Too Rich and Too Dead (3 page)

For the first time, she fully understood that she was about to experience a place that was like no other.

Not that she hadn't seen her share of conspicuous consumption in New York City. But here, it was much more concentrated. After all, the airport was small. In addition to the single runway, it consisted
of only a one-story brick and glass terminal. Inside, it was outfitted with little aside from the three basic amenities every airport should have: a restaurant, a bar, and a gift shop.

At least as striking was the fact that instead of being surrounded by towering skyscrapers that were the symbol of commerce and wealth, all around her were the magnificent Rocky Mountains, their craggy gray peaks zigzagging across the pale blue sky. She'd expected to see mountains, of course. But she'd had no idea how bowled over she'd be by how huge they were—or how beautiful.

As she glanced at the well-heeled men and women around her, Mallory was glad that before coming she'd made time to get her hair cut so that it now included some layers. She'd also managed to pick up a few Eileen Fisher separates for less than half price at Nordstrom's Rack.

After retrieving her suitcase, she stood apart from the crowd, her eyes darting around the airport as she tried to spot the public relations representative who had arranged her trip. But while she had exchanged endless e-mails with the woman who handled publicity for the city of Aspen, she knew nothing about her. Based on the fact that her name was Astrid Norland, Mallory expected a stocky woman in clogs with blond braids curled around her ears like two gigantic cheese Danish.

So she was totally unprepared for the tall, model-thin blonde she suddenly noticed striding toward her, her smile communicating that she knew exactly who Mallory was. The woman could easily have
passed for Heidi Klum's sister—except for the fact that she was much prettier.

Instead of clogs, Astrid wore caramel-colored knee-high boots with stiletto heels. They happened to be the perfect complement to the rest of her outfit: an ivory ski parka lined with what looked like real mink and a pair of skintight chocolate brown leather pants.

“You must be Mallory,” she said warmly as she approached, her voice tinged with the slightest accent. “I'm Astrid. Welcome to Aspen!”

Mallory didn't know her Scandinavian accents very well, but she would have bet her laptop that this one was Swedish. In less than five seconds, she'd also surmised that Astrid was as personable as she was gorgeous. Not unusual for women who chose to go into the public relations field, she knew, aside from the fact that this particular one struck her as
exceptionally
personable and
exceptionally
gorgeous.

“Pleased to meet you, Astrid,” Mallory said. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“No problem.”

As Astrid waved her hand in the air, Mallory caught sight of ten perfectly manicured nails. They were thickly lacquered with a dark nut-brown polish that struck her as more Manhattan than mountaineer. Now that she was up close, she also saw that Astrid's large blue eyes were fringed with lashes so long, dark, and dense they looked like awnings, and her cheekbones were sharp enough to cut through some serious Swedish ice.

“Need any help with your bags?” Astrid asked
cheerfully. Gesturing toward the airport entrance, she added, “We don't have far to go. My car is parked right out front.”

“Thanks, but I'm fine,” Mallory replied. “I'm actually pretty good at getting in and out of airports. It comes with the job.”

“I envy you,” Astrid commented with a sigh. “I've thought of leaving PR and doing some travel writing myself. But I love Aspen too much.” Flashing a smile, she added, “Which is why I'm so glad that my job is to make other people love it, too.”

“I've only been doing this for a few months,” Mallory admitted, “but I really like going to new places all the time. I find something to love in each one.”

“But you're going to like Aspen best of all,” Astrid insisted.

Mallory laughed. “I'm absolutely ready to be convinced.”

As she fell into step with Astrid, Mallory suddenly felt strangely short. Astrid had to be at least six feet tall. Of course, the spiky heels on her soft leather boots added a good two or three inches. She wondered what kind of traction those things got in the snow.

Like Astrid's wardrobe, her vehicle was top-of-the-line. Mallory was no car expert, but she knew an especially expensive Mercedes when she saw one. This one was powder blue with chocolate brown leather upholstery that looked as if it had been cut from the same bolt as the sleek leather pants Astrid had been poured into.

After they'd both settled into the front seat, Mallory cracked open the window so she could breathe in some of that fresh mountain air. Even though back in New York spring was shouldering its way in, here at nearly eight thousand feet above sea level the air was delightfully crisp and cool.

