The woman who had been shepherding the ladies along on their walk—the twenty-something Isabelle—was nowhere in sight, but the ladies themselves were lolling about on freestanding porch-style swings. And they were all sipping pastel-colored drinks from large clear plastic cups.
“Best thing about this place,” one was saying to another.
“I’m so glad Isabelle said we could skip the hike. This smoothie is yum. I can’t believe it’s low fat.”
“Me either. I wanted to have two yesterday, even offered to pay, and Victor said I couldn’t, that it was too many calories. Mean!”
I asked first one, then another gaggle of women if they’d seen a dapper fellow in his fifties walking past, maybe smoking a cigarette. I worked my way through the groups of women, and they all replied in the negative.
I looked up the boulder-lined path, then drew back as the odor of sulfur invaded my nose. Clouds of steam were drifting down from a place up the path, and with my marvelous powers of deduction, I figured that was where the hot springs pool was. I scanned the woods and what I could see of the paths again. Jack really couldn’t have gone hiking by himself, could he? Not after two heart attacks—both the results of his lawyering days, he said—plus, he smoked, and he hated exercising. But then where could he have gotten to in such a short time?
Nearby, two women were swinging contentedly.
“Maybe their smoothies really do have sugar and cream in them,” one of the women commented. “It sure tastes like it. I could just kill for another one before lunch!”
Talk about a fixation. I’d have to get the recipe for this concoction before I left the next day.
“Maybe that’s why they won’t let you have two in one day—they really are fattening.”
“We’re being weighed tomorrow morning, Sara Ann. That’s why they won’t let us have more than one at a time.”
“Well, yesterday my roommate didn’t want the mango one she ordered, so she gave it to me. I drank it right after I had my blueberry one, and I felt so mellow, I decided to sunbathe instead of exercising!”
“Uh-oh, Sara Ann! You risked the wrath of Victor by not showing up for water aerobics? Did he get in your face later?”
“Yeah. But it was worth it. And anyway, I told him I wasn’t paying for him to yell at me, so he backed off.”
At that moment, both women looked up at me expectantly. Was I eavesdropping, or did I have another problem? their look said.
“You still haven’t seen my godfather?” I asked lamely.
“No,” said Sara Ann. “Why don’t you check in the bushes beside the dining hall? That’s where people go to smoke sometimes. When they’re hiding out, that is.”
“Thanks.”
I got the bright idea to try Jack on my cell. But the screen said no service. I tried again, heard the characteristic chirp of Jack’s phone, then lost the service again. I glanced around once more. No Jack.
The door to the Smoothie Cabin was firmly closed, and as if that weren’t enough, a shut sign hung by a rope over the door. I moved closer to the sign, retried Jack’s cell, and heard it chirp again, but only once. Before it could go to voice mail, I lost the service again.
Well, doggone it. I tiptoed right up next to the Smoothie Cabin, where whispering voices were just audible within. If the smoothies made you want to sunbathe instead of go to water aerobics, had somebody figured they wanted to get a really good tan this afternoon? I knocked on the door, and there was sudden silence.
“Jack!” I called in a stage whisper. “It’s me, Goldy! Charlotte’s looking for you! Are you in there?”
There was still no response. By this time, I was very curious as to what was going on behind the Smoothie Cabin door. Could Jack be inside? Could he be in trouble? He didn’t seem like the getting-into-trouble type, somehow. He seemed like the causing-trouble type.
But still. I did worry about him. At least, that was what I told myself as I traipsed through mud and puddles and around two Dumpsters to get to the other side of the building. I jiggled the locked door handle, then realized the door was ever so slightly ajar. This must be the entrance that the staff used for taking out the trash, and for receiving deliveries of supplies.
I was careful not to bang the door as I entered. Yet for the second time that day I found myself tiptoeing … this time to where I judged the Smoothie Cabin wall began. There was some kind of window there.
The window looked into the Smoothie Cabin. And there I gave a start and gasped.
