Too Rich and Too Dead

by Cynthia Baxter

  “This is the spa,” Harriet announced as she punched a code into a keypad. Since Mallory was standing right next to her, she couldn't help noticing how simple it was: 5–5–2–2.

  “Wow!” Mallory exclaimed the moment she stepped inside. While the building's exterior reflected the same rustic architectural style as the rest of the place, the interior was an elegant mélange of wood, glass, and iridescent tile. The facility was outfitted with every possible indulgence: steam rooms, saunas, showers, and small, private rooms where those rejuvenating treatments Mallory had read about were undoubtedly performed. The entire back wall was made of glass, bringing the jaw-dropping mountain views inside. In fact, a large hot tub, sunken into the floor and surrounded by tiles in earth tones, was positioned in just the right spot for a nearly three-hundred-sixty-degree panorama.

  “Well, it looks as if everything is fine,” Harriet concluded with a little shrug. “I'll call Daisy later. But since we're here, if you don't mind, I need to stop into my office for a minute.”

  “No problem.”

  As they walked down another hallway, entering a part of the building Mallory hadn't noticed before, she casually asked, “What about you, Harriet? How did you get interested in the health field?” Once again, Mallory was at a loss as to how to refer to the rejuvenation biz. But using the word “health” struck her as close enough. “After all, you're an accountant. You could probably work in any industry you wanted.”

  “That's true,” Harriet agreed. “My background with numbers does give me a lot of flexibility. But I guess I was attracted to Carly's business because of my childhood experiences with bad health. When I was little, I contracted polio.”

  Mallory frowned. “I thought polio had been wiped out, thanks to the vaccine.”

  “Actually, the last case of polio that wasn't caused by someone reacting to the vaccine occurred in 1979,” Harriet explained patiently.

  “But you don't show any signs of having had the illness,” Mallory observed.

  “I was one of the lucky ones,” Harriet said with a little shrug. “I pretty much had a complete return to normal function. The only negative effect it's had in the long run is fatigue. I get tired a lot more easily than most people. In fact, there have been studies linking the kind of damage to the brain stem that polio causes with the kind that causes chronic fatigue syndrome.

  “But I had a taste of what it means to be debilitated—and I had to confront the possibility of living with paralysis the rest of my life,” she continued, her voice strained. “Anyway, I think that's the root of my interest in the health field. Staying young is part of staying healthy, which is why I find the whole concept of Rejuva-Juice so intriguing.”

  Mallory nodded. So Harriet's interest in Carly's business was about more than dollars and cents. She also had a strong emotional investment in what Rejuva-Juice could do for people.

  Which undoubtedly made the loss she had just experienced even more devastating.

  They had reached the back hallway of the spa, the area in which the offices were tucked away. As they walked through, Mallory couldn't help peering through the open doors into the various offices. The first one was undoubtedly Carly's. It was tastefully decorated in beige and soft shades of pink, with large windows on two of the walls that afforded fabulous views. A colorful bouquet of flowers, still fresh, sat on a low table behind the imposing wooden desk.

  The next office had views that were just as spectacular, but it was slightly smaller. Because it was decorated in masculine browns, Mallory suspected that it belonged to Brett. The fact that it had no file cabinets, no papers, not even a paper clip, led her to wonder if he ever used it for anything besides ordering Colorado wines and snatching one-of-a-kind lobsters away from the French.

  The office that was Harriet's last stop was way in back. The view from its single window was of the rock garden. Still pleasant, but not even close to being in the same league as the view enjoyed by her employers. It was also decorated like any ordinary office, with nondescript metal furniture, an ancient-looking computer, and more than its share of both papers and paper clips strewn about.

  Mallory waited in the hallway politely while Harriet bustled around inside for a few minutes. When she had finished whatever she'd come in for, she closed the door behind her.

  As they walked back to the car, Mallory commented, “Harriet, I'm curious about something you mentioned at the Wheeler Opera House last night. What you said about Carly and Rejuva-Juice being on the verge of parting ways, I mean.”

