She turned the page to put in the bookmark when her name caught her eye and read the first line. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Yippee, yippee!” she yelled. Here it was!
No longer aware of a headache or the fact that her eyes felt almost blinded, she raced through the page with a haste that would have been the envy of a recent graduate of a speed-reading course. It was all there. From the moment it began until… until… Geraldine turned the page and swooned. Her newfound knowledge made her light-headed. “Oh dear Lord, dear Lord!” she cried as she read on. “I never knew!!!”
When she had collected her senses, she jumped out of bed and sprinted across the cold floor in her bare feet, heading for the kitchen, where she poured herself a tumblerful of Wild Turkey. It was now 1 A.M. East Coast time, she thought. No use trying to phone the investigator until the morning.
“But I want to!” she yelled into the air. “I don’t want to waste another minute!”
She threw back her neck and swallowed the firewater. “Aaaaah,” she sighed. “That might calm me down but I don’t think so.” She knew that this was going to be the longest night of her life, the hours between now and the civilized hour of 8 A.M. East Coast time, when she could pick up the phone.
Geraldine hurried back to bed and picked up the diary. My fatigue is gone, she thought. I’ll never sleep tonight. Forget counting sheep. There aren’t enough in Australia to make me tired.
All of a sudden the impact of what she had read overcame her and she started to cry. Tears streamed down her face. “Please don’t let it be too late, dear Lord,” she sniffled. “At least let part of it be okay. Pop-Pop, if you’re listening, thank you for being such a good man. And thank you for sending that nosy reporter who pulled your picture out from behind the wagon wheel. Otherwise I never would have started digging around the barn, otherwise known as the Spoonfellow junkyard. Amen.”
Just then, Geraldine’s bedside light blinked. “I knew you were listening,” she whispered. “Now help me out!”
44
Wednesday, December 28
REGAN AND KIT sat with Louis in the dining room having breakfast. He had the help in a frenzy of brass polishing.
“How’d you sleep, Louis?” Regan asked.
“What’s sleep?” he answered. “I lie awake and think, did I take care of this, did I take care of that? It’s terrible.” He took a sip of coffee and inspected his fingernails. “I just hope everything gets done before tomorrow night.”
Kit swallowed the toast in her mouth. “What’s left?”
“I don’t know,” he whined. “That’s why I’m awake at night. It’s everything and nothing.”
Regan put down her coffee cup. “Louis, you’ve got the food?”
“Yes.”
“The dinner is sold out?”
“Yes.”
“The paintings of the local artists will be dropped by tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“The band is coming?”
“Yes.”
“The program is printed up?”
“Yes.”
“The media is coming?”
“Yes.”
“So don’t worry.”
“Famous last words.”
“Two days from now you’ll be sitting here, having launched a successful restaurant. Just wait and see.”
“I feel like the bride,” Louis said, “knowing that everyone’s going to find something wrong no matter how good the party is.”
“There you go,” Regan said. “If you know that some of that is going to happen anyway, then you can just relax. People are going to have a good time. Believe me.”
“I hope so, Regan. I guess I should be happy we haven’t heard any more from Geraldine. I wonder how she’s doing.”
“She’s probably cleaning out her barn and getting ready for her presentation tomorrow night. She’s going to make a speech, right?”
“Which is another worry. She’s been known to ramble when she gets the floor at town meetings. Something tells me we’re going to have to get out the hook.” Louis sampled a tiny spoonful of his oatmeal.
“I can’t wait to meet this Geraldine,” Kit said.
“She’s great,” Regan said. “She’s probably rehearsing her speech right now.”
45
BRIGHT AND EARLY, for the third time that week, Angus Ludwig sauntered into the Wonder Properties real estate office.
Ellen Gefke stood up to greet him. “Hello, Angus. I didn’t expect to see you today. How are you?”
“Itchy. Itchier than a bad case of the chicken pox.”
Ellen smiled. “Will a cup of coffee help?”
“We could give it a try.”