“Now that you're here,” Astrid said once they got on the road, “let me give you a short course in Aspen's history. Aspen one-oh-one, I call it. The first thing you need to know is that this area is called the Roaring Fork Valley. The Ute Indians, the original inhabitants, called these magnificent peaks ‘Shining Mountains.’ It was a pretty peaceful place until the summer of 1879, when prospectors found a major silver lode here. One of the biggest in the world, in fact. They set up a camp they called Ute City, but the name soon changed to Aspen after all the aspen trees.

“Aspen would have remained a small mining camp if it hadn't been for Jerome Byron Wheeler,” she continued as she veered onto Highway 82, heading toward town. Even though traffic was minimal, the nonchalance with which she darted between lanes left Mallory gripping her seat. “He was president of Macy's department store then. Of course, there was only one Macy's in those days, back east in New York City. Wheeler was a real innovator, and he made silver mining profitable by building a working smelter to reduce silver ore along with a tramway to transport the ore down to the smelter.

“Anyway, thanks to Wheeler and all that silver, by 1893 Aspen's population had grown to twelve thousand
. The town was booming, with a hospital, two theaters, an opera house, four schools, and three banks. It also had six newspapers and its own small red-light district.”

While Mallory was finding Astrid's history lesson interesting, she was much more fascinated by what she saw out the window. Not long after they circled through a roundabout, signs of civilization began to appear in the form of pleasant, relatively modest houses along tree-lined streets. From the looks of things, they were driving through the outskirts of the greater metropolitan Aspen area.

But the attractive houses looked like the toy-sized ones underneath a Christmas tree compared to breathtakingly beautiful Aspen Mountain, which loomed more than three thousand feet above the entire town. Even though it was April and the trees and grass at ground level were decidedly green, the imposing mountain was still covered with snow. Yet there wasn't a single skier in sight. As she'd learned from the research she'd done over the past week and a half, the mountain always closed around April 1.

“Everything was great until 1893,” Astrid continued, “when silver crashed because the federal government decided to return to the gold standard.” She careened around the curves in the road with such confidence that Mallory assumed she was also an expert skier. “The town just about died. By 1935, there were only seven hundred residents. But all that changed in the mid-thirties when a group of international businessmen swooped in and saw the
area's potential as a ski resort. They formed the Aspen Ski Club and hired a Swiss avalanche expert named André Roch to create a racecourse on Aspen Mountain.

“During World War Two, the Army's Tenth Mountain Division trained nearby, and many of the soldiers enjoyed skiing in Aspen in their free time. One of them was a man from Austria named Friedl Pfeifer. After the war, Pfeifer joined forces with Walter Paepcke, a businessman from Chicago, and his wife, Elizabeth, who was a patron of the arts. While the Paepckes were mainly interested in developing the area as a cultural center, Pfeifer remained committed to building a ski resort that was as good as the ones in Europe.

“Aspen Mountain opened in 1947, already boasting the longest ski lift in the world. But Paepcke's vision was also very much alive. In 1949, he orchestrated a major event called the Goethe Bicentennial Convocation in honor of the great writer's two hundredth birthday. Programs in music, dance, theater, and art were held, which attracted creative people from all over the world.”

Astrid's voice was filled with pride—or at least a good PR rep's imitation of it—as she concluded, “Aspen was on its way to becoming an international center for both skiing and the arts. It also became a desirable spot for celebrities looking to build their dream vacation home. Our local citizenry has included Donald Trump, Kevin Costner, Don Johnson, Goldie Hawn, Jack Nicholson… And let's not forget John Denver. In fact, you might want to check
out the John Denver Sanctuary, near Rio Grande Park, while you're here. It's one of our most popular attractions for both skiers and nonskiers. There's also the John Denver Memorial Grotto on Aspen Mountain. Of course, you'd need to be on skis to see that.”

A hidden competitive streak in Mallory suddenly made her want to show Astrid that she wasn't the only one who'd done her homework. “Speaking of skiing,” she said, “there are four different ski mountains in the Roaring Fork Valley, aren't there? Including Aspen, I mean.”