  Harriet sighed. “It was supposed to be top secret. But I guess that doesn't matter anymore, now that she's gone.” She hesitated before explaining, “Carly was on the verge of selling both Tavaci Springs and the rights to Rejuva-Juice to a big corporation. HoliHealth, Inc., based outside of San Francisco.”

  “I've never heard of it,” Mallory said, as if to assure Harriet she wasn't about to run out and buy up all their stock. “Then again, I'm not exactly what you'd call savvy when it comes to the business world.”

  “An entrepreneur started it decades ago,” Harriet explained. “He started out selling vitamins, but his little company grew tremendously. Today HoliHealth sells all kinds of holistic treatments, mostly in health food stores but in big chains like Wal-Mart and Kmart, too. The company expanded into things like protein powders for body builders, herbal treatments for every ailment you can think of, skin care products, yoga mats, gel packs for muscle aches, you name it. They basically sell anything and everything that's dedicated to helping people look good and feel good. But lately they've been facing increasing competition, especially over the past few years. Somehow they decided that getting hold of Rejuva-Juice would give them what they needed to dominate the market.”

  Her mouth twisting into a sneer, she added, “In fact, that's why that vile Sylvie Snowdon is in town. She came to try to convince Carly to sell. It was something Carly could never make up her mind about.” She sighed deeply. “But one thing's for sure: Selling would undoubtedly mean that I'd be collecting unemployment soon.”

  “But even if the sale went through, wouldn't HoliHealth want to keep you on staff?” Mallory asked, surprised. “After all, you probably know more about Carly's company than anybody. You probably know more about Rejuva-Juice, too.”

  “That's not how corporations work,” Harriet replied bitterly. “If they buy Rejuva-Juice, they'll want their own people to run it. And even in the unlikely event that they did offer me a job, I wouldn't want it. I've never been very good when it comes to big, impersonal organizations. What's even worse is that I'm sure I'd be unhappy with what they did with Rejuva-Juice. Even if I gave it my best shot, I know I wouldn't last for long.”

  “Even though Carly is gone,” Mallory said thoughtfully, “won't Brett want to keep running it by himself?”

  Harriet's expression hardened. “Brett Berman is probably the biggest phony in Aspen. And believe me, that's saying a lot. If you ask me, the only reason he latched onto Carly in the first place is that he was looking for a female version of a sugar daddy. He's been living off her since day one. I can't imagine him running a lemonade stand, much less the Rejuva-Juice empire. I'd bet anything that he can't wait to unload the company and collect a huge check.”

  “Harriet, I don't think you have anything to worry about, no matter what happens,” Mallory assured her. “I haven't known you for long, but you impress me as an extremely intelligent and capable young woman.”

  Mallory hated sounding like an ancient wise woman, but the truth was that Harriet reminded Mallory of her daughter, Amanda. “Even if R ejuva-Juice does get sold,” she continued, “you'll still land on your feet.”

  “Thanks,” Harriet said, sounding sincerely grateful. “That's something it feels really good to hear. Especially at a time like this.”

  With a sigh, she added, “You're a good listener, Mallory. Thanks for putting up with me.”

  “Not at all,” Mallory insisted.

  “You'd make a gre
at friend,” Harriet said. “It's too bad you live so far away.”

  Mallory had just been thinking the exact same thing. “I have your business card, but I never gave you mine.” She pulled one out of her purse. “It has my cell phone number on it, and this is my home phone.”

  “Thanks.” Harriet smiled shyly. “Who knows? Maybe I'll actually make it to New York one of these days.”

  Her smile faded as she added, “Especially since my entire life is suddenly up for grabs. Now that Carly is gone, I don't know what the future holds for me.”

  Mallory found it a great relief to be back in downtown Aspen, where the relative hustle-bustle served as a reminder that even in the face of death, life went on. Glancing at her watch, she was surprised to see it was still early. So much had happened since she'd gotten out of bed that she was practically ready for lunch. Or at least a coffee break.

