“So why don’t you give Louis that chance?”
“What’s that guy got to do with my Pop-Pop? Don’t mention them in the same breath, missy.”
Regan paused and inhaled deeply. If she failed now, it was all over for Louis. “Ms. Spoonfellow,” she said earnestly, “Louis is trying to open more than a restaurant. It’ll be a place where he’ll have poetry readings and society meetings and whatever else people want to gather for. The paintings of local artists will be on display all the time. If anyone is trying to promote the Aspen idea of keeping culture in this town, it’s Louis. Like your Pop-Pop with his saloon, he just wants to bring people together. If you have the party moved to that other restaurant, which is just another commercial joint, he’ll be finished.”
Geraldine kicked a mound of snow with the tip of her boot. Her white hair seemed to blend into the snowy mountains in the distance behind her. The creases in her forehead deepened. “What about that Eben fellow? He’s a no-good varmint.”
“Louis was trying to give someone a fresh start. He thought that Eben wanted to pull himself up by the bootstraps and begin his life again. Like the old silver miners who came to Aspen looking for a new life. No one would have hired Eben if they knew he had a criminal record. The only thing Louis is guilty of is sticking out his neck for somebody.” Regan paused. “It didn’t work out so well, but I don’t think he should have to pay so heavily for it. If this town is anything, I thought it was open-minded. I thought it was a place where all different kinds of people can hang out together…”
“People who can afford it,” Geraldine snapped.
“Still. People come here to ski and socialize and have some grog…”
“Peppermint schnapps is a local favorite,” Geraldine observed.
“Peppermint schnapps, whatever,” Regan said. “This town was built by people taking chances, not by people who played it safe. Your grandfather was one of the first. I think he’d probably hate to see someone lose his chance before he even got started.”
Geraldine stared out at the mountains. Who knows what memories of Pop-Pop are flashing through her mind, Regan thought.
Finally, Geraldine said, “I guess nobody’s perfect. It’s getting nippy.” She pulled the jacket closer around her. “Why don’t you two come in for some coffee?”
Louis, who’d been quiet up until now, with one foot in front of him as though ready to flee if Geraldine attacked him, now looked as though he could have jumped three feet in the air. He clapped his hands together. “Do you by any chance have herbal tea?” he asked as they followed her into the house.
“Herbal tea is for wimps,” their hostess said emphatically.
For the next forty-five minutes they sat and talked with Geraldine.
“Call me Geraldine,” she demanded. “You find as you get older, fewer and fewer people call you by your first name. And the ones who do right away are just plain rude. If there’s anything that bugs me it’s these people who call on the phone and try to sell you something you don’t need. They always start off with ‘Hello, Geraldine, are you having a good day today?’ Give me a break. The ones that really tick me off say, ‘Hi, Gerry.’ I just hang up on them. Anyway, with my family and most of my friends gone, I get to miss the sound of my own name.”
Regan found the house to be cozy. A Christmas tree decorated with old family ornaments, framed pictures and holly adorning the mantel of the fireplace, the painting of Pop-Pop, floral curtains and an oriental rug—all gave the feeling that the house shared a history with its owner. The very essence of Geraldine oozed from every nook and cranny. Obviously all the junk had been relegated to the barn.
A bouquet of flowers was centered on the dining-room table, where they sat drinking their coffee.
“They’re beautiful,” Louis said, leaning over to inhale the pungent scent.
A faint smile appeared on Geraldine’s lips. “I had a beau who used to go out and pick me a whole big bunch of forget-me-nots. That’s why I like to keep fresh flowers around, to remind me of him. We used to go out to the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness and ponder our existence. We had great discussions out there about the meaning of life. Or we’d grab our fishing poles and go down to the Roaring Fork or Frying Pan rivers and try our luck at those flying fish….” Her eyes glistened at the memory.
“When was this?” Regan asked.
“Last year. Besides Pop-Pop, Purvis was the smartest man I’d ever met. Then one day he woke up dead.”
