The Christmas List

  “I’m sorry,” Sara said. “I’m just a little weak.”

  “Are you going to be all right?” Kier asked.

  She looked up at him. “I’m not your problem anymore.”

  Kier turned away. “I’ve got a meeting.” He walked out the door and back to his office.

  Linda looked up as he approached. “That was quick.”

  “It was an eternity. Where’s Allen?”

  “Mr. Allen isn’t here yet. I put his file on your desk next to your coffee. And Miss Steele called. Shall I get her on the phone?”

  “Yes. And Sara’s not feeling well. Get her a Coke or something.” He walked into his office and shut the door behind him.

  Kier’s phone buzzed as he sank into his chair. He pushed the speaker button. “Hey baby, what’s up?”

  A deep voice answered, “It’s me, baby. Lincoln.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m walking to my car. Look, I say we don’t sign the papers.”

  “We just got everything we wanted.”

  “Yes, but you’re still giving up the house, your IRAs, and the Waterford investment account. I say we just put this on ice.”

  “Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “I hadn’t seen Sara for a while. If we hold off long enough, as the surviving partner you’ll end up with everything.”

  “You’re a hard man, Lincoln.”

  “From you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Linda beeped in. “Miss Steele’s on the line.”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “You know I’m right,” Lincoln said.

  “You’re a heartless mercenary.”

  “That’s why you hired me. Let me know.”

  “ ’Bye.” He pushed another button. “Hey baby.”

  “Hi big guy. Guess what I’m wearing?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “And?”

  “Are they closed?”

  “Yes,” he lied.

  “Okay, now imagine me in very, very tiny pieces of string and fabric some scandalous fashion designer called a bikini. Inch per inch this thing is more expensive than Manhattan real estate. I think we should fly to Boca Raton for the weekend and try it out.”

  “Boca’s too far.”

  “Did I mention I bought a new bikini?”

  “Our trip to Cancún set me back a week at work. I’m still paying for it.”

  “And wasn’t I worth it? All work and no play makes Jimmy a dull boy.”

  “All play and no work makes Jimmy a poor boy.”

  “It would take a lot of play to do that.”

  “How about something closer?”

  “How close?”

  “Something that doesn’t require an airport.”

  “I was prepared for that. Plan B, Park City. I know a quaint little bed-and-breakfast with in-room hot tubs. Can you get off a little early?”

  “I could cancel a meeting. What time are you thinking?”

  “Around five.”

  Linda beeped in again. “Mr. Allen is here.”

  “Five? Okay. I’ll cancel my meeting. I’ve got to go. I’ll transfer you to Linda; she can make the reservations.”

  “If you must.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I hate talking to her. She’s so . . . boring. And I don’t think she likes me.”

  “I didn’t hire her because she’s entertaining and it doesn’t matter if she likes you. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  “Ciao, baby.”

  With Vance Allen waiting outside his office, Kier walked around his desk and moved the chairs a little further back. He was always mindful of taking the psychological advantage. When he first moved in, he had a carpenter cut nearly two inches off the legs of his guest chairs as well as an additional half inch off the front so the occupant was not only forced to look up to him but always felt a little off balance. On one occasion, when negotiating a multimillion-dollar real estate purchase, he had slipped Dramamine into his client’s coffee to make him drowsy. To Kier, all was fair in business.

  He went back to his desk and opened the file Linda had left for him on Vance Allen. Five months earlier Allen had come to him in desperate need of nearly a million dollars. ($974,076 to be exact. Kier was always exact.) Vance had been in danger of losing a family-owned, forty-six-acre property near the base of Little Cottonwood Canyon that was in tax arrears. To secure the property Allen had to find money quickly and came to Kier for a hard money loan. It was a prime piece of real estate, easily worth five times the amount of the loan. Kier currently held the deed and would prefer it stayed that way. He pressed the speakerphone button; “Let him in.”

  Vance stepped in to his office. He was a tall, clumsy-looking man with graying temples. Kier thought him a simpleton who liked to shake hands too much. He made it a point to use hand sanitizer after their meetings.

  “Mr. Kier, it’s a pleasure to see you.”

  Kier sat back, his gaze cold. “Have a seat.”

  Vance sat down, sensing the awkwardness of the chair. He furtively glanced down at the chair’s front legs.

  “You’ve got my money?”

  Vance looked up and smiled weakly. “Well, okay, right to business. As you know, the loan call date is about three weeks from now, on the twenty-fourth of December. The good news is that I’ve found an investor. However, he’s going to have to liquidate some assets and it’s going to take him until the new year to come up with all the capital. So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to extend the loan for an extra few weeks, with points and interest of course.”

  Kier just looked at him. “No.”

  Allen’s surprise was evident on his face. “No?”

  “That wasn’t our arrangement and I need my money back. You’ve had six months to close the deal. We have payment in full by the twenty-fourth or you default and we take the property.”

  Allen’s jaw tightened. “But our investor can’t come up with the money that fast. We’re only talking an extra three or four weeks.”

  “That’s not my problem. We have a deal and I expect you to live up to it. Honorably.”

