Too Rich and Too Dead (26 page)

Do I feel something for this man? she wondered as she scuffed through the half inch of snow that had already drifted onto the sidewalks.
Should
I feel something for this man?

Answering questions that should have been simple was beyond her.

When she neared Main Street and realized that the Jerome was only a few hundred yards away, she purposefully headed in the opposite direction. She'd been meaning to visit the John Denver Sanctuary, and the novelty of checking it out at night struck her as something that might add a nice touch to her article. The snow had stopped, and a pale round moon had put in an appearance, glowing dimly in the otherwise dark sky.

Mallory decided to forget all about Gordon and Carly and everything else that was troubling and instead, at least for a few minutes, to think like a travel writer. Shortly after she passed a sign that said RIO GRANDE PARK she spotted a tremendous skate park. It was made up of perfectly smooth concrete bowls that no doubt constituted heaven for young people who could conceive of nothing more thrilling than having wheels attached to their feet.

Seeing it brought her back to Jordan's skateboarding phase. It also made her remember all the times he'd been chased out of parking lots and schoolyards in his ongoing search to find a place to enjoy his hobby. She was pleased that the town of Aspen had recognized the need for such a facility. Then again, given the town's dedication to enabling people to take advantage of gravity in the name of having fun, she supposed it wasn't all that surprising.

She made her way along a path that meandered along a shallow creek edged with white stones. Even in the darkness, she could see that it had a wild look that she decided captured the Colorado spirit. As she
walked a little farther, she noticed that jutting up ahead were granite stones with rounded tops. The configuration looked like a pint-sized version of Stonehenge, minus the symmetry.

Once she got close, she saw that the collection of rocks included several that were engraved with the lyrics of Denver's songs: “Rocky Mountain High,” “Sunshine On My Shoulders,” “Annie's Song,” and half a dozen others. But the most prominent one looked chillingly like a headstone. It was engraved with some lyrics from one of his songs that included the phrase. “I sing with all my heart.”

She brushed away the light coating of fluffy white snow to read the rest. Centered below were the words:

JOHN DENVER

Composer, Musician, Father,
Son, Brother, Friend

Underneath were the dates of his birth and death. Born 1943, died 1997… Mallory did a quick calculation and realized he'd lived only fifty-three years.

She knew from her research that John Denver had not only lived in Aspen, he had been one of its greatest admirers. And every October, fans continued to gather in this spot to celebrate him. In 2007, the tenth anniversary of his death, the event had gone on for five days, with tributes, films, and concerts. That same year, Denver's song, “Rocky Mountain High,” had been chosen as Colorado's state song.

Mallory found the simplicity and naturalness of the sanctuary moving. Curious about where he had actually been born and raised, she opened her guidebook, holding it up to her nose as she tried to find the section that described the sanctuary. But she couldn't make out the tiny print on the page, given the small amount of light afforded by the starless sky.

As she closed the book with a sigh, she also noticed how dreadfully cold it had gotten. Shrugging under her jacket and pulling it tighter, she glanced around and realized she was the only person foolish enough to be wandering around a cold, dimly lit park this late at night.

But instead of finding her solitude comforting, it occurred to her that walking alone in a deserted place like this might not be such a good idea. In fact, the looming rocks suddenly struck her as threatening, and the silence that surrounded her seemed menacing instead of tranquil.

She jumped when she heard what sounded like a footstep—then told herself she was merely a victim of her own overactive imagination.

It's just the wind, she told herself. A tree branch or something else blowing around…

She heard the sound again. And this time, it definitely sounded like a footstep.

Oh, my God, she thought, her heartbeat instantly speeding up. If somebody attacks me, do I have anything to fight him off with?

Trying not to panic, she mentally reviewed the
contents of her pocketbook. Wallet, credit cards, room key, tissues…

And then she remembered that she did have something that could be useful. Moving slowly, without making a sound, she opened her purse and with trembling fingers reached inside.

M
allory fumbled around until her fingers made contact with smooth metal. Grateful that she had something that at least vaguely resembled a weapon, she grabbed the can of room spray she'd bought for Amanda the day before and forgotten to take out of her purse. Grasping it tightly, she whirled around, poised to attack.

Her finger froze in the split second before it pressed the aerosol button.

“Sylvie?”
she cried, blinking at the figure cowering in front of her. The fact that her would-be attacker was dressed in a pale pink ski jacket, its hood trimmed with fluffy white fur, made her look more like the Easter Bunny than the Abominable Snowman.

“Don't shoot!” Sylvie cried, defensively holding her hands out in front of her. They were swathed in a pair of fuzzy white mittens that made her look even more harmless. Squinting in the darkness, she demanded, “Is that Mace?”

“Room spray,” Mallory admitted sheepishly, lowering the can. “Organic, made with green oolong. The worst thing it would do is make you smell like a tearoom.”

A look of confusion crossed Sylvie's face. But instead of asking why Mallory was carrying around such a thing in her purse, she demanded, “What are you doing out here?”

“Research, of course,” Mallory replied indignantly. “For the article I'm writing. I was visiting the John Denver Sanctuary.”

“At
night?”

“There's a lot I need to see here in Aspen,” she explained. “I'm having trouble fitting it all in.”

Especially since I'm spending so much of my time investigating a murder, she thought ruefully.

That thought reminded her that the woman she was talking to happened to be a prime suspect.

Uneasily, Mallory asked, “What about you, Sylvie? What brought
you
out here?”