  She decided to spend the rest of the morning doing the next best thing after imbibing caffeine: shopping.

  Doing research, she corrected herself. From what I've seen of Aspen so far, if there's one way a non-skier can keep busy in this town, it's by hitting the stores.

  After checking to make sure her notebook was tucked away inside her purse, she wandered around town. She began her trek by passing a few real estate offices with their bargains posted in the window: “Country Living on Alps Road. Mountain Views, In-Ground Pool, 7 Bedrooms, 3+ Fireplaces, Media Center/Home Theater, In-Home Fitness Center, Fireplaces. $29 million. Must See!”

  But before long, the establishments lining the quaint streets turned to those that sold more affordable merchandise—or at least merchandise with prices that didn't require so many zeros they had to be written out in words. She wandered around streets that could have been in any small town in America, except for the fact that instead of hardware stores and dry cleaners, the signs in front read Fendi, Gucci, Prada, and Polo Ralph Lauren. Jewelry stores were tucked in among art galleries, and there were a few shops that catered to young ski bums of both sexes, albeit young ski bums with hefty credit lines.

  Mallory was delighted by the section of town that had been turned into a pedestrian walkway. Shops lined both sides of what had been dubbed Hyman Avenue Mall, some geared toward tourists who were addicted to T-shirts with cute sayings and others with more diverse wares. But what interested her even more than the specifics of the shops was how pleasant the area was. A row of evergreens and deciduous trees several stories high ran up the middle of the red brick walkway, and crude benches were placed every few feet. Her favorite part was the pleasant-looking life-size bear carved out of wood, standing erect as if he was just waiting for his picture to be taken. She hoped he wasn't offended by the fact that just a few steps away was a store that sold fur coats.

  She plopped down on one of the benches to scribble some notes. “The fact that downtown Aspen still retains its Wild West feeling, rather than an ambience of glitz and glamour, makes browsing through shops that sell cashmere sweaters and Gucci purses a wonderfully incongruous experience…”

  She jotted down the names of some of the shops, then took up her wandering once again. She turned a corner and found herself in front of an inviting-looking establishment called Amen Wardy. The name didn't give much of a clue as to what kind of store it was, so she peered inside.

  The shelves of the good-sized shop were packed with items for the home, all of them wonderful, luxurious, and basically things it would be easy to live without. And most had price tags that would make the average Joe inclined to do just that.

  Then again, this was Aspen, a town that wasn't exactly populated by average Joes. Visited by them, either. So it made sense that the shop's inventory included items such as a doll named Vernon who was made of fake Vidalia onions for one hundred fifty bucks, and an attractive but moderate-sized box of caramels for forty-five.

  Talk about a wealthy and sophisticated clientele, she thought with amazement, remembering her initial pitch to Trevor. I can't wait to tell him about these price tags.

  Still, Mallory prided herself on being a good shopper, and given the store's commitment to all things cute and clever, she figured that this might be a good place to pick up an interesting souvenir for Amanda. She reached for a pair of rubber gloves, the kind used for washing dishes, that was decorated with ruffles, fake flowers, and a rhinestone “diamond ring” glued on one finger. She thought the gloves might be just the thing until she checked the price tag. Forty smackers. Yet even that didn't look bad when she noticed a shower cap on a shelf nearby that was the same price.

  The T-shirts are starting to look a lot better, she thought, putting back the gloves.

  And then, just for a moment, she stepped out of herself and noticed how much she was enjoying her expedition.

  This is fun, Mallory thought, as surprised as she was pleased. Puttering around in a new place, finding out what it's all about, is why I like this job.

  She realized that wandering around Aspen without a schedule to follow or anyone to tell her what to do or where to go was also the perfect antidote to what had been an extremely traumatic morning.

  Turning her attention back to shopping for her daughter, Mallory picked up a brightly colored hair dryer decorated with flowers and a whimsical fairy. After a brief debate, she decided the cheery design wasn't enough to justify its seventy-five-dollar price tag.