“That’s too bad,” Louis said sincerely, silently wondering just how you wake up dead.
“A bummer,” Geraldine agreed.
Regan smiled to herself. She doubted that in all the years her father had run the Reilly funeral homes there had ever been anyone who came to pay their respects to the deceased and greeted the family with “What a bummer.”
“We had fun together,” Geraldine continued. “He was always interested in learning about everything. He hadn’t lived here long and he wanted to hear all about the history of the town. Like I bet you didn’t know that Ute City the mining town changed its name to Aspen in homage to the aspen tree that you find all around here?”
How have I survived so long without knowing this tidbit, Regan wondered, but dutifully shook her head no. Louis was paying attention with the fervor of a reformed student in danger of flunking out of school.
“The aspen is a member of the poplar family. They’re so beautiful. Nothing gets my goat more than when those hikers scratch out their initials in the bark. It lets the insects in and the trees start to rot. The only time I ever got mad at Purvis was when he started carving our initials in one of those trees. Of course he didn’t realize until I explained it to him. Anyway, enough of that.”
It seemed to Regan that Geraldine definitely liked to have an audience. With Purvis gone to the great beyond, Geraldine was obviously alone a lot and now seemed to enjoy their company. I’d have loved to see the way she interacted with Purvis, Regan thought. It was hard to imagine Geraldine with a man, especially since the spirit of Pop-Pop never seemed to leave the room. “I bet you had a lot of stories about your Pop-Pop you shared with Purvis.”
“Pop-Pop was a character,” Geraldine said. “He had so many adventures, you’d never get bored listening to him. I’ve tried to remember them all, keep them alive.” She sipped her specially brewed coffee and picked at one of the blueberry muffins she had magnanimously placed on an old-fashioned plate that reminded Regan of the kind her grandmother had had. The grandfather clock ticked away in the living room. Or should I call it the Pop-Pop clock, Regan wondered.
“This coffee is delicious,” Louis said as he drained his cup.
Geraldine almost pounded the table. “It gets you going in the morning. If I hear about one more person who needs to relax with their soothing herbs, I’m going to get sick.” She licked her lips and set her mug on the old oak table. “Okay, Louis,” she said with deliberation, “I’ll skip making a fuss about having the party at your restaurant. God knows it would send that ass-kissing committee into a tizzy if I made them change things now. I tell you, my hind quarters never felt so loved. Those people are really getting on my nerves. They think I can’t see through their fawning. But…”
Regan and Louis waited for whatever the “but” was. There’s always a but, Regan thought.
“I hope we don’t have any more problems with that son of a gun, Eben. Aspen is a place we want to be proud of.”
“For all we know he’s hundreds of miles away from here by now,” Louis said, anxious to get out of there before he did anything else wrong.
“Geraldine,” Regan said, “I am a private investigator. I really want to find out what happened. You’re the one who knows this town inside out. May I call you if I have any questions or need to talk to you?”
“Dial away. If there’s any gossip going on, I usually hear it somehow or other.” Geraldine looked across the table at Regan appraisingly. “You look like a smart young woman. I’ve been involve
d with a couple of private investigators lately and they haven’t been worth beans. If the one on my feedbag now doesn’t work out, I may talk to you.”
“I’d be very glad to help,” Regan said sincerely.
Geraldine turned to Louis and frowned. “Now listen. At the party, Pop-Pop’s portrait better have a place of honor. The committee swore up and down that it would, but I’m holding you personally responsible.”
Louis had been pressing his napkin up to his mouth, almost as a shield from anything Geraldine might hurl at him. “The best,” he sputtered. “The best.”
“Oh, I know that Beasley painting I donated that they say is so valuable will get top billing. I’d forgotten all about it. I remember seeing it when I was a little kid, but Pop-Pop never liked it. The fellow in it with him was a friend who tried to double-cross him.” Her face darkened. “A lot of bad blood between the two families. I guess that’s why Pop-Pop shoved it in the barn. I certainly forgot all about it until that young reporter started poking around.”
