“We recently welcomed Autumn Drake to our staff,” the blurb on the Web site read. “While Autumn brings a special interest in Vinyasa Flow yoga and Iyengar to our studio, she also incorporates the Ashtanga, Bhakti, and Jivamukti traditions into her classes. Her specialty is chakra balancing. A native of Nebraska, Autumn recently came to Aspen by way of southern California.”
Sounds like our girl, Mallory thought.
She clicked onto the home page and discovered that the name of the studio that employed Autumn was the Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water Sanctuary for Mind, Body, and Spirit. Its name made for a lengthy Web address—www.EarthWindFireWater.com—but it was the yoga studio's street address that she was interested in.
The studio was located on the outskirts of town, less than half a mile away, according to her calculations. After jotting down the address on a page from the Hotel Jerome notepad, Mallory slipped it into her purse and headed down Main Street, a route she'd learned well thanks to all her auto trips out of town.
Her stroll took her past wonderful old Victorian houses, small parks with thick green lawns, and motels and lodges that looked as if they had been built in the 1970s and gotten stuck in a time warp. This primarily residential section of Aspen looked like Anytown, U.S.A., thanks to its good-size yards, tall trees, and sidewalks running through the grid of houses packed onto quiet streets that veered off the main drag.
The yoga studio reminded her that she wasn't in Anytown, after all. It was located in one of the larger Victorians, which was perched on a corner. The shingles were painted bright blue, with purple shutters and metal wind chimes dangling from the front porch. The sign above the door was hand-painted, with the letters of “earth” made out of vines, “wind” made from white wisps, “fire” yellow flames, and “water” spelled out with blue droplets.
Mallory was growing increasingly nervous. She hoped this part of her investigation wouldn't necessitate twisting her unyielding middle-aged body into pretzel-like shapes. The last thing she wanted was for somebody to decide that her chakras were in serious need of balancing.
But she took a deep breath and swung open the door. Her ears were immediately treated to the gentle tinkling of a bell, and her nostrils tingled with the intoxicating smell of spicy orange incense. She hadn't even said hello and she was already feeling mellower.
“Welcome to the sanctuary,” a dark-haired woman about her age greeted her. “How can I work with you to improve your mind, body, and spirit?”
The first two are doing just fine, thank you, Mallory thought. But I suppose I could use a little help with the third.
“Actually, I'm interested in speaking with one of your yoga instructors,” she said. She stood up straight and looked the woman in the eye. Just being here gave her the distinct feeling that her chakras were way out of line, but she was hoping no one would notice. “I'd like to interview her for a magazine article I'm writing.”
The woman brightened. “A magazine article? For Yoga and You?”
“Uh, no. Actually, it's not for a yoga magazine. It's a travel article about Aspen I'm writing for a lifestyle magazine.”
“Which one?”
“The Good Life.”
“Ah.” From the way the woman frowned, Mallory wondered if she disapproved. After all, the “good life” her readers were interested in had more to do with sleek sports cars, Sub-Zero freezers, and vacations in glitzy destinations than inner peace.
“And I know that Autumn's background includes all kinds of yoga,” Mallory went on, anxious to sell this woman, who was in essence guarding the door, on the idea of giving her a few minutes with Dusty's better half. “That's why I'd like to interview her for my article.”
When the woman still looked skeptical, Mallory added, “Of course I'd be able to mention Earth, Wind, and Fire and give you some free publicity.”
She had a feeling there was another element in there somewhere, but it had slipped her mind.
The woman didn't bother to correct her. In fact, for whatever reason—perhaps having reached a higher plane—it appeared that she had decided to forgive Mallory for her slip. “Autumn is in back. If you'd like, I'll see if she's free.”
As Mallory waited, she checked out the merchandise lined up on the shelves. Apparently even the most spiritual person couldn't live by yoga alone. Also necessary were yoga pants, yoga shirts, yoga jackets, and yoga bags to put it all into. In addition to yoga mats, there were special sprays and wipes to keep them clean. There were also scented candles, sticks of incense, lotions, CDs with yoga-appropriate music, meditation cushions, meditation benches, and silk eye pillows.