Ellen thoroughly enjoyed her job as a Realtor in Aspen. Forty years old, she’d moved to Aspen after her divorce three years ago and had never been happier. Always an athletic outdoorsperson, she loved to ski and felt that she’d finally found a real home. That’s why she so enjoyed finding the right home for her clients. “A place,”she’d say, “where you know right away you belong.”
At the coffee machine, she poured the steaming liquid into two mugs, handing one to Angus, knowing by now that he liked his black.
“Thanks, Ellen,” he said. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. I’m dying to get a look at that house you were telling me about, the fixer-upper.”
Ellen shook her head and sat back down at her desk. “Angus, it’s rented until Saturday. I’d be happy to show it to you then. We hate to pressure our rental tenants to let us in when they’ve paid good money to have a place of their own for a few weeks. They have a right to their privacy.”
It was obvious that this didn’t bother Angus. “Who are they, anyway?” he asked.
“I’ve never met them. The reservation was made through a company who sent a check. I sent them the keys and a map.”
Angus sipped his coffee. “Hmmm. I’m feeling restless, Ellen. I get it in my bones about doing something and then I’m like a little kid at Christmas. Being back in Aspen makes me feel so happy. Why don’t we just drive by the place? How does that sound? I’d love to at least get a look at it from the outside.”
Ellen checked her watch. She pushed back her blond hair and stood up. “Okay, Angus. You twisted my arm. Let’s go now because I have an appointment coming in a little later.”
Angus smiled his most charming smile. “I knew I came to the right office! Something about your ad made me pick up the phone last week. Isn’t there sometimes a feeling you get about somebody, like you’ve known them a long time when you’ve only just met? I like doing business with you…”
“Sure, sure,” Ellen said. She came around her desk, walked to the back, and poked her head into a private office.
“I’m leaving. I’ll be back in a little while.”
In her car Angus regaled her with stories of the old Aspen. “Yup, this place has changed, but it still has that feeling of magic. You breathe in this air and your lungs never felt so good.”
“That’s why I like living here,”Ellen said as she concentrated on the winding roads.
Angus continued undaunted. “I left here before Walter Paepcke and his wife Elizabeth came here from Chicago in the forties and really got this town going as both a skiing and a cultural center. From what everybody tells me, they both did a lot for this town.”
“They sure did,” Ellen said. “They started the Aspen Ski Corporation, the Aspen Music Festival, the Aspen Center for Environmental Studies. It’s really thanks to them that Aspen is a National Historic District.” They were several miles from downtown Aspen. She turned off the main road onto an unmarked narrow dirt road that twisted, turned and bumped for half a mile.
“Where in tarnation are we going?” Angus asked as he hung on to the dashboard.
“You told me you wanted privacy and a breathtaking view. That’s what you’re getting!”
Finally she stopped and pointed. Nestled at the foot of the mountain, down a long driveway, was a small Victorian
farmhouse surrounded by tall evergreens. A car was visible in the driveway, which curved around toward the back of the house.
“There’s a barn out back,” she said. “The house needs work. But the possibilities are endless.”
Angus breathed in and stared, imagining what he could do with the place. He could picture this location in every season. Sure, the house looked neglected, but with a coat of paint outside and some TLC, this place could do me just fine, he thought. Just give me three months to get it shipshape.
“It looks like they’re home,” he said, hinting.
Ellen playfully smacked his hand. “Now, Angus, I told you, we can’t do that.”
Angus turned his piercing blue eyes on her. His white hair looked crisp in the sunlight. With mock indignation he said, “I thought you told me everybody was friendly around here.”
Inside the house, Willeen and Judd were about to freak out.
“Who’s that?” Willeen asked. “What are they doing, Judd?”
“How am I supposed to know?” he answered sharply. “I know they want to sell this place, but according to the contract they’re not allowed to show it while we’re here.”