When they got up to leave, Louis slipped into the bathroom. Regan tried to make arrangements with Geraldine to buy the Louis painting.
“Take it,” Geraldine insisted. “Make a donation to the museum in Pop-Pop’s name.”
A few minutes later Regan and Louis were tying Louis XVIII to the ski rack of Louis’s car.
The weight of almost certain doom lifted from his shoulders, Louis was practically doing a jig. He looked as if he would break into song. Regan felt as if they should be in a grade-B musical.
“You didn’t have to do this, Regan,” Louis chirped.
“It was free, Louie baby,” Regan said, “but I’ll spring for the frame. Then we’ll find a good spot to hang him.”
“I feel as if I was almost hanged.”
“You were, Louis. But we’ll hang this Louis where everyone can see him when they walk in and pay their proper respects.”
“Like it was his wake. You sound like the daughter of a funeral director.”
“Gee, thanks. But the most important corpse at the party better be Pop-Pop’s. The Beasley with Pop-Pop won’t be unveiled until later that evening. Up till then it will be the portraits of Pop-Pop and Louis. What a pair.”
“Legends in their own mind.” Louis started to hum. “When this party is over, I’m going to be one happy man.”
Regan didn’t know why she had the nagging feeling that it just wasn’t going to work out that way. She realized she also had a burning curiosity as to why seventy-five-year-old Geraldine Spoonfellow was involved with private investigators.
20
BY THREE O’CLOCK, the call of nature was very strong for Eben. Very strong indeed. Willeen and Judd had left at nine o’clock after feeding him breakfast and shackling him back to the bed. He was still a little glad that he had insulted their pathetic accents. They should pull off their heists under cover of darkness and keep their mouths shut while they’re at it, he thought to himself. Even though he had that little morsel to cheer him, he was still very depressed.
It’s amazing, he thought as he watched the television they had set up in the bedroom for him. It’s downright amazing how the urge to relieve yourself can wipe out almost all thoughts of the rest of the universe.
As he watched the television, Eben couldn’t believe that Judd and Willeen had left it on for him today.
“Maybe you’ll hear about sightings from people who claim they’ve seen you,” Willeen had said as she bent over to find an outlet. “I can’t promise you’ll get great reception, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“I wasn’t begging,” Eben said wryly.
Willeen ignored him. “This TV is a piece of garbage. There’s no remote control. So you’ll be watching one station all day.”
“Don’t you hate when that happens?” Eben said to her.
Willeen chuckled. “Me and Judd always end up fighting over the remote control. You being all by yourself wouldn’t have that problem now, would you?”
“It’s one of the great pleasures of being alone,” Eben said. “Judd was always picking fights in the TV room in prison. He never wanted to watch what everyone else did.”
“He was probably doing it out of spite,” Willeen said casually as she straightened up, Eben’s remark just rolling off her well-toned back.
Now as Eben watched the small black-and-white set perched on the dresser, he was treated to another news brief that warned everyone to be on the lookout for him. The frizzy-haired newscaster looked both perplexed and alarmed.
“Eben Bean may be armed and dangerous. Be careful out there,” he urged his viewers. “If you have any information, please call…”
“I never hurt a fly,” Eben whispered as his eyes grew misty. I can’t start crying, he thought, because I’ll have to bury my face in this smelly pillow to wipe away my tears.
It was galling to hear that the state police had an all-points bulletin out for him when he was only a couple of miles away. So close and yet so far. Like so many things in his life.
Eben didn’t doubt that Willeen and Judd would succeed in stealing the painting at Louis’s party. That obviously had been well planned, and from the little conversation he’d been able to pick up, he was sure they were part of a larger ring.