So much for giving up one's worldly goods, Mallory thought, fingering a silver pendant with the word Om nestled within a swarm of curlicues. Who knew that yoga required almost as much equipment as skiing?
A wave of disappointment swept over Mallory when the same woman returned—alone. But with a serene smile, she said, “Autumn will meet with you in the Crystal Room. It's behind the curtain.”
“Thank you.”
Mallory didn't know what she'd find back there. But as she pushed aside the long, bead-studded hot pink silk curtain hanging from the ceiling, she discovered a large, modern room with mirrors lining one entire wall. It reminded her of the type of space in which ballet classes are taught.
Autumn was at the other end, twisted not as much like a pretzel as a rubber Gumby doll. Her body faced one way, her head faced the other, and her right arm reached high into the air. Frankly, she didn't look the least bit comfortable. Neverthe less, the expression on her face was one of total bliss.
“Come in,” she greeted Mallory without looking in her direction. “I understand you want to learn about yoga.”
“Uh, I actually want to learn about yoga classes,” Mallory corrected her. She noticed that Autumn was wearing a pair of yoga capris and a yoga tank top that looked a lot like the ones she'd spotted on sale up front. Her blond hair was pulled back into a haphazard knot, with wisps falling out hither, thither, and yon. “I'm writing a magazine article about things to do in Aspen that have nothing to do with skiing. The point is to explore whether it's a good place to travel even for people who have no interest in getting on the mountain.”
“I see.” Autumn twisted around so that all of her body parts were facing the same direction. But instead of coming over to talk to Mallory, she got down onto the floor, raised her legs up into the air until she was in a headstand position, and then bent her legs. She looked enough like a pretzel that Mallory had to keep from pointing and exclaiming, “Aha! Just as I thought!”
“Which magazine?” Autumn asked.
“Uh, The Good Life.” Mallory had never realized how difficult it was to talk to someone who was upside down. “It's based in New York.”
“New York?” Autumn brightened. “I was there once.” Her aura quickly went from positive to negative. “Too many people. Very bad karma.”
And you don't even pay taxes there, Mallory thought.
“How did you find me?” Autumn asked.
Exactly the segue I've been hoping for. “I met a friend of yours.”
“Really? Who?”
“Dusty Raines.” As she was still debating whether or not to identify him in the terms he'd supplied, she blurted out the words. “Your boyfriend.”
Autumn snapped out of her headstand faster than an Olympic gymnast going for the gold. “Dusty told you he's my boyfriend?”
“That's right,” Mallory replied, trying to sound casual.
She could practically see Autumn's chakras becoming dangerously unbalanced.
“As a matter of fact,” she continued breezily, “he told me that you'd be a good person to talk to. For my article, I mean. Since you're involved in something other than skiing and all.”
“Well, he's certainly not my boyfriend.” Autumn spat out the words. “At least not anymore. Not since he started hanging out with that—that old crone!”
Hey, wait a minute! Mallory thought. I ha
ppen to have been in the same algebra class as that old crone. And in a lot of the world—that is, in places that aren't Aspen—forty-five isn't exactly considered the ideal age to be put out to sea on an ice floe.
But aloud she said, “I'm not sure who you mean.”
“Carly Berman. The woman who owns Tavaci Springs. The one who was just murdered.” Shaking her head, Autumn added, “Boy, is he gonna miss her.”
“You almost make it sound as if he was her lover,” Mallory said evenly.
“If you can call it that,” Autumn shot back. “More like her gigolo. Not only were they having sex. Plenty of it, too, at least if you believe all his bragging. And she was always buying him stuff. I got the feeling it wasn't only her surgically enhanced breasts that turned him on. I think he also found her credit cards pretty alluring.”
“You mean she bought him things?”
