Too Rich and Too Dead (23 page)

“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.”

This is exactly what happened in Florida, too, Mallory thought, her stomach tightening like a fist. On that trip, I also met a man I felt a connection with—and then began to suspect that he, too, could have been involved in murder.

“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.”

“Why?” Mallory asked, genuinely surprised.

“Carly impressed me as someone who would have loved to become super-famous.”

“As far as I know, she never gave a definite reason for why she was vacillating,” Harriet replied. “At one point, she said something about the timing not being right. On a few other occasions, she said she wasn't sure Gordon was the best person to make the film. It's not that she didn't like him personally. It was just that once he expressed interest and got her thinking about the whole idea, she started throwing around names like Ang Lee and James Cameron.”

That I can understand, Mallory thought, since it sounds more like the Carly I knew way back when.

“What about Brett?” she asked. “Was he in favor of Gordon making the movie?”

Harriet glanced from side to side, as if wanting to make sure they were completely alone. She seemed to notice Mallory's surprise at her cautiousness because she added, “Sometimes I wonder if these walls have ears. All I can say is that Brett wasn't averse to anything that was likely to bring in more money. I don't think he cared much about where it came from.

“Anyway,” she went on with a sigh, “Carly's unexpected change of heart at the point when she was this close to signing a contract was a real blow for Gordon. It was making him lose credibility in the Hollywood circles that really count. Here he'd been promising such great things, and all of a sudden it was starting to look like he had nothing. It was making him look really bad.”

“So Gordon had good reason to be furious with Carly,” Mallory mused.

While she sounded as if she was merely making an objective observation, her head was spinning.

Gordon—a killer? she thought. Is that possible?

She struggled to put what Harriet had just told her in perspective. She certainly didn't want to believe that Gordon could be capable of murder. Not when she'd allowed herself to enjoy his company and even feel attracted to him.

Am I really such a poor judge of character? she wondered mournfully.

The whole idea of dating again—of developing an interest in someone of the opposite sex, then taking all the risks that went along with opening one's heart—was frightening enough. The notion of letting someone new in her life also filled her with guilt, since she was still adjusting to the fact that David was gone.

But the idea that she might be incapable of seeing people for who they really were raised her uncertainty and her anxiety to an even higher level.

When she and Harriet had both found their way to the bottom of their coffee cups and the scones had been reduced to nothing more than a few crumbs, she glanced at her watch and saw it was almost time for her cooking class.

“I'm glad to see that you're doing as well as you are,” she told Harriet, still uncertain of whether to view her with sympathy or caution. “But I'm afraid I have to get going.”

“I should get back to work, too,” Harriet said, eyeing the stack of paper in front of her.

“I'd better pop into the rest room first.”

“Be my guest. It's at the end of the hall.”

Mallory was gone less than three minutes—possibly less time than Harriet anticipated. At least if the surprised look on her face when Mallory reappeared in the doorway of her office was any indication.

“Mallory! You sneaked up on me!” Harriet cried.

She was crouched down on the floor, tucking something into the bottom drawer of a file cabinet. She quickly pushed the drawer closed with such force that metal hit metal with a loud bang. Moving just as fast, she turned the small silver key in the lock, pulled it out, and dropped it into her pocket.

From Mallory's perspective, the expression on her face was decidedly one of guilt.

“I'm just trying to put things where they belong,” Harriet mumbled as she stood up, brushing the wrinkles in her skirt. When she finally looked at Mallory, her face was beet red.

“Of course,” Mallory agreed, studying her.

Something felt very wrong. The atmosphere in the room had changed. She suddenly felt sparks of tension, as if Harriet was disturbed over having been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing.

Automatically Mallory's eyes drifted toward the bottom drawer of the file cabinet.

She's hiding something.

Yesterday, she thought, her head swimming, I spotted Harriet at an out-of-the-way restaurant with
Sylvie, a woman for whom she claimed to have nothing but contempt. Not only was she socializing with someone she'd made a point of characterizing as an enemy, she blatantly lied to me about when she'd been released from the police station and what she'd done immediately afterward.