  Allen turned red. “I’ve never cheated anyone in my entire life.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “It’s the danged economy, trying to find a jumbo loan right now is almost impossible.”

  “We’re all having hard times. Now, I’m busy. I’ll see you with my money on the twenty-fourth.”

  “This property has been in my family for almost a hundred years.”

  Kier looked down for a moment, then back at Vance. “Tell you what. When we start building we’ll name the development after your great-granddad.”

  Vance was trembling with anger. Without another word he stood up and walked out of the office. After the door shut, Kier habitually took out his hand sanitizer and rubbed it into his hands, then started looking through the P&L reports his accountant had left on his desk.

  A few minutes later Linda buzzed him.

  “What is it?”

  “Your Park City reservations are confirmed.”

  “I need you to cancel my four-thirty meeting with Dawson.”

  “I already have. Would you like me to reschedule?”

  “Monday, if I have anything open.”

  “Anything else, Mr Kier?”

  “No.”

  “It’s nice you’re getting away.”

  “Why, glad to be rid of me?” Kier snorted.

  “No, sir. I was just thinking it’s nice to get away sometimes.”

  Kier disconnected and Linda set her phone down. After her husband Max became ill with multiple sclerosis, traveling was pretty much out of the question. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been on a real vacation.

  While Kier was meeting with Vance, Steve walked Sara out to her car, holding her arm through the parking lot. “Well, we got what you asked for,” Steve said, clearly displeased.
When Sara didn’t respond he added, “We really should have gone for more. Much more.”

  “I don’t need more.”

  “You should be looking out for your future.”

  Sara gave him a wry smile. “Well, there’s not much point to that, is there?”

  “Aunt Sara, you shouldn’t talk that way.”

  “I’m just being realistic.”

  Steve opened the car door for her. “Would you like me to drive you home? I can have someone from the office pick up my car.”

  “I’ll be okay.” Sara sat down in the car and put the keys in the ignition.

  “You know, Aunt Sara, I don’t understand how someone like you ends up with a creep like that.”

  “Jim wasn’t always like this.”

  “The way he treats people is obscene. Especially the way he treats you.”

  Sara ignored her nephew’s comment. “Thank you for your help, Steve. And I still haven’t received a bill for your services.”

  “Nor will you.”

  “I insist.”

  “Favorite aunts don’t get billed. Unless you happen to be making some of those tiger rolls you always bring to the family Christmas party, then I’ll accept payment in kind.”

  Sara smiled. “I’ll make a few extra rolls just for you.”

  “Consider me in your debt.”

  “Thank you, Steve. Tell your mother hello for me.”

  He stepped back from the car and shut the door. “Drive carefully.”

  As Sara drove away he said to himself, “That idiot is throwing away the best thing he’s ever had.”

  CHAPTER

  Six

  Kier had met his girlfriend, Traci Steele a year earlier at a real estate showing less than a week after he had separated from Sara. She was nine years younger than he, though she looked even younger. Traci was a stunningly attractive, curvaceous brunette, the quintessential trophy wife.

  At noon he picked her up from her condo in Alpine and they drove to a French bistro just outside Orem. The maître d’ sat them at Kier’s regular table, in the corner near a large window that overlooked the back garden. The yard was covered in snow and ice glistened from the garden statuary. Traci broke off a piece of croissant and buttered it. “So how was my sweetie’s morning?”

  “I met with my wife and her attorney.”

  “Oh, that sounds fun. Did we win?”

  “We settled.”

  “Just settled?”

  “We won.” He looked down at his menu. “Sara’s not looking well. I think she’s sicker than she lets on.”

  “That’s too bad. So when is it over?”

  “When is what over?”

  “The marriage.”

  “I don’t know. Soon. Now Lincoln is recommending that I don’t sign anything and just wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  Kier looked up from his menu. “For Sara to die.”

  Traci wrinkled her nose. “Oh that’s cold, even for a lawyer.”

  Kier frowned, tired of the conversation. “So what are you having?”

  “The Caesar salad with shrimp.”

  “Tell me about this bed-and-breakfast you booked us in to.”

  “You make it sound like a jail. I promise you, you’ll love it. It’s called the Snowed Inn. That’s I-n-n.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  Traci ignored his tone. “It’s very quaint. And every room has a hot tub.”

  “So I’ll make dinner reservations for six?”

  “Oh . . .”

  “Oh?”

  “I can’t get up there until eight.”

  “Eight? You said five. I canceled a meeting so I could take off early.”

  “Oh honey, I know. I’m so sorry. I forgot that Mercedes has a dance recital and I can’t miss it. The last time I did she beat me up with it for two months. And then she told her shrink what an awful mom I am.”

  “A dance recital?”

  “Why don’t you come with me to the recital and then we’ll drive up together?”

  “A dance recital? I’d rather chew razor blades. I’ll just go up early. I can get a nap in.”

  “Good. Then you won’t be so grumpy when I get there.” Traci leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I’m not grumpy.”

  A waiter appeared and quietly cleared his throat. “Are you ready to order?”