Bessie and Eben had been having their cereal when the car stopped at the end of the driveway and could be seen through the living-room window. In a panic, Willeen and Judd hurried them back to their room. Judd took two scarves and tied them around their mouths. “Don’t try anything,” he warned.
“They’re opening the car door,” Willeen practically screamed. “I’m going out there and tell them the place is a mess.”
“Wait!” Judd yelled. “I didn’t want anyone to know who we were. All right, go out there and get them out of here.”
Willeen pulled on her jacket and boots and ran out the front door, which they’d never used. She trudged through the yard and down to the car. “Hi,” she said in her sweetest voice. “Can I help you?”
Angus shook her hand. “Angus Ludwig. We didn’t want to bother you. I’m thinking of buying a place out here.”
“And I’m Ellen Gefke, the real estate agent for the house,” Ellen explained quickly. “Mr. Ludwig wanted me to drive him around. He was just stretching his legs. We don’t want to disturb you.”
“I’d invite you in,” Willeen said halfheartedly, “but we had some friends over last night and I must admit we haven’t cleaned up yet.”
“I don’t mind—” Angus started to say.
“We totally understand,” Ellen cut in. “We’ll look at the house after you leave.”
“Good enough. Nice meetin’ ya,” Willeen said, pulling on a strand of her hair. She walked back up to the house, turning every few steps and waving, making sure that they were on their way.
Back inside, she dropped her coat on the couch and plopped down on top of it. “Judd, this is getting very dangerous.”
46
WILD WITH IMPATIENCE, Geraldine waited for Marvin Winkle, the investigator, to return her call. He called himself “the private eye who never winks nor blinks until he’s solved your problem.” Never thinks, either, Geraldine muttered to herself as she once again checked the clock on the wall. Never thinks to check his answering machine. If there was anything she hated, it was that lie that everybody leaves on their machine saying they’ll call you right back. Hogwash. It had been three hours now since she’d made the call at 6 A.M. Aspen time.
Suppose the loafer was taking time off during the holidays? The last time she had talked to him had been six weeks ago. The report had been no progress, but his bill had come in right on the button. Well, now he could start earning his money.
Geraldine was afraid to go out to the barn for fear she’d miss the call. Instead she sat at the kitchen table and read more of the diary. A smile played over her lips when she came to the part where Angus Ludwig asked Pop-Pop if he could court her. He was a handsome rascal, she thought, but I was in no frame of mind to see anybody. Oh well. Everything in its season. In other words, my timing really stunk on that one. Would that damn phone never ring? At that moment it did.
An instant later she was shouting into the phone, “I was about to nickname you Rip Van Winkle.” In a loud, excited voice she filled Winkle’s vibrating eardrums with the news of her discovery.
“That’s wonderful, Ms. Spoonfellow,” he bubbled enthusiastically. “Fantastic. Amazing. Overwhelming. It’s going to make the whole thing a lot easier.”
“Enough drivel!” Geraldine barked at him. “Get to work!” She slammed down the phone and stared at PopPop’s handwriting on the crinkly pages. I’ve got to get my speech ready for tomorrow night, she thought. A lightbulb went off in her head. For the unveiling of Pop-Pop’s portrait, I’ll read excerpts from Pop-Pop’s diary. But with so many selections to choose from, I’ll never know when to stop.
47
REGAN AND KIT hurried over to the framer’s. His office was in the back of a gallery that was filled with large paintings, many with a western theme. The floors were shiny and a hushed, reverential tone prevailed.
Eddie, a grizzled man in his fifties, with long gray hair and sinewy hands, greeted them with a nod of the head.
“This painting of King Louis the Eighteenth should have a thorough cleaning. It was filthy when it came in here! We’ve been wiping it down with a cloth dampened with turpentine and have gotten a lot of the dirt off, but it’s just a start. At least now you can see his face.”
“He does look good with a clean face,” Regan commented. “The colors are so much sharper.”
“Yay-uh,” Eddie said, staring at the portrait. “This painting needs to be restored properly, but we’ll have it looking good for the party tomorrow night. It’s a real dandy.”
