Iced

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “It’s our little secret,” Eben assured him. “I’m trying to make an honest living too. I’ve got a dream job, but I wouldn’t have it if they didn’t think they could trust me.” As he talked, Eben wondered if all the members of the five million support groups that had sprung up for every conceivable problem felt the same queasiness when they ran into each other in public. Life was so much simpler when the one club everyone had in common was the T.G.I.F. group. Thank God it’s Friday. Of course, being inmates together wasn’t quite the same as being in group therapy, but it was a secret that the rest of the world didn’t need to know.

  Eben could see that a new girlfriend might not look kindly on a previously unmentioned incarceration period. What was it that Judd had been locked up for anyway? Eben racked his brains. I’ve got it! he thought as Judd’s girlfriend joined them. He was an art thief.

  Judd put down his beer. “This is Willeen. Willeen, say hello to Eben here. We know each other from way back.”

  She’s a cute-looking gal, Eben thought. He extended his hand. “How do you do.”

  “My pleasure.” Willeen smiled as she squeezed Eben’s hand and held it just a little bit too long. She had blond hair, freckles and a pouty mouth. Eben figured she was probably about forty. Judd still looked the same to him: a good-looking Mr. Smoothie with brown hair and brown eyes, about the same height as Eben, late forties. Eben remembered him as being sharp-tongued but funny. They make an attractive couple, Eben thought, even though Judd is not practicing the honesty-is-the-best-policy theory of relationships these days.

  “So what’s this job, Eben?” he asked.

  Over a beer he explained. It was nice to chat and brag about the fancy home he was in charge of. They sat down in one of the booths by the bar and ordered dinner. Feeling good, Eben boasted a little about his upcoming gig playing Santa at the famous Christmas Eve party at Yvonne and Lester Grants’ house. Willeen obviously read the gossip columns.

  “The Grants’ house?” she repeated, impressed.

  “Yes,” Eben said proudly. “Yvonne Grant has a big party every year and really likes to do it up. Everyone brings their kids, so naturally they want Santa there too. It’s so much fun. You should see me all dressed up!”

  “We’d love to.” Judd had laughed.

  “But how, honey?” Willeen asked. She turned to Eben and put her hand on his arm. “We’re not invited to the party,” she said with a flirtatious pout.

  Eben was pretty relaxed at this point. He usually didn’t like to bring anybody back to Kendra’s house. But his Santa suit was in the bedroom there and it was Christmas….

  “Come back to my place for a nightcap!” he’d blurted. “The Wood family is coming on Christmas Day. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

  Judd had insisted on paying the check and the three of them headed out into the night together.

  Now in the light of day Eben felt a little guilty about it. Oh well, he thought as he snowplowed back and forth. No use worrying about it now.

  The snow was really coming down and Eben’s goggles were starting to fog up. It was perfect Christmas Eve weather, but Eben was glad when he made it to the bottom. He hurried to his car and secured his skis in the rack on top. I’ll be home in a few minutes, he thought, and I’ll heat up some cider, take a nice hot Jacuzzi, and get ready to ho-ho-ho.

  “Eben.”

  Eben turned his head as he was opening the door to his car. Judd was running toward him.

  “Hi, Judd. What’s going on?”

  Huffing and puffing, Judd told him. “Willeen was supposed to pick me up but she had some trouble with the car. Would you mind giving me a lift to the place where we’re staying?”

  Eben tried to sound cordial when he was really anxious to get home. “Well, sure, Judd. Where did you say it was?”

  “It’s just a few minutes outside of town. Not too far.”

  “Hop in.”

  They drove along chatting amiably, heading in the opposite direction of the Woods’ home. Eben stole a peek at his watch, hoping that they’d get there soon. He didn’t have much time now.

  “Turn here,” Judd finally said. He led Eben up a heavily wooded rural road to an old Victorian farmhouse.

  “I see you decided not to go the condo route, huh?” Eben said.

  “We like an old-fashioned kind of place with a little bit of privacy,” Judd replied. “Why don’t you come in for a drink?”

  “Thanks, but I can’t.” Eben didn’t know why all of a sudden he felt uncomfortable. “I told you I’ve got to go be Santa.”