  Kier looked up. “I’ll have the filet Oscar, she’ll have the Caesar salad.”

  “With shrimp,” Traci added.

  “Anything to drink?”

  “Just a Coke. What do you want?”

  “A chardonnay.”

  “Very well,” the waiter said. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” He left.

  Traci took his hand. “I’m sorry I’m going to be late. I’ll make it up to you. We can eat a late dinner, go dancing, then whatever . . . Just don’t pout. I hate it when you pout.”

  “I don’t pout.”

  “Well, whatever it is you’re doing.” She looked out over the yard. “It’s snowing again. It’s supposed to snow all weekend. Maybe we’ll get snowed in. Wouldn’t that be great? Snowed in at the Snowed—”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  She buttered another piece of croissant. “Do you know why these are so good? They brush them with egg before they bake them. It makes them shiny like that.” She took a bite. “I took a French cooking class once. Maybe I’ll cook you a meal for our anniversary. Our anniversary is coming up.”

  “Oh?”

  “You forgot?”

  He smiled. “No. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  She smiled back. “I like surprises. Usually.”

  “You’ll like this one.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “You’ll have to.”

  “You’re mean. I can see why your wife left you.”

  “I left her.”

  “Like I said, you’re mean.”

  CHAPTER

  Seven

  Kier drove Traci back to her condo, then returned to the office. Tim Brey was waiting for him in the conference room. The table was covered with blue and white building plans.

  “There they are,” Brey said. “The final plans for the Paradise development.”

  “Did we get the permits?”

  “No, but it’s only a formality. We have the final zoning meeting tonight.”

  “Good thing we own the committee,” Kier said. He looked over the plans, nodding approvingly. “I want to modify this for something around forty acres.”

  Brey looked up. “We’re getting the Allen property?”

  “Unless he finds a million dollars in the next three weeks.”

  Brey smiled. “Well done. You said you were going to end up with that piece.”

  Kier lifted his case. “Set a meeting with the architects. We’ll go over it Monday afternoon.”

  “Done. Let me know how the hearing goes tonight.”

  Kier stopped. “I forgot about that. You better handle it.”

  “But . . .” Brey stopped himself.

  “Is there a problem?” Kier raised an eyebrow.

  Brey had plans with his wife, plans made weeks ago, but he knew better than to mention them. “No problem.”

  “Good man.” Kier patted his shoulder and walked out of the room.

  Kier stopped by his office and grabbed his briefcase and a bottle of water. “I’m out of here,” he said to Linda.

  “Be careful out there. I checked the weather report. Park City is expecting a blizzard. They say that they could get two to three feet of snow tonight.”

  “When does it hit?”

  “Later this afternoon, probably after rush hour. Do you need anything?”

  “Call Lincoln, tell him to prepare the paperwork on the Allen property.”

  “I will. Have a good weekend.”

  “You too.”

  Kier walked out the back door to his car. He started his car, then turned on his stereo, which began to play a Micha
el Bublé CD Traci had given him. He smiled as he considered the Allen property. It was worth a fortune. He drove out of the parking lot and headed for Park City.

  CHAPTER

  Eight

  The storm arrived early as Kier drove his arctic white BMW up the canyon toward Park City, his wipers flipping frantically to keep up with the snowfall. On both sides of him the canyon walls rose jagged and white, plastered with ice and snow. The traffic around him had slowed to a crawl and cars, covered in snow, moved slowly, like a herd of mobile igloos. It bothered him that he couldn’t get Sara off his mind. How she looked. Her fall. Her last words to him—I’m not your problem anymore. He realized that he had never really confronted the reality of her dying.

  Christmas Day would have been their silver anniversary: a quarter of a century. Kier hadn’t much experience with death. His mother had died when he was two; he didn’t remember her or her passing. His father had died six years ago, but they hadn’t spoken for years and he didn’t even attend the funeral. But Sara was different. He wondered how long she had left and how her death would affect him.

  He took a drink from his bottle of water and set it on the seat next to him. He couldn’t figure out why Sara had delayed their divorce for so long. It clearly wasn’t about money; she asked for much less than she was entitled to and they both knew it. He was still puzzling over this when he arrived at the Park City junction. In another ten minutes he turned off the highway to the Snowed Inn bed-and-breakfast. Traci would be up in a few hours. He could worry about Sara later.

  CHAPTER

  Nine

  The Snowed Inn was a large Victorian with three great gables set above a wraparound front porch. White Christmas lights outlined the building, creating a thin halo in the pale fog. Broad red ribbon was wrapped around the porch’s supporting pillars giving them the appearance of giant peppermint sticks. The two front doors were garnished with pine wreaths adorned with silver and red baubles.

  Kier parked his car. When he reached for his cell phone on the seat next to him his hand found a pool of water and his phone in it. He lifted it, dripping. The screen was blank, Kier pushed the buttons on the keypad but nothing happened. He angrily threw it on the car floor. Then he climbed out of the car, grabbed a small sports bag from the trunk, and walked up the steps into the inn.