Had they pulled off that job in Vail? Eben didn’t think so, based on their conversation he overheard yesterday. But it sounded right up their alley, and the newscaster, shaking his head in disgust, said that a man and a woman seemed to be involved. So they’re probably trying to figure out who I’ve hooked up with. Ha, he thought. I haven’t had a date since I moved to Aspen. And so much of my life before that, if you don’t count the time spent in prison, was spent on the run.
The newscasts during the day had given examples of Eben’s past crimes. Like the time he stole the Wellington family jewels. One of the necklaces, a string of flawless diamonds, had actually been replaced, probably by an unhappy relative, with pitted, poor-quality rocks one-tenth the value. It certainly hadn’t been worth Eben’s trouble shinnying down the drainpipe from the roof to the master bedroom. And of course no one would have believed that the good diamonds had already been stolen before he got his hands on the necklace.
When the news report went off, Eben rolled on his side and crunched up in the fetal position, a position he usually liked to sleep in. Maybe because he had been in the fetal position inside the womb the last time he had any contact with his mother.
Eben took a deep breath. Why are they keeping me alive? he thought. What do they have planned? When they were in prison together there’d been a rumor that Judd had killed a couple of people but it had never been proved. What’s stopping him from killing me? Of course, right now they’re both thrilled that I’m being blamed for their derring-do.
Suddenly Eben’s blood froze. Are they going to try and make it seem that I’m responsible for the art theft at the benefit and then get rid of me? That must be the reason they’re keeping me alive! How will they do it? Burn this house down with me and some of the cheaper art in it?
Eben heard a car pull up in the driveway. No such luck that it would be a wayward traveler asking for directions, a person he could scream to for help. Instead he heard the door open and Willeen’s usual nasal voice. “We’re here to walk you, Eben,” she called.
She and Judd appeared in the doorway.
“We made a lot of nice friends today,”Judd said. “You’d be jealous, Eben. We got the addresses of a whole bunch of rich people who told us to give a call if we come to their town.”
Willeen giggled. “We figure we’ll just drop in unexpectedly. Like when they’re not home.”
“Yeah,” Judd said, “we’re going back to do the whole après-ski number and make some more friends, but we figured we better give you some relief in case we don’t come home before dinner.”
“This is worse than having a dog,” Willeen pronounced.
“Shut up,” Judd said.
They both stared down at Eben as though
he were the prize exhibit.
I feel like the lamb about to be slaughtered, Eben thought. I’ve got to find a way out of here.
21
BESSIE WAS GLAD to be getting out of town for a few days. Enough is enough, she thought. I’ve worked hard the past few days, between the party and getting ready for Christmas and the fiasco of the stolen painting. I’m not a robot and my nerves are frazzled.
Damn, she thought. That joker masquerading as the very essence of trust and goodwill, Santa Claus himself, really got her goat. If only I’d paid closer attention to him, but once I saw his boots were clean, that was enough for me. I had other things to worry about, like making sure those slowpoke waiters kept making the rounds with the hot hors d’oeuvres.
It was mid-afternoon and she was relaxing in her room, waiting until it was time to go down and catch the bus to Vail. One of the daytime soaps was on. “I don’t know why I love these,” she said to herself, “working for this family, I live through this crap.”
Bessie had worked for the Grants for seven years, ever since Lester and Yvonne had taken their vows to love, honor and cherish each other for as long as they both shall live. Bessie had given it a year, two at the outside, and was surprised and pleased that the Grants had lasted and she was able to build up her pension plan. Aside from Yvonne being a little snooty at times, they weren’t so tough to work for. Hawaii, Aspen and New York weren’t such bad places to hop among, even though it slightly annoyed Bessie that the Grants never bought her a first-class ticket. I’m the one who needs it most, she always thought.
As the woeful strains of the theme music of To Love or Not to Love played, the credits rolled over a couple who had just been reunited after he had been lost in the rain forest for seven years. “I wouldn’t want to get back together with anyone that dumb,” Bessie mumbled even as she brushed back a tear. When the embracing couple faded to black, a picture of Eben Bean was flashed on the screen.
Iced Page 9