  Judd pulled out a gun from under his jacket and pointed it at Eben’s head. “Don’t worry about Santa. Nobody believes in him anyway. Now get in the house.”

  As his life passed before his eyes, Eben desperately wished he’d obeyed his instinct that morning to remove his things from the guest suite and wipe out the tub.

  2

  SUMMIT, NEW JERSEY

  Saturday, December 24

  REGAN REILLY LEANED back on the big overstuffed couch in her parents’ den and balanced a cup of hot tea in her hands; she was mesmerized by the twinkling lights of the sizable Christmas tree in the corner. Gaily wrapped packages were cozily arranged around its trunk. Tinsel glistened from its branches.

  You’d never know it was a fake, Regan thought. She turned her gaze to the flames lapping evenly in the fireplace. You’d never know the fire was a fake either. Three red felt stockings hanging on the mantel, embroidered with the names Regan, Luke and Nora, completed the perfect Christmas-card scene.

  The old grandfather clock in the hallway started to bong. Five o’clock and all is well, she thought.

  So where are my mommy and daddy?

  Her father, the owner of three funeral homes in the Summit, New Jersey, area, had gone out to take care of a few errands and her mother had gone into New York City to have her tooth repaired by their friend, Dr. Larry Ashkinazy, otherwise known as Mr. Drill, Fill and Bill.

  Regan, a private investigator who lived in Los Angeles, was home with her parents for a few days before they all headed out to Aspen on Christmas Day. Regan was going to stay with a friend who was opening a restaurant and inn out there. She and Louis had met three years ago in traffic school in L.A., both having been nailed by the same cop in a speed trap on the Santa Monica Freeway. Rather than get points on their licenses, they had each opted for the choice of attending traffic school, which meant classes run by stand-up comedians. Louis, an occasionally successful dilettante, was a co-founder of the Silver Dollar Flapjack Chain, and he had confided to Regan his dream of someday opening up a restaurant of his own in Colorado.

  Now, at age fifty, Louis had finally achieved his goal. He had sold his house in L.A., invested his last red cent, and had begged and borrowed the rest. His new restaurant was called the Silver Mine, and there would be a kickoff party there on December 29 to benefit the Rescue Aspen’s Past Association.

  While Regan stayed at the Silver Mine, her parents would be the houseguests of Kendra and Sam Wood. Sam was a prominent Broadway producer. Kendra, an actress who had starred in one of Nora’s television movies, was about to make her Broadway debut in Sam’s upcoming production.

  Regan put down her teacup and pulled the requisite multi-colored afghan on the back of the couch around her. She snuggled into the arm of the couch, the only arm around, when the phone began to ring. She picked up the cordless phone next to her, willing her voice to sound bright and holidayish.

  “Hello.”

  “Reilly!”

  “Kit!” It was one of Regan’s best friends. They had met ten years before, in college, when they’d both spent their junior year abroad, at Saint Polycarp’s in Oxford, England. They’d become fast friends when at the first evening meal they’d deemed the cafeteria food unfit for human consumption. Dumping their trays, they headed downtown for spaghetti, which they ended up living on all year. Regan sat up on the couch. “How are things in the land of the insurance policy?”

&
nbsp; “Hartford’s all right. I’m trying to get into the spirit before I head to my parents’ house for dinner.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re nibbling on any of that fruitcake your company sends out?” Regan asked. “Unless of course you keep a power saw in your apartment.”

  “No way. We had about a dozen left over from last year. We sent them out to people who canceled their policies.”

  “So how else are you getting into the spirit?” Regan asked.

  “Well,” Kit sighed. “I bought some mistletoe.”

  “I admire your optimism.”

  “Very funny. You know what we’re heading into, don’t you?”

  “No. What?”

  “The start of the Bermuda Triangle. And believe me, it’s deadly.”

  Regan frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Christmas, New Year’s Eve, and Valentine’s Day. The three worst holidays for single women. Will you get a present for Christmas, a date for New Year’s, a lone flower on Valentine’s Day?”

