Iced

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “And we all know what can happen with that,” Sam grunted.

  “It shows he likes children,” Nora said. “It shows that he likes the money he can make off their clothes,” Regan said.

  “What about you, Kit?” Luke drawled.

  “I’ll tell you,” Regan said quickly. “Kit has someone after her. Mr. ‘Everything you always wanted to know about computers and then were sorry you asked.’ I think he and Kit make a cute couple.”

  Kendra laughed. “And what do you say, Kit?”

  “He’s a nice guy but much too boring.”

  “Sometimes you can learn to love those types. Just give him time,” Yvonne suggested.

  Lester acted bemused. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “No, darling; it was love at first sight.”

  Of your checkbook, Regan thought. “Yvonne,” she said, “I hate to bring it up, but did you by any chance come across Bessie’s cousin’s number?”

  Yvonne looked at Lester. “We didn’t know whether to say anything right now.”

  “What?” Regan asked.

  “Have I got news for you!”

  “What?” Kendra asked quickly.

  “I didn’t find the number, but I did get a call from the insurance investigator. Boy, are they on top of things. They want to talk to Bessie as soon as possible.”

  “Well,” Regan said, “they usually question the help when there’s a theft at home.”

  “For the second time,” Lester said.

  “What do you mean?” Regan asked.

  “From what this guy tells us,” Yvonne said, “at the last family home where Bessie worked, there was a major theft. She was questioned about it.”

  “When was this?” Regan asked.

  “Twelve years ago,” Lester said. “Great, isn’t it?”

  Sam burst out laughing. “Well, Lester, you and I better work on our hiring practices. We hired a jewel thief and you might have hired an art thief. Maybe the two of them got together.”

  Ida was so excited she couldn’t help herself. “I won’t steal anything,” she blurted out as she stirred the spaghetti sauce.

  Sam turned his head in Ida’s direction. “That’s good, Ida, because we were worried about you.”

  Yvonne laughed. “I don’t think Bessie had anything to do with any crimes,” she said. “But it is suspicious, and now I don’t know how to reach her.”

  “Why would Bessie have called me?” Regan asked.

  “Maybe she wanted to say good-bye,” Luke said.

  Regan made a face at her father. “Yvonne, did the insurance investigator say anything else?”

  “They know that Eben was there at our house that night. They know that he worked for Kendra and Sam and now he’s missing and so is their art. Bessie was working for us and was there the same night Eben was. They think they might be connected.”

  Regan thought aloud. “I know Bessie said she saw Eben last week when he came by to pick up the toys for the kids.”

  “Maybe they hatched their plan then.” Luke took a sip of his drink.

  “What is Bessie’s usual day off?” Regan asked.

  “It’s flexible,” Yvonne answered.

  “What day was she off last week?”

  “Friday.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know. She left in the morning and got home in the evening. The next day we were so busy with getting ready for the party that she never mentioned where she’d been. We’d been skiing. I don’t even know if she was in and out that day.”

  “Eben was shopping at some dumpy joint in Vail last Friday. Nora found the receipt for some store called the Mishmish or something…” Sam said.

  “The Mishmash,” Nora corrected him. “Like a good person, I gave the receipt to the police.”

  “Wherever. He was gone last Friday. She had off last Friday. A Beasley painting was stolen in Vail that day by a man and a woman. Now both Eben and Bessie are missing. I don’t know…”

  Regan shrugged. “Well, Bessie is not officially missing. We just don’t have her phone number. I don’t see those two together. If I had to pick an unlikely team, they’d be the first on the list. And she was so mad at him for tracking in all the mud last year. She was still so annoyed about it when I talked to her. Unless it was all an act…”

  Ida was in the kitchen trying not to look as though she was hanging on every word. She was in total bliss. Reaching in the freezer to get some ice, she once again noticed the carefully marked containers of food. For someone who was going to leave, she thought, he had been very considerate about preparing a few dishes before he left. Most crooks would have brought them with them. These days everywhere you turn there’s a microwave beeping. I have to say something, she thought.