“Yea-a-ah.” Autumn replied, casting her a look of disbelief over her naiveté. “I don't suppose you noticed the watch he wears. It's a Rolex. A real one. Do you have any idea what those things cost?”
“Not really. I'm kind of a Timex girl myself,” Mallory replied.
“Well, believe me, they're ridiculously expensive,” Autumn exclaimed. “Not exactly the kind of watch you'd expect a ski bum like Dusty to be wearing. Besides, that pretentious watch isn't even his taste. It's got Carly Berman written all over it.”
So Carly was the source of Dusty's top-of-the-line wristwatch, Mallory thought. Suspicion confirmed.
“In that case, Dusty must be pretty upset about what happened to Carly,” Mallory commented, searching Autumn's face.
“Oh, yeah. I'm sure he's beside himself. He had a really good thing going, and now it's over.” Crossing her arms, she grumbled, “He might even have to get a job. A real one, I mean, instead of just hanging out at the ski shop, chatting up the customers all day.”
From the way Autumn described Dusty's situation, it sounded as if the last thing he'd have wanted was for anything to get in the way of his relationship with Carly. Especially something as final as murder. Chances were good that she'd never written him into her will, which meant that all he had to show for his trouble was his fancy wristwatch.
Autumn's expression suddenly changed. “But you didn't come here to talk about Dusty and his sordid love life,” she said, somehow calling upon whatever reserves she possessed and quickly bringing herself back to a considerably more tranquil state. “Let me tell you about what we do here at Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water.”
“Shoot,” Mallory said, pulling out her notebook and pen.
But as Autumn patiently explained the differences between Bhakti and Jivamukti, Mallory couldn't help evaluating what she had told her.
Is it possible I was wrong to consider Dusty a suspect? Mallory wondered. Could he really be one of the few people in this town who actually fits that old saying, what you see is what you get?
After all, if someone wanted to become a full-fledged ski bum, complete with an attractive older woman to help ease the discomforts of low-income living, Aspen was definitely the place to do it.
As soon as she left the yoga studio, Mallory pulled out her cell phone to call Harriet and firm up their afternoon coffee date. She'd just assumed that they'd arrange to meet someplace in town. But Harriet insisted she was too swamped with paperwork to spare much time and suggested that they meet at Tavaci Springs.
Instead of being put off by her suggestion, Mallory was secretly glad. She was anxious to get a closer look at Harriet in the setting in which she had worked—which also happened to be the same place in which Carly had been murdered.
Before heading out of town, she made a quick stop at the Ink Coffee Company even though it was a few blocks out of her way. She'd read that it was known for the high quality of its coffee, since Ink roasted its own beans. It sounded like a place she might be able to include in her article. Wanting to have the full experience, she also picked up something to go with the coffee before getting back into her car and driving into the mountains.
When she reached the spa, she found it just as deserted as it had been the day before. The only car parked out front was Harriet's dark blue Escort, with the huge dent in the door that reminded Mallory of a big, ugly bruise.
Mallory pulled her car into the space beside it, then bypassed the main building and headed directly toward the spa in back. Following that route required passing the Mud Hut, which was still marked off by yellow crime scene tape. The harshness of the bright color superimposed over the place in which something so horrific had recently occurred, combined with the silence that shrouded the entire property , created an eerie feeling that made her quicken her step.
When she found the door of the spa building unlocked, she let herself in, meanwhile struggling to balance two cups of coffee and a white paper bag stuffed with scones.
“Harriet?” she called once she was inside.
“I'm in back,” she heard her yell in response. “In my office.”
When Mallory retraced the route she and Harriet had followed the day before, she found Harriet sitting at her desk, surrounded by mounds of paper. One more stack sat in her lap, its top few pages looking as if they were about to slide off her navy blue wool skirt.
“See?” Harriet greeted her, grimacing. “I wasn't exaggerating when I said I was drowning in paperwork.”
“So I see,” Mallory said sympathetically.
“You brought coffee!” Harriet exclaimed. “How thoughtful of you!”