  Regan laughed. “I have a feeling that on February fifteenth I’m going to be zero for three.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I’m sitting here staring at the presents under the tree. Every single one that’s labeled ‘Regan’ has handwriting that looks suspiciously like my mother’s. New Year’s Eve in Aspen should be fun, but I’m sure it’ll be a group affair. But that’s okay. Ever since Guy Lombardo died, New Year’s Eve just hasn’t been the same. Valentine’s Day I don’t want to even think about. Now”—Regan paused slightly for emphasis—”you are coming to Aspen, aren’t you?”

  “I think so.”

  “I think so’s not good enough. I know you’re off next week.”

  “Well, I should go in and clear up some odds and ends before the end of the year.”

  “I thought you sent out all the fruitcake.”

  Kit laughed. “I’ve checked the flights. I’ll probably be there by mid-week.”

  “What do you mean, probably? There isn’t anything else stopping you, is there?”

  Kit hesitated. “No.”

  “What is it? You bought mistletoe. Are you dating somebody?”

  “Well, I’ve had a few dates with this guy in my health club. He seems really nice. I just thought that if he wanted to get together over the holidays, you know…”

  “Yeah,” Regan said, “but if he doesn’t ask you out for New Year’s Eve, you’ll be sitting home alone banging pots and pans together at midnight.”

  “I’ve thought of that.”

  The phone clicked in Regan’s ear. “Hold on a second, Kit.”

  “Hello.”

  “Doll! It’s me.”

  “Louis!”Regan could picture him fluffing his hair, pushing it behind his ear and then patting his head. “I’m just on the phone with Kit.”

  “Is she coming?”

  “I hope so. Hold on.” Regan clicked back to Kit. “It’s Louis. Let me call you back.”

  “I’ll be here hanging the mistletoe.”

  As Regan got back on the line with Louis, she could hear him giving orders in the background. “Louis? Hellooooo. LOUIS!”

  “Yes, darling. We’re a little crazed.”

  “Isn’t that good?” Regan asked. It was an important time for him. Reaction to his restaurant over the holidays, and the party on the twenty-ninth, would make or break him.

  “Yes, I guess so, darling. Don’t mind me, I’m just a wreck. I thought I’d try and reach you and make sure you’ll be in tomorrow night. I can’t believe it’ll be Christmas!”

  “I know,” Regan said. “I’ll be there. My parents and I are flying out tomorrow afternoon on the Woods’ jet.”

  “Hold on, Regan. WHAT’S BURNING?” he yelled. “TAKE THE BREAD OUT OF THE BROILER, FOR GOD’S SAKE!”

  Regan chuckled. “You do sound busy. I’d better let you go. I’ll see you after dinner at Kendra’s.”

  “Anything special you’ll want to eat while you’re here, darling?”

  “Whatever you’re serving. Oh, but one thing.”

  “What?” he asked quickly.

  “I love it when the bread is served nice and hot.”

  Louis mumbled what Regan was sure was an obscenity and hung up on her.

  3

  NEW YORK CITY

  Saturday, December 24

  LARRY WILL THIS hurt?” Nora Regan Reilly garbled from underneath the mask that covered her nostrils, sending nitrous oxide swirling through her brain.

  “Just a few more minutes, Nor,” Dr. Larry Ashkinazy replied amiably, holding an instrument that looked suspiciously like a cuticle cutter in his hands. “That’s some nasty tooth. I’ll turn up the gas a little more.”

  “I have to walk out of here on two feet,” Nora croaked as she felt herself flying out of the dentist chair.

  “No problem, Nor. I’ll get you fixed up in no time and then I’m on vacation.” He leaned into her mouth and squirted the offensive tooth with a spray of water as a sputtering suction device hung from Nora’s lip.

  Nora stared straight ahead at the rows of holiday cards hanging on the venetian blinds. Outside the window, on Central Park South, snow was beginning to fall. It was Christmas Eve, and last-minute shoppers were scurrying by. Feeling woozy, Nora found herself wondering but somehow not worrying about what the drive back to New Jersey would be like.