To my astonishment, Jack was inside the Smoothie Cabin—really just a glorified closet—and he was with Isabelle. I waved and waved to them, but they could not see me. For crying out loud, I was not looking through a window: I was gazing into a one-way mirror, the reflective side of which was facing Jack and Isabelle.
They were not doing anything untoward, but were looking through cabinets. Jack was holding what looked like a small key. I could barely hear Jack’s whispered words.
“Do you have any more keys? Does anyone?”
I could not understand Isabelle’s response. What were they looking for, protein powder? Whey whip?
My fist was poised, next to the glass, to knock and alert them to my presence. But I was frozen. I wasn’t really spying on them, I told myself, more in bewilderment than anything else; I was just trying to figure out exactly what was going on. But before I could do anything, I heard the raised voices of Craig Miller—and Billie and Charlotte Attenborough.
“Quick!” Jack whispered. “Put it all back together!” And he and Isabelle began to zip around the Smoothie Cabin interior, putting away containers and closing cabinet doors.
Suddenly the main door of the Smoothie Cabin was wrenched open, revealing Victor Lane, Craig, Billie, and Charlotte. Then—in order to cover up his real purpose for being there, I guessed, meaning, to snoop—Jack grabbed Isabelle and kissed her. Victor, surprised, jumped back.
Unfortunately, it was the Jack-Isabelle clench that Craig, Billie, and Charlotte witnessed. Charlotte, screaming an obscenity, slammed the Smoothie Cabin door on Billie’s hand. Billie shrieked and began sobbing again.
As confused as ever, I stood, openmouthed, and waited for Jack to finish kissing Isabelle. He did not. As soon as Victor firmly closed the Smoothie Cabin door, though, Jack and Isabelle unclenched and began checking that every open cabinet door was firmly closed.
At that point, I noticed the security cameras at the upper corners of the one-way mirror. One was pointing inside the Smoothie Cabin, and had recorded everything that had transpired within.
The other was pointed at me.
10
Luckily, I was able to get out of there quickly, before Victor Lane or one of his surrogates could chase me down. Maybe Victor really, really didn’t want any of his charges breaking into the Smoothie Cabin to get extra calories.
Then again, as Tom always said, I was of a somewhat paranoid nature. Jack didn’t need or want extra calories, I thought as I hurried along to his car. So what had he been looking for? And why did he have to cover up what he was doing by pulling Isabelle in for a smooch?
In any event, I was expecting a very long, very chilly ride home. But then Charlotte announced she was going with Billie. Jack began to speak to Charlotte’s turned back in low tones. Bottom line: Charlotte relented. This time, I let myself into the rear seat, only to have Jack surprise me by asking me to drive. He and Charlotte wanted to be chauffeured, he said with a smile.
“whatever,” I replied happily, and took his key ring from him. “Are we going to the Attenborough place or to your house?”
“Let me see how my peacemaking mission goes,” he whispered. “Her place first, if that’s okay.”
What the heck, sure, it was fine. My stomach was growling from the lack of both breakfast and lunch; I was massively irritated at having to endure yet another temper tantrum from Billie Attenborough; and I had about a hundred details of the next day’s wedding to go over. But, drive? Be a chauffeur? No problem!
At first, Charlotte and Jack were so quiet in the backseat, I couldn’t tell how the peacemaking was going. After a while, I could tell that Charlotte was weeping softly. Even though I knew, or suspected, that Jack smooching Isabelle was fake, designed to cover up whatever he was doing in the Smoothie Cabin, if it had been Tom kissing a girl who was younger and thinner than yours truly, well, there would have been more than gentle crying.
Jack said, “Oh, my sweet girl, please don’t. C’mon, dear sweet Charlotte. Come be close to me.”
Eventually Charlotte sniffed and whispered that with Jack always off with Doc Finn, and ignoring her ideas for fixing up his place, and not wanting to spend tons of time with her, well, she didn’t know why she even kept seeing him. Clearly, she wasn’t his girlfriend, and he seemed to be making it clear he didn’t want to get married. So what was she to him? She wanted to know.