“I had to get out of that hotel room,” Sylvie insisted, shaking her head as if trying to brush away something unpleasant. “Mallory, I feel like a caged animal. Would you believe those cops who showed up in my room this morning told me not to leave town?” Snorting contemptuously, she added, “As if I
would ever resort to violence. For goodness sake, I have a Harvard MBA!”

Ri-i-ight, Mallory thought. As if no one with a degree from an Ivy League school has ever committed a serious crime.

“I can't believe their audacity!” Sylvie continued. With an arrogant toss of her head, she added, “Imagine
me
, of all people, endangering everything I've worked so hard for. And the idea of doing something that stupid because of someone like that… that small-time operator who got lucky because she turned out to have a flair for self-promotion… The whole thing just makes me crazy!”

Once again, Mallory was struck by the irony of Sylvie's words.

How about the fact that you're so angry at the woman—not to mention so disdainful—that in your own words, it makes you crazy? Isn't
that
enough for the police to think you might have been driven to kill her?

“I'm sure they'll find the real killer soon,” Mallory said soothingly, trying to appease her. “And then all this will be nothing but a terrible memory.”

A gust of wind suddenly made her feel as if icy fingers were encircling her neck.

What am I doing, standing alone in the dark with this woman? she wondered with alarm.

For all she knew, Sylvie had noticed that Mallory was a little too interested in Carly's murder and had followed her here with the express intention of doing her harm. In fact, it was possible that the prospect of spray in her eyes—even organic spray that probably
tasted absolutely delicious—was all that was keeping the person who had sneaked up on her from following through on her plan.

“You know, Sylvie, you were right about coming out here at night being a silly idea,” she said as calmly as she could. “In fact, I'm so cold right now that my fingers are numb. Why don't we both go back to the Jerome where it's nice and warm?”

She was relieved when Sylvie fell into step beside her, walking at the same brisk pace.

But as they headed out of the park, another thought occurred to her.

“Sylvie,” she said in a conversational tone, “what do you think will happen to Rejuva-Juice now that Carly is gone?”

“I've always thought her husband had more sense than she did,” Sylvie replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. “At least when it came to business. Carly had emotional ties to the company that he never had. After all, she's the one who created it. Now that Brett's in charge, I'm hoping that once and for all we can get this settled.”

“I see.”

The wheels in Mallory's head were turning with alarming speed.

So not only is it possible that Sylvie became enraged by pushing and pushing without getting anywhere, she thought. Another scenario is that rightly or wrongly, Sylvie might have decided that while Carly wouldn't sell the company, her husband was likely to be more willing.

Which gave Sylvie a second motivation for killing
Carly—and Mallory another good reason to move her even further up on her list of suspects.

As she let herself into her hotel room, Mallory was still pondering the question of whether mere coincidence or something much more sinister had been responsible for her unexpected encounter in the park with Sylvie. She kicked off her shoes, hoping the fact that she was dog-tired would enable her to get a good night's sleep instead of spending a good portion of it ruminating about Sylvie and all the other suspects in Carly's murder. But as she headed toward the bed, she noticed the red light blinking provocatively on her phone.

Amanda? she thought with a concerned frown. She picked up the receiver and dialed the code printed on the instruction card next to the phone.

As soon as she heard Trevor's voice on the recorded message, she realized she'd had such a long, busy day that she'd completely forgotten that her boss was in town.

“Where have you been all day?” Trevor's recorded message demanded. “And why haven't you been answering your cell phone? I thought—I
hoped
—that we'd be able to, I don't know, do some sightseeing together. Call me, Mallory. It's been too long since I've heard from you and I'm worried.”

Guiltily Mallory pulled her cell phone out of her purse—and saw that the battery had died. Even though it was late, she decided she owed him a return phone call. Especially if he was as anxious as he sounded.

“Trevor?” she asked when he answered the phone in his room.

“Mallory?” His groggy voice told her she'd woken him up. “Where have you been all day? Are you okay?”

“I'm great,” she insisted. “I've just been busy.” Wanting to assure him that everything was fine, she added, “It turns out that learning everything there is to know about a place in only three and a half days requires being a nonstop tourist.” Particularly when you're also trying to learn everything there is to know about half its residents, not to mention its visitors. Lightly, she added, “How about you? Have you had a chance to see much of Aspen?”

“Sightseeing wasn't my main reason for coming,” he pointed out. “Look, I know it's late, but how about meeting me somewhere for a drink?”

Mallory hesitated. Here she'd wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep. Still, Trevor was her boss. And he
had
come all this way to make sure she was all right.

“A quick one,” she said, already cramming her feet back into her shoes. “I'll be downstairs at the J-Bar in five minutes.”

As soon as Mallory combed her hair and smeared on some lipstick, she felt energized. True, her first reaction to the idea of an impromptu late-night rendezvous had been to view it as an annoyance—as in I'm only doing this because Trevor is my boss. But as she checked her appearance in the mirror before heading out the door, she found herself looking forward to what now struck her as sort of an adventure.

While Trevor was the man she worked for, she couldn't deny that she enjoyed his company. Of course, she rarely saw him, since they did most of their communicating with phone calls and e-mail. But their e-mails had become increasingly chatty over time. Longer, too. Their exchanges through cyberspace may have started out with nothing more personal than Trevor's editorial comments and the details of Mallory's upcoming trips, but they invariably turned into conversations that went back and forth far past the time the two of them had accomplished whatever was needed.