  She was actually relieved when she found an organic room spray made with green oolong tea and orchids. It struck her as exactly the kind of thing Amanda would enjoy.

  Maybe it'll even help her relax, Mallory thought with a wry smile.

  She was standing at the cash register, tucking her credit card back into her wallet, when her cell phone began to warble.

  Speak of the devil, she thought, assuming her daughter was calling. Instead, as she tossed her purchase into her purse, she checked the caller ID screen and spotted a number with an Aspen area code.

  “Hello?” she answered, sounding as puzzled as she felt.

  “Mallory?” a soft, wavering voice asked.

  She was fairly certain the voice belonged to Harriet Vogel. But while it sounded like her, this version didn't sound at all like the strong, independent accountant she'd barely gotten to know.

  “Harriet, is that you?” she asked, still not sure she was right about her caller's identity.

  “Yes, it's me,” Harriet replied, her voice now close to a sob. “Mallory, I don't know what to do. Something terrible has happened!”

  “What is it?” Mallory demanded. She could already feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Where are you?”

  “I'm at the police station.” In a voice so choked that Mallory could hardly make out the words, Harriet added, “The police brought me here. They—they think I killed Carly!”

  “If God had really intended men to fly,

  he'd make it easier to get to the airport.”

  —George Winters

  But that's impossible!” Mallory insisted. “Why on earth would the police think you had anything to do with Carly's murder?”

  “Because of something stupid they found!” Harriet replied, her voice unusually shrill. “But I promise you, Mallory, it's all a hideous mistake! I'll explain everything when I see you.”

  “Harriet, I'm so sorry,” Mallory said, her breathlessness reflecting her frustration. “What a nightmare! But why are you calling me, of all people?”

  “Because I need your help,” Harriet said.

  “Me?” Mallory asked, surprised. “But what can I do?”

  “First of all, you can find me a good lawyer. I've lived in Aspen for three years, but I've never needed any legal assistance before.”

  “Okay,” Mallory agreed, her mind already racing as she tried to come up with a good method for finding the best defense attorney in town. “I can do that. But what's the second thing?”

  “The second thing…” Harriet took a deep breath. “Mallory, would you be willing to come down to the police station? There's somet
hing I need to talk to you about in person.”

  “Of course,” Mallory agreed, already rushing out of the store.

  It took her less than ten minutes to reach the Pitkin County Courthouse, which was located on the edge of town on the same street as the Hotel Jerome. While the three-story red brick building had a dignified look, it also had a historical feeling to it. That, Mallory knew from her research, was because it had been commissioned in the late 1880s; it still looked perfectly preserved.

  She also remembered reading that the Pitkin County Courthouse was the oldest courthouse in Colorado that was still used for its original purpose. When she'd come across that information, she'd filed it away as an interesting fact, but one she probably wouldn't be able to weave into her article.

  At the time, it had never even occurred to her that she might be visiting it during her short stay. Especially under circumstances like these.

  Parked outside the building was a gray SUV emblazoned with the words Aspen Police. In addition to a red-and-gold seven-pointed star that appeared to be the department's logo, its side doors were decorated with tremendous leaves that looked as if they'd been painted in gold.

  Only in Aspen, Mallory thought wryly, picturing the stodgy sedans that the cops used in just about every other place she could think of.

  She would have been amused if it wasn't for the sick feeling lodged in her stomach that was the result of the horrible injustice that had been imposed upon her new friend.

  As she grew closer to the courthouse, she noticed another low structure right behind it. It, too, was made of red brick, but this one looked considerably older. From where she stood, she could barely make out the words on the front: Pitkin County Jail.

  Spotting it made the sick feeling even worse.

  Inside the courthouse were walls and carpets the same subdued grays that one would expect to find in any public building. What was different, however, was this one's creaky floors, slightly musty smell, and the general feeling that she'd just stepped into a place that was replete with history. Two wooden staircases with ornate wooden banisters flanked the entryway, and graceful archways led to the two hallways that extended outward on both sides.