  This nitrous oxide does make you relax, she thought dreamily, but I’d rather be home with an eggnog. She closed her eyes as Larry picked up the drill. The sight of it was bad enough, but the sound was much worse. The whirring would make anyone’s legs turn to jelly, not to mention the fact that it completely drowned out the relaxing light music Larry piped into his office.

  As Nora breathed in and out, she had the crazy thought that the radio station had been playing the same song the whole time she was in the chair. Come to think of it, it sounded like the same song every time she was in the chair. But then she couldn’t remember what it was. Everything was blending together.

  A few minutes later, Larry proudly stepped back. “All done!” He turned to his assistant. “Give her straight oxygen.”

  Nora wiped the accumulated grit from around her mouth and leaned over to the gurgling metal bowl that was just within spitting distance of the chair. Larry’s assistant, Flossie, handed her a Dixie cup that held barely enough water to drown a single ant. Nora swished it around in her mouth and aimed for the bowl. The water, flecked with traces of silver filling, was sucked down the pipes faster than you could say “Roto-Rooter.”

  “Thanks for coming in today, Larry. I couldn’t have gone on vacation with that tooth bothering me.”

  “For you, anything,” Larry said as he stood nearby, writing on her chart. “I’m glad Flossie was free to come in and help me out for a few minutes.”

  Nora watched him as, deep in thought, he made his notations. Larry was a boyishly handsome guy of forty-two with jet-black hair and eyes. His skin was tanned ninety-nine percent of the year, thanks to his frequent trips to places like South Beach in Miami. He was an eligible bachelor and loved every minute of it.

  “I’m so glad Regan’s going to Aspen,” he said as he folded the chart. “She’ll have the greatest time. There are so many guys out there that a girl could look like Lassie and she’d still have a good time.”

  “My daughter doesn’t look like Lassie,” Nora mumbled as she ran her tongue across her teeth.

  “I know, so she’ll have an even better time,” Larry said earnestly. “I’ll tell her where all the parties are.” He wrote the name of his hotel on a business card that identified him as “Dentist to the Stars” and handed the card to Nora. “Merry Christmas,” he said and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  As he hurried out of the room, Nora’s head started to clear. She heard him in the hallway talking into his ever-present pocket recorder, which he called the friend that never talks back.

  I’ve got to get going, Nora thought, as she started to get out of
the chair.

  “Flossie,” Larry called as he came back in to assist Nora. “Let’s make an appointment for Mrs. Reilly for mid-January and then I’m headed out west!”

  “I’m going as far as New Jersey if you need a ride,” Nora found herself saying.

  “I think,” Larry said, laughing, “that we better put that oxygen mask back on for a few more minutes. We want you to get wherever you’re going in one piece.”

  Nora leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. So much rushing around at this time of year, she thought. Getting everything ready for Christmas. It would be good to get to Aspen, where she and Luke could unwind at Kendra’s home. Regan would be staying nearby. They could all just be lazy and enjoy the rest of the holiday season.

  So why did Nora have the feeling in the back of her not-yet-clear mind that it wasn’t going to work out like that? She always cheered herself with the thought that if something bad happened, she could always turn it around and use it in one of her murder mysteries.

  “Nor,” she heard Larry saying. “I bet you get a lot of good material in Aspen.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said as she took an extra-deep breath of oxygen.

  4

  SUMMIT, NEW JERSEY

  Sunday, December 25

  HURRY UP, REGAN,” Nora called up the stairs. “The car is here.”

  “I’m trying to fit everything that Santa brought me into the suitcase,” Regan yelled back down. “He was very good to me this year.”

  Regan lay down on top of her suitcase, stuffing the protruding sleeves and hems inside as she tugged at the zipper. “This zipper’s teeth are more deadly than a shark’s,” Regan muttered as a silk dress narrowly escaped being chewed up. She finally stood up. “Done.”

  Regan looked around her room for anything she might have missed. Testaments to her adolescent years still adorned the walls and bookshelves. Scripted posters depicting everything from a bumblebee atop a flower and a dewy field at sunrise to a couple walking hand-in-hand along the Jersey shore stared down at her, offering their advice on everything from friendship and love to the meaning of life. “What a crock,” Regan said aloud. “Things are never that simple.”