“No problem,” Mallory assured her. “I'm glad to help, since I can imagine how busy you must be right now.”
She glanced around the tiny office, noticing that a foot-wide area of the credenza that lined one wall was actually bare. Since there didn't appear to be anywhere else to sit, she leaned against it and began snapping the lids off the paper coffee cups.
“I'm overwhelmed by how much I have to do.” Harriet sighed. “I'm pretty organized, as a rule. But I also operate under the assumption that I'll have a reasonable amount of time to get things done. Now that Carly is… now that this has happened, I have to get all the accounts in order pronto so her estate can be settled.
“But enough about my paperwork nightmare.” She scooped up the pile in her lap and plopped it on top of another pile that was sitting on the desk, then reached for her cup of coffee. “Tell me what you've been up to. Have you found out anything that might help identify Carly's killer?”
Mallory shook her head. “I've spoken to a few people who knew Carly, and I'm starting to get a better feel for the world she traveled in. But I haven't learned anything that points to any one person.” Or clears anyone, she thought grimly. Including you.
“Aside from that,” she went on, “I've been trying to squeeze in as much sightseeing as I can. Even though it's kind of hard to focus, I still have to write the article I was sent here to write. I've checked out a few of the shops in town, and last night I had dinner at Montagna, over at the Little Nell.”
“Poor you, having dinner at such a nice restaurant all alone!”
“Actually, I wasn't alone.” Mallory hesitated for a few moments before explaining, “I had dinner with Gordon.”
Harriet's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Gordon Swig?”
“Yes, that's right.” Puzzled by her reaction, Mallory added, “Why, is there something wrong with that?”
Harriet shook her head slowly. “Mallory, I had no idea you were seeing Gordon. If I did, I would have told you about him earlier.”
“Told me what?”
“Look,” Harriet said with a sigh, “the last thing I want to do is to go around spreading rumors about people. But when murder is involved…”
Mallory just stared. The déjà vu she was suddenly experiencing made her light-headed.
“Are you telling me you think Gordon may have had something to do with Carly's being killed?” she asked breathlessly.
Harriet bit her lip. “Let's just say it's not impossible.”
“I mean, it's not like I know anything for sure,” Harriet continued. “It's just that… well, there's been some tension between them lately.”
“Really?” Mallory frowned. “I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary when I had dinner at Carly's house the night before she was killed.”
“Maybe Gordon picked up a few pointers from all those actors he's worked with.” Harriet had barely gotten the words out before she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my gosh! That was a terrible thing to say, wasn't it?”
“We're all feeling stressed out,” Mallory assured her. Despite her own turmoil, she was trying to sound sympathetic. The last thing she wanted Harriet to do was hold back on the truth. Or at least her perception of the truth.
“Don't get me wrong, Mallory,” Harriet said, her cheeks reddening. “I like Gordon. I always have. I think he's the nicest man in the world. It's just that there were such major issues between him and Carly, and the fact that he just happened to be in town when she was murdered…”
“What kind of issues?” Mallory asked. She tried to sound offhanded, but her question came out sounding like a demand.
Hesitantly Harriet said, “I don't know if Gordon mentioned anything about this, but he was interested in making a movie about Carly's life story.” She looked pained, as if speaking badly of someone was truly difficult for her. Mallory's cynical side couldn't help wondering if Harriet, too, had mastered a few acting techniques along the way.
“He's been thinking about doing the film for a long time,” Harriet went on. “From what I understand, at the beginning of their negotiations, Carly led him to believe it was practically a done deal. So Gordon went out on a limb and hyped the idea all over Hollywood. He told everyone he had this fabulous project in the works that was going to enable him to make his big comeback. I heard that he used his own money to hire a well-known screenwriter to write the script, one of those big names who gets over a million dollars for a project. Gordon even went so far as to line up actors. He'd gotten to the point of wining and dining producers when Carly started to waver.”
Too Rich and Too Dead Page 17