Jack said that Isabelle was supposed to be making him a smoothie, and all of a sudden, she’d grabbed him and started kissing. This was a lie, of course. I wondered if Charlotte would buy it. Why not just say, “Isabelle and I were hunting around for something in the Smoothie Cabin. So when you, Victor, Billie, and Craig suddenly opened the door, I had to conceal what we were doing. I couldn’t think, so I grabbed her and made it look as if we were hiding out to smooch. I know it looked bad, but…?”
How would that work?
“Do you mean to tell me,” Charlotte whispered fiercely, “that a fifty-something man would prove to be so attractive to a twenty-something woman, an employee of the spa, no less, that she would grab him on spa property and start kissing him? You must think I’m awfully naive, Jack.”
“Let me ask you this, Charlotte,” Jack replied, his voice low. “Do you think Isabelle is nice looking?”
Charlotte sniffed again. “No, I don’t. She’s … too thin.”
“Not all the women in the world are as lovely as you, my dear.”
“Jack, don’t—”
“I’m not done. Do you think it’s even possible that she would want to try her making-out skills on an old guy like me? Maybe because she thought I wouldn’t say no?”
I rolled my eyes.
Charlotte said, “Oh, Jack, come on.”
Jack said, “Look, Charlotte, I’m sorry. Isabelle was helping me look for something. I heard people coming, so I grabbed her. End of story.”
“What were you looking for?”
“Just … something that didn’t belong there. That’s all. Look, will you come over and spend the night with me? Please?”
Again I had to remind myself to keep my eyes on the road, as it twisted and wound all the way back to Aspen Meadow. As far as I knew, aside from Finn, Jack had never had overnight guests. I didn’t want to ponder why he was suddenly offering Charlotte an invite.
Unless … unless he thought she had some information about Doc Finn? Maybe Billie had confessed something untoward to her mother? I wondered.
Jack liked Charlotte. He didn’t love her. I wondered if that was enough for Charlotte. And if it was too much for Jack.
Man, relationships! You think once you get out of high school, all the mucky mess and emotions and expectations and disappointments are behind you. News flash to the uninformed: they last your whole life.
Charlotte was saying, “Stay in your house? tonight? Jack. Thank you. Please listen, though. My only daughter is getting married tomorrow afternoon, and I have a thousand things—”
“May I come over to your place, then? You’re always inviting me. This afternoon, I’ll take you out to lunch, and then we can have some fun, and then I’ll take you out to dinner, and we can have some more fun.”
“I thought you were taking me to the rehearsal dinner tonight.”
“Oh, yeah, the rehearsal dinner. Forgot about that. Where is it?”
“Well,” Charlotte said tentatively, “since we changed the venue, we’re doing the walk-through, a rehearsal, yes, at Aspen Meadow Country Club. Then I’m throwing a dinner party for the bridal party, also at Aspen Meadow Country Club. You are invited. You’ve always been invited.”
Jack said, “May I take you out to lunch? Wherever you want to go.”
Charlotte paused. I couldn’t resist: I looked in the rearview mirror. Jack was kissing Charlotte on the neck. It sure as heck wasn’t Charlotte who was all charm.
Charlotte sighed. “All right, then,” she whispered at last. “But you have to promise to be out of the house by eight tomorrow morning.”
AS I PILOTED my godfather’s Mercedes down Upper Cottonwood Creek Road, I called Tom on my cell phone. There was no answer. He was probably still with the county medical examiner. Reluctantly, I punched the numbers for Arch’s cell.
“Jeez, Mom,” he said when he finally picked up. “It’s summer, and I’m still in bed over at Gus’s house.”
“Sorry, buddy.” One of the conditions of our buying Arch a cell phone was that he was not allowed to turn it off, ever. Unfortunately, Arch’s teenage sleeping pattern didn’t match my grown-up working one, and invariably we were at odds over who was bothering whom. I said sweetly, “Listen, bud, can you get up and come get me over in Flicker Ridge?”
“Now? You have got to be kidding me.”