“That's right,” Astrid replied. “Aspen Highlands and Buttermilk opened in 1958, and Snowmass opened ten years later.”

Glancing over at Mallory, she added, “But of course you're different from most travel writers in that you're not interested in Aspen as a skiing destination.”

Mallory nodded. “That's right. I plan to write about everything
but
skiing.”

Astrid nodded. “Well, I'm here to help you see and do whatever you need for the article you're writing. I've set up visits to a few of the places we e-mailed about, but have you had a chance to decide what your top priorities are? We want to make sure you see everything you need to see.”

“I've actually come armed with a list,” Mallory said. “The Wheeler Opera House, the Cooking School of Aspen, a shopping tour, maybe some spa treatments…”

Astrid glanced over, looking surprised. “It sounds as if you've done quite a bit of research.”

“I try to come to every new destination prepared,” Mallory replied. “Even though I'm new to the job, I've learned that the more I know before I arrive, the more comprehensive I can make my article. These research trips are pretty brief, never more than five days. Some have been as short as three days. But I'm supposed to come away from my whirlwind tours a virtual expert, the last word on what to see and do—as well as what to avoid.”

“I imagine you use the Internet to do most of your research,” Astrid commented.

“That's very helpful,” Mallory said. “But I also read two or three guidebooks. The idea is to show up with a list of places I want to investigate. I also plot out a rough schedule. I figure out which items on my list are physically close together so I can minimize travel time. And I have to keep track of the hours the various places are open and which days they're closed.” With a shrug, she added, “The last thing I want to do is to show up somewhere I think would be perfect for my article only to discover that it's open every day of the week except that one.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Astrid agreed. “When I plan press trips for visiting journalists, I do the same thing. The organized ones like you who've figured out what they want to do in advance usually get much more out of their trip.”

“Speaking of which,” Mallory added, “there's one place that's not listed in most guidebooks that I want
to be sure to see. In fact, it's critical to the article I'm writing. It's a spa called Tavaci Springs.”

“Of course. You mentioned that in your e-mail. I've got an interview set up with the owner on Thursday.”

Unable to resist the urge to sound like an insider, Mallory said, “Actually, she and I went to high school together.”

Astrid's eyebrows shot up so high that they disappeared into the ring of mink that framed her face.

“Carly Berman?” she repeated, her voice wavering. “You know Carly Berman?”

Mallory looked at her quizzically. Was she just imagining it, or did Astrid actually sound alarmed?

“That's right.” Even though she suspected she already knew the answer, she added, “Do you know her, too?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” By now, Astrid had regained her composure. “Pretty well, in fact. That's why I was so surprised. Goodness, what a small world!”

“Since I won't be visiting Tavaci Springs until Thursday, I might give Carly a call before then,” Mallory mused. “I could probably contact her through the spa, but do you happen to have a number where I could reach her directly?”

“I believe I do.” As she stopped at a red light, Astrid flipped open her red metallic cell phone and punched one of the buttons again and again, miraculously doing no damage to her long, perfectly manicured fingernail in the process. “What I mean is, I should have it, since I have the numbers of pretty
much all the businesses in Aspen. The public relations department works closely with the Chamber of Commerce, so I need to be able to get in touch with anybody. I can even give you the Bermans’ home number. It's area code nine-seven-oh…”

After punching Carly's numbers into her own cell phone, Mallory glanced up and saw that they'd arrived in the center of town. From the maps she'd studied, she already knew the streets were laid out in a grid. But she wasn't prepared for the fact that most of the buildings were made of red brick, giving the town a somewhat rustic look. One of the central streets, East Hyman Avenue, was closed off to traffic and paved with more red brick. Large sections in the middle of the Hyman Avenue Mall were planted with trees or flowers, creating an inviting pedestrian walkway.

“I'll just take a quick drive around to help get you oriented,” Astrid said. “Over there is the ice skating rink. It's right across the street from the Rubey Park Transit Center, which has convenient bus service to the other ski mountains. That big hotel over there is the St. Regis, one of the largest hotels in Aspen. Now we're coming to the base of Aspen Mountain…”