“It’s beautiful,” Kit murmured. “Hey, Regan, is there a Queen Kit portrait you’ll buy for me?”
“I’ll look for it when you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown,” Regan said.
“I’m almost there.”
Eddie didn’t seem to register their conversation, so intent was he on pulling out his frame selection for their perusal. “Yay-uh,” he said, “this gold frame here is real pretty. Do you like it?”
Regan studied the gold leaf. “It’s definitely regal, which is what we need. What do you think, Kit?”
“Go for it.”
“It looks good to us,” Regan said.
Eddie took the pencil off the back of his ear and started making notations on an invoice. Regan had once tried storing a pencil over her ear while she worked, but it kept falling off. “We had a specialist come in and take care of the Beasley painting,” he said, putting the pencil back. “I wonder what else Ms. Spoonfellow has up in that barn of hers.”
“I don’t know,” Regan said, “but I’m dying to see The Homecoming. I’ve heard so much about it.”
“That’s a dandy too.”
Regan paid him for the order. When he handed her the receipt he said, “We’ll deliver this to Louis’s restaurant tomorrow afternoon. This painting is perfect for someone named Louis.”
“Thanks,” Regan said. “If the party is a success, he’ll be the King of Aspen.”
“No reason it shouldn’t be,” Eddie said.
I hope you’re right, Regan thought.
48
IT WAS A wonderful day for snowmobiling. Ida’s sonin-law Buck led them on a tour through the snowmobile trails in the mountains. They stopped at a tiny wood shack where instant hot chocolate was served in paper cups. Mini-marshmallows were an added bonus. The whole group huddled inside, stomping their feet to get warm.
“It makes you feel like a pioneer, huh?” Kit muttered. “My feet are freezing.”
“Think of how good it’ll feel when they’re warm again,” Regan suggested.
“I have an extra pair of heavy socks on. Do you want to borrow them?” Patrick offered.
“How come no one I’ve ever dated would have done that?” Kit asked rhetorically, smiling at Patrick. “I’ll take you up on your offer, and if I’m still available
when you’re twenty-one, or eighteen, or whatever the legal age is, let’s get married.”
Greg smiled. “He’s got a girlfriend.”
“That’s okay,” Kit said, pulling off her boots. “As long as he isn’t gaga over computers.”
Regan laughed and stepped outside with her cocoa. She walked over to her snowmobile and sat down. Silence reigned. There were no signs of movement anywhere, no signs of modern life. The snow-covered mountains surrounding her were quiet and peaceful, probably looking pretty much the same as they did on December 28 a hundred years ago. Moments like these, Regan thought, taking in the beauty and the awesome scope of nature, are a cause for real wonder. Like the wonder of where the heck Eben disappeared to. The world is so vast, she thought, swallowing a runny marshmallow. He could be anywhere.
She finished her drink and got up to throw the cup in the trash by the shack. She smiled at the little sign that said, DON’T WORRY, WE RECYCLE. You wouldn’t have seen that sign here a hundred years ago.
The others came out of the shack, Kit buoyed by the newfound warmth in her toes.
“Thanks to Patrick, I’ve fended off frostbite,” she said happily.
“You’ve got to learn how to dress in the cold weather,” Buck advised.
“I can’t wait to go socks-shopping,” Kit said. “It’s funny how the little things in life give me such pleasure these days.”
“We’ll make a day of it,” Regan said. “Lunch and socks.”
They all got back on their snowmobiles and revved the engines. It was now three o’clock. They fell in line and headed back down the path. Regan was glad they were on the last leg of their adventure. She was dying for Bessie to get back. She couldn’t wait to talk to her. Why had she called her and never called back?
49
IDA WAS PULLING a load of wash out of the dryer when she heard the car pull up. “Oh dear,” she said to herself. “I don’t want to be stuck here in the laundry room folding towels while they’re all talking.” Quickly she scooped them up in her arms and brought them out to the butcher-block table in the kitchen.
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