“Yes, now. Sorry.” Just after his sixteenth birthday in April, Tom and I had bought Arch a used VW Passat. One of the conditions of that purchase had been that he would help out occasionally with running errands. Since Arch’s driver’s license had been freshly minted, he’d been very happy to “get a ride,” as he put it, although it seemed to me that what he was getting was not a ride, but wheels. Another Mom job: learn how nomenclature differs from one generation to the next.
Arch said, “Do you remember that Gus and Todd are coming with me, and spending the night?”
“Oh my, I forgot.”
“We’re not going to bother you, Mom. And it’s way past our turn to have everybody.”
Actually, he was right. This summer, the Druckmans and the Vikarioses had done the heavy lifting in the Entertain-the-Kids department. They’d always insisted that they loved having the boys as much as possible. And I believed them, but my gut still gnawed with guilt. The Druckmans were leaving on Monday for a family fishing trip in Montana. When they came back, school would be starting. I needed to do my bit, as Arch had reminded me. Over the protestations of Jack, I gave Arch the address of the Attenborough residence.
“Just take my car home,” Jack said. “Charlotte can run me back to my place in the morning.”
“I cannot run you anywhere,” Charlotte said huffily. “I’ll be too busy!”
At the Attenborough place, I told Charlotte and Jack I would just wait inside Jack’s car until Arch arrived. Jack said that was fine, but please would I lock the car and bring him the keys? I agreed, and the two of them took off for the house.
Truth to tell, I also wanted to stay in the car because I figured the last place Billie would look for me was right out in front of her own house. To make sure, though, when Craig Miller drove up in his Lexus, I ducked. I felt childish, but I really, really didn’t want Billie to catch sight of me.
After what I thought was a safe interval, I lifted my head, only to scream when I saw Craig Miller smirking at me through the driver’s-side window. He had his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, and he was rocking back and forth on his loafers, the preppy Cat Who Swallowed the Canary.
“You about scared me to death!” I said after I finally found the proper button to bring down the window.
“Are you hiding from Billie?”
“I, well, I … yes. Is she coming out here to tell me she wants some more changes to the menu?”
“I doubt it. I saw you, but she didn’t. She was too busy complaining about the spa venue. All the way back I heard about how impossible it was all going to be. It was really a fun drive. But don’t worry, she’s going to stick with having everything there. Since the date has been changed so much, we had to go with some later reservations to
the Greek isles, so we’ll actually be staying at the spa for the first couple of days of the honeymoon.” He laughed that snuffly laugh of his, but I wasn’t disarmed by it. When Craig glanced up at the house, I felt a twinge of fear that he would signal Billie. I was ever mindful of Henry Kissinger’s dictum: Even a paranoid has real enemies. Craig turned back to me and asked, “May I get into the car with you?”
“Billie’s not going to be looking out the window, and see you out here, is she?”
For answer, Craig chuckled again. As he rounded the front of Jack’s car, I wondered for at least the fiftieth time what this handsome, well-built doctor saw in Billie. He was a self-assured professional who, Marla had told me, was only twenty-eight. Billie was thirty-six, not terribly attractive, and a bitch. Her mother was nice, and she was rich, but Craig wasn’t marrying Charlotte.
Then again, who was I to decipher the motivations of love? My first time around, I’d married a violent narcissist, which showed you how much I knew.
“I know I’ve said this to you before, Goldy,” Craig began, once he was sitting in the passenger seat. He turned to face me, his expression all earnestness. “Billie and I are just very, very appreciative of all the work you’ve done for us.”
“I’m just doing my job, Craig.”
He smiled. “Seems to me you’ve gone above and beyond the requirements of your job.”
“Thanks.” I really did not want to talk about the wedding, or Billie, or anything related to Billie or the wedding, so I plunged in with, “Actually, I knew a doctor once with the last name Miller. Philip Miller? Ever heard of him? He went to the University of Colorado Medical School—”
“No, can’t say that I have. What kind of doc is he?”
“Was. He’s deceased.”
“I’m sorry. It sounds as if he was a friend.”
Fatally Flaky Page 10