  Ida cleared her throat. “You know,” she said, “Eben left a lot of food here. Chili, lemon chicken, his spaghetti sauce, which I tasted and it is out of this world…”

  “See,” Regan interrupted. “It isn’t consistent. Why would he take the trouble to prepare all the food? And then leave the bedroom a mess and not take all his things with him. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Bessie is due back Thursday,” Yvonne said. “I hope she makes it and can give us some answers.”

  “If she just comes back,” Regan said, “that’s the first good sign.”

  “Well, everyone,” Ida crowed. “COME AND GET IT!” Where’s the cowbell? Kendra wondered.

  40

  DINNER WAS DELICIOUS. The one thing you could say for Ida was that she did know how to put a hot meal on the table. And everyone agreed that Eben had done a great job on the spaghetti sauce.

  “I wonder what Eben was thinking when he made this,” Kendra said.

  “A little more onions, a little more garlic…” Sam said and bit into a piece of bread.

  Over coffee Regan and Kit decided they would go snow-mobiling with Patrick and Greg the next day.

  “Snowmobiling is a real adventure,” Ida piped in. “My son-in-law, Buck, says that everyone goes away with a smile on their face.”

  “It would be fun to try it,” Regan said.

  “Will you ask the clothing fellow to join you, Regan?” Nora queried.

  “She better not,” Kit said. “Or I’ll be stuck with the computer whiz.”

  “Mrs. Reilly,” Patrick said playfully, “Regan and Kit already have dates.”

  “I always liked younger men.” Regan laughed.

  “Well, why don’t you take our car back into town tonight so you can pick up the boys tomorrow?” Kendra suggested.

  “That’d be great,” Regan answered.

  An hour later Regan and Kit were walking into the dance club. They could hear the music blaring as they paid the admission fee. Taking a few more steps inside, they saw Larry dancing by with the blonde with the long mane of hair to whom he had been talking last night. He waved at them, beaming like a Dutch uncle. “Stewart and Derwood are by the bar. They’re waiting for you,” he shouted above the music.

  Regan waved back. “Thanks, Lar.” As he danced away, she turned to Kit. “Yeah, Lar, it was nice seeing you.”

  “How did I ever get so lucky?” Kit asked.

  “I don’t know. But we may as well push our way through the crowd and see if we can find them.”

  The strobe lights were twirling and bouncing and flaring all over the place. As they made their way across the floor, the song being played inspired every dancer to let loose, with a few zealous types deciding to fling their partners this way and that, most of them obviously never having graced an Arthur Murray dance class.

  When they reached the bar, Regan shouted in Kit’s ear. “I think I have three surviving toes.”

  “My rib cage was cracked by somebody who didn’t check their rearview mirror when they decided to do-sido.”

  “We’ll get you a heating pad. There they are.” Regan pointed. Stewart and Derwood were leaning on the bar a few feet away and looked as if they were in a seriou
s discussion. Regan walked over and tapped Stewart on the shoulder. He turned around and smiled broadly.

  “Hey, Regan,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders.

  “Hi, Stewart.”

  “Let me get you a drink.”

  “Sure.”

  While Stewart signaled for the bartender, Regan turned and watched as Derwood whisked Kit off to the dance floor. That was quick, Regan thought. I bet Derwood knows that there’s a slow song coming up.

  “What will you have, Regan?” Stewart asked.

  “White wine. Thanks.”

  A few minutes later he handed it over to her. He really is nice, Regan thought. So what is it that doesn’t seem right?

  “How was your dinner?” he asked.

  “Fun. What did you do?”

  “Derwood and I grabbed a bite to eat in town here. It would have been more fun if you were with us.”

  Regan smiled up at him. “Well… hey, do you have a ticket for the party Thursday night?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. I hope we can all sit together.”

  “I’m sure we can arrange that…. Glad to have the week off?”

  “Huh? Oh yeah, sure.”

