knows that you should never wear underwear with holes in it. What will the emergency-room personnel think if you get hit by a truck?”

  Regan always thought that the doctors and nurses in emergency rooms probably had better things to do than discuss the state of their patients’ underwear.

  “Well, he obviously didn’t care about what we thought when we found it,” Kendra observed.

  “Need any more rags for the maid?” Sam asked before he dropped Eben’s personal effects back into the drawer.

  “Eben was the maid!” Kendra moaned. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “Let’s check the bathroom,” Nora suggested.

  They all shuffled over to the doorway. The bathroom could best be described as functional. White tiles, white toilet and small sink, white bathtub with a green vinyl shower curtain. Regan doubted that the towel racks were heated. In a way Regan couldn’t blame Eben for being tempted by the amenities in the guest-suite luxury bathroom, like the Olympic-size Jacuzzi. But that didn’t make him an art thief.

  The police officer opened the medicine cabinet. Another source of potential embarrassment, Regan thought. She had a friend who at parties would always make sure to use the bathroom before leaving in order to peek in people’s medicine chests and behind their shower curtains.

  But Eben’s medicine cabinet was empty except for a bottle of Tums on the top shelf. Stress, Regan thought. There was no sign of a toothbrush. There hadn’t been any toilet articles in the bathroom of the house, either. Another sign that he had planned his departure.

  “You say you met Eben Bean through Altide?” Officer Webb asked. “Did he have other references?”

  “No. Louis was so enthusiastic and Eben was currently working for him, so we just accepted his word.” The betrayal was starting to get to Kendra. Her face turned scarlet. “I can’t believe Louis did this to us. I could throttle him.”

  There was a phone in the caretaker apartment. She went over to it, dialed information and got the number of the Silver Mine. When she was put through to Louis, she did not mince words. “I just want you to know that your highly recommended caretaker friend has ripped us off. You may already know about the Grants’ painting. Ours weren’t nearly so valuable but they were expensive, and they were selected for very personal reasons over the past twenty years.”

  Sputtering could be heard from the other end of the phone.

  He’ll be a basket case by the time I get there, Regan thought.

  Kendra cut through the tearful apologies. “Oh, shut up,” she said as she slammed down the phone and marched out of the apartment.

  Over dinner, Sam and Luke made a determined effort to cheer up Kendra. “We’ve got each other and our children,” Sam said, “although they seem to avoid us in favor of the VCR. Come to think of it, I’m surprised Eben didn’t put that in his sack too. And we have our good friends.”

  “Don’t forget your health,” Luke added. “Your most valuable possession.” He paused. “Of course if it went on for everyone indefinitely, I’d be out of business.”

  “One time years ago, the police came to our home when we weren’t there because the alarm had gone off,” Nora contributed, as she ground pepper over her salad. “When they saw the mess in Regan’s room they were sure someone had broken in.”

  “Mom!” Regan protested.

  Nora shrugged. “Oh, honey, it’s a good story. Well, thank God, we got home before they started dusting for fingerprints. We had to inform them that that was the natural state of affairs in Regan’s room. The wind had tripped the alarm,” she explained.

  “Thank you for sharing,” Regan said as she helped herself to a piece of bread. She tried to sound light-hearted, but inwardly she was troubled. I’m a trained investigator, she thought. I knew Eben was a thief. Not the kind of thief who had one brush with the law but one who’d been a career criminal until he picked on the police commissioner’s wife. I’m going to find out what happened to him.

  Then she laid down the bread. Not, what happened to the art and where Eben had taken it, but what happened to Eben? Why did some instinct warn her that this was not a cut-and-dried case of a recidivist felon?

  9

  REGAN, THANK GOD, you’re here!” Louis screamed as the cabdriver helped her into the lobby with her bags.

  From the expression on his face, Regan could see that Louis was in his frantic mode. “It’s going to be all right,” she assured him. “Say, you’ve got a classy joint here.”

  For a brief, shining moment, the terror evaporated from his countenance. “I know,” he acknowledged.

  The lobby had a clubby atmosphere, with oriental rugs covering the old oak floor,
high-back chairs, a grand fire-place big enough for a weenie roast, glass-topped tables supported by antlers. Antlers, Regan realized, seemed to be a big theme in Louis’s decorating. They were also sprouting from the chandelier and peeking under lamp shades.

  Red wallpaper was the background for numerous paintings and portraits. Beyond the reception desk, a grand staircase led to the second floor.

  “The restaurant’s in the back,” Louis explained as he picked up her suitcase and headed for the stairs. “Let’s drop your bag in your room first.”

  Regan followed him across the lobby. As they passed the reception desk, the clerk, who had the tanned look of a perennial skier, called, “Louis, do you want me to get someone for the bags?”

  “Too late now, Tripp,” Louis shot back as he trudged up the steps.

  He’s tense, Regan decided. Louis’s receding brown hair was pulled back into a little ponytail. Flecks of gray were evident, probably multiplying by the minute, she thought. Despite the fact that he was a nervous wreck, in his splendid red dinner jacket and gray slacks Louis still looked the part of lord of the manor.

  “Where did you get all these great portraits?” Regan asked, pausing to examine them briefly as she ascended to the second floor.

  “They just look expensive,” Louis said defensively. “I started collecting them when I bought this place. You’d be amazed how many people dump their ancestors’ portraits into garage sales. They give an old place like this atmosphere.”

  “How old is it?” Regan asked, as they reached the second floor.

  “Exactly one hundred years old. That’s one of the reasons I got the big benefit. This place was originally the Silver Mine Tavern, built by Geraldine Spoonfellow’s grandfather. She’s the moving spirit behind the Rescue Aspen’s Past Association. She’s donating a painting to the association and it will be on view here at the party… if the party stays here.”

  Regan’s room was near the staircase. Louis led her into it. “It’s my best,” he said, waving his hand. “Hope you like it.”

  “I love it,” Regan said as she took in the old-fashioned wallpaper, fluffy quilt and sleigh bed. “It makes me feel like Emily Dickinson. Maybe I’ll write a poem.”

  As the words rolled off her tongue, she knew they weren’t falling on appreciative ears. She waited.

  Louis sank into the green velvet rocker by the window. “Regan,” he moaned, “I’m in big trouble.” Nervously he smoothed the hair on the sides of his head and pulled at his ponytail. “There’s a lot of money invested in this place.”

  “It looks it,” Regan agreed and then wished she hadn’t said that.

  “I have all my own money in it and investors’ money and it’s very important that this place starts to make some of that money back.”

  “Running a restaurant is tough,”Regan said and realized she should maybe go for a Dale Carnegie course. Think positively. Make the other fellow feel better. “You’ll make it back,” she added lamely as she thought about Sam’s comments on the plane.

  “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 PopPop 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 nameplates 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

  THE 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

  EBEN SLEPT FITFULLY. Being tied up didn’t help. He had dreams of a line of Santas marching toward him, ringing their bells and yel
ling, “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.