  “You’ll have to send me your catalog. A lot of my friends are starting to have kids. Some already do. I’m always looking for some cute outfits and I never know where to go. What size do you go up to anyway?”

  “What size? Uh, size eight,” he responded.

  “Eight?” Regan sounded surprised. “I thought your clothes were for babies and toddlers.”

  “Well, that’s most of the clothes we make,” he said quickly. “Let’s dance.”

  “Okay.”

  They squeezed their way over to Derwood and Kit, who were boogying their hearts out. Derwood was doing a variation on the twist, whereas Stewart preferred the old swivel-your-hips and snap-your-fingers method.

  The foursome danced for a long time and then stopped to have drinks. After chatting at the bar for a while, everyone decided it was getting late and they all walked out together. Stewart and Derwood strolled down the block with them to Louis’s place and bid them good night.

  Inside Louis’s, the lobby was quiet. As they trudged up the steps to their room, Regan was deep in thought.

  “What’s with you?” Kit asked as she got out her room key.

  “I was just thinking. It was fun dancing with Stewart, but when I asked him about his business, he didn’t want to talk about it. It was kind of weird.”

  “We should have switched places,” Kit said. “If you wanted to talk business, I’m sure Derwood would have been much obliged. He probably would have preferred it to twisting the night away.”

  “I didn’t want to talk business,” Regan scoffed. “But when I brought it up, he seemed uncomfortable.”

  Inside the room was a different cot. A note lay on top of it. “Hope this is better.” It was signed “Tripp.”

  “How nice,” Kit said, immediately stretching out to test it. “This is better. I’ll probably only wake up four times during the night.”

  “I say Tripp should forget getting out his résumé. He ought to stay on with Louis and help him run this place,” Regan said. “He’s really on top of everything. He could end up having his own inn out here someday.”

  “Don’t mention that to Louis,” Kit advised. “If this place makes it, he’ll want it to be the only new one in town until the day he dies.”

  “You’re right. We should try and have coffee with him in the morning before we leave to go snowmobiling. We hardly saw him today.”

  “Maybe we should have dinner here tomorrow night,” Kit suggested.

  “That’s a good idea,” Regan said. “He’ll be a wreck. The party is so close now.”

  “Let’s do it,” Kit said and got up to get changed. She went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

  Regan sat on the bed. I’m so anxious to talk to Bessie, she thought. I hope she gets home early on Thursday. Maybe that’s why I can’t just let loose with Stewart. I’ve got all these other problems on my mind. And then that painting on display here Thursday. Louis is right, she thought. I can’t wait until the pressure’s off.

  41

  EBEN AND BESSIE lay together in the slowly darkening bedroom, the sound of the buzzing washing machine muffled slightly by the bedroom wall.

  “I can’t believe we’ve been listening to that all day now,” Eben said. “Do you think they’ll make a TV movie about us if we get out of here alive?”

  “I suppose you’d want Paul Newman to play you,” Bessie huffed.

  “I bet Elizabeth Taylor will be just begging to play Bessie Armbuckle,” Eben responded in kind.

  The sound of an approaching car up the driveway made them both stiffen.

  “Here they come,” Bessie said flatly. “Bonnie and Clyde.”

  “Keep the faith, old girl, keep the faith.”

  “You have a nerve to call me old.”

  “It’s just an expression.”

  “You don’t even know how old I am,” Bessie said.

  “That’s true.”

  “According to the newspaper, you’re fifty-six.”

  Eben winced. “I hate it when my age is bandied about.” He changed the subject. “I keep worrying about Regan Reilly.”

  “Knowing you doesn’t do anyone any good. You just better hope that she keeps the faith.” Bessie pursed her lips. “Old boy.”

  They could hear the back door opening and Willeen’s voice whine. “What’s that noise?”

  “It’s coming from the washer,” Judd said.

  “Now they’ll turn that thing off,” Eben whispered.

  “Has this been buzzing all day?” Willeen opened the lid and saw the green towels and Judd’s pants all clumped together in a pile of suds on one side of the washing machine. The agitator looked as if it were being strangled by Willeen’s bras. They were wrapped in knots around its base.

  “I can’t wait to get out of here,” Willeen snapped as she reached into the cold water to rearrange the load.

  “Are you sure you’re supposed to wash all that stuff together?” Judd asked impatiently.

  “What am I, your private laundress? There was only enough soap for one load.” Willeen dropped the lid and within seconds a low groan from the bowels of the machine gave way to the energetic spinning sound of the revolving basin as it picked up speed. Short, sharp blasts of water being sprayed in to break up the soapy residue were a further assurance that the machine was functioning again.

  “I tell you, Judd. Everybody we meet in Aspen is parking their behinds in nice hotels and we’re stuck here staying in this dump. And these two…” She tilted her head in the direction of the guest bedroom. “Are you sure you’ve got it all figured out?”

  “I told you, I’m sure, damn it!” Judd snapped. “We’ve got two more nights before we’re out of here. Please cooperate with me.”

  Willeen went into their bedroom and slammed the door.

  In the next room, Eben felt his heart start to pound. He knew it was a bad sign when the people in on the plan started arguing. They’re getting edgy, he thought, and we’ve only got two days to get out of here. He looked over at Bessie, whose hair was now falling out of her carefully pinned braids.

  “Bessie,” he whispered. “We’re going to have to try and get one of your hairpins. Maybe I can use it to pick the lock on our handcuffs.”

  “They’re not the type that just fall out,” she whispered back. “It might not look it now, but they’re in pretty tight.”

  “When they go out again, I’ll try and get one with my teeth.”

  “What?” she whispered indignantly.

  “This isn’t kidding around,” Eben said in a dead-serious voice. “It’s time for us to do something, or we’ll never get out of here alive.”

  Tears filled Bessie’s eyes as she realized that he was right. “Okay, Eben.” She turned her face into the pillow and felt a tear roll across the bridge of her
nose. If I die, she thought, I’ll be with my parents. It was the only comfort she could find in one of her darkest hours.

  42

  AFTER MIDNIGHT, AS he sat in bed, the Coyote watched with amusement as Judd and Willeen came in from their night of partying and pulled their clothes out of the dryer.

  “What the hell is this?” Judd said, holding up his pants, which were covered with little green fuzzies. “Those cheap towels of Eben’s shed all over everything.”

  “We wouldn’t have had to use them if there were any decent towels in this joint,” Willeen hissed.

  “I have to get my tux pressed for Thursday night,” Judd snapped as he futilely brushed away at his pants. “I’ll bring these with it to the cleaner’s tomorrow morning.”

  “Since you’re asking, yes, you can bring my dress too,” Willeen said sarcastically.

  The Coyote laughed out loud. “You two are beginning to lose it,” he said. “But you don’t even know what more…” He stopped at the mention of his name.

  “… there’s no way the Coyote could beat us to it again, is there, Judd?”

  The Coyote continued laughing and finished his sentence. “… well, I guess you do know what you’re going to lose.” He snapped off the set and turned out the light, anxious himself for the next forty-eight hours to be over with.

  43

  GERALDINE SAT PROPPED up in her bed, with her pillows around her and her quilt pulled up under her chin. She liked to sleep in a cold bedroom and she had opened the window because she was trying to stay awake while she read Pop-Pop’s diary.

  Her eyes were exhausted. I’ve read all day, she thought, when I should have been out in the barn searching out more Spoonfellow family personal effects for the museum opening on New Year’s Day. They promised to put out anything worthwhile as long as they got it before the doors opened on Sunday.

  But nothing, Geraldine had decided that morning, nothing could be more important than seeing if Pop-Pop had written about it.

  She decided to read just one more page before turning out the light. Not too much of interest on this page in the grand scheme of things, Geraldine thought. I know by now that Pop-Pop enjoyed his days on the turnip farm. He sure did get carried away writing about it. She finished the page and sighed. Time to call it a night.