The Christmas List

  The Snowed Inn had originally been built at the end of the nineteenth century as a home by Clayton Daly, a successful silver prospector and co-owner of the Daly-West Silver Mine. When Daly was killed in an explosion in the mine, his wife had tried to support her family by turning the home into a boardinghouse. Within a few years World War I lowered the price of silver and as prospectors left the town, the building became just another relic of a ghost town. When developers rediscovered the city in the late sixties the old building was revived as a bed-and-breakfast and had done well ever since.

  Just inside the door, under a daguerrotype of Clayton Daly, was a crescent-shaped walnut counter. Behind it stood a portly, silver-haired man wearing a red flannel shirt and brown corduroy pants with blue suspenders. He smiled as Kier entered. “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to the Snowed Inn.”

  Kier, still angry about his phone, was in no mood for pleasantries. “I’ve got a reservation,” he said curtly. “It’s under Kier.”

  “Yes, Mr. Kier, we’ve been expecting you. You have a very pleasant secretary, I might add. Your secretary left a credit card number with me, so if you’ll just sign right here I can take you right up to your room.”

  Kier signed the registry. “Do you have Internet access?”

  “We have wireless in every room. The access code is printed on the keycard sleeve. How many keys do you need?”

  “Two, but I want to leave one here. My companion won’t be here until eight or so.”

  “Very good,” he said, lifting a pen. “Her name?”

  “Traci.”

  He wrote her name on the key sleeve. “Traci. Do you need help with your bag?”

  “Of course not. Just call my room when she arrives.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that. You’re right around the corner and up the stairs. My name is Fred if you need anything. We begin serving breakfast at six.”

  “What time does it end?”

  “Eleven. Have a good stay.”

  Once inside his room, Kier set his bag on an end table, then pulled out his laptop and logged into the hotel’s network. He checked over his e-mails and the Dow Jones, then closed his computer and walked over to open the television cabinet. The remote was on top of the television. He lay back on the bed and surfed channels until he came across the University of Utah Utes playing the ASU Sundevils. The game was only halfway through the first quarter; he propped several pillows up behind him and lay back to watch. Before the end of the first quarter he was asleep.

  When he awoke, the room was dark except for the glow of the television; a weatherman was talking in excited tones about the blizzard. Kier checked his watch: 10:22. He instinctively reached for his cell phone, then remembered that he no longer had one. He picked up the room phone and called the front desk. “This is James Kier in 211. I was expecting a guest; has she called?”

  “No sir, but I’ll call you the moment she arrives. The weather has probably delayed her.”

  “Probably.” He hung up and dialed Traci’s cell phone but she didn’t answer. This didn’t surprise him since she made it a point to never answer calls from phone numbers she didn’t recognize. It crossed his mind that she could have been stuck in the canyon or worse, but he let it pass. She got me all the way up here; she better have a good excuse. He lay back, angry. Within a few minutes he fell asleep again.

  CHAPTER

  Ten

  The sun broke through the east windows, waking Kier to a clear, bright morning. He was still in his clothes and still alone. He looked at his watch and groaned. It was past nine. He rolled over to the phone and called the desk.

  “This is Jim Kier in 211. Was the canyon closed last night?”

  “I don’t believe so. We had guests arrive past midnight.”

  “Did anyone leave a message for me?”

  “Just a minute.” The man was gone just a few seconds. “Sorry, sir, I have no messages. But we do have breakfast ready. This morning we’re serving our cheese and sausage omelet, homemade granola, fresh squeezed orange juice, buckwheat pan—”

  “All right. I’ll be down.”

  Kier hung up. From outside he could hear the scraping blade of a snowplow. He walked over to the window; it had stopped snowing but it looked like the storm had dumped over a foot of snow. In the parking lot below a red Ford pickup with a plow was clearing the parking lot, pushing snow into banks taller than the truck itself. It occurred to him why she hadn’t called. She probably tried my cell, he thought. Kier changed into his sweats and went downstairs. There were several couples already in the dining room. Fred greeted him with a pot of coffee.

  “Good morning, Mr. Kier. Would you care for some coffee?”

  “I’d like some decaf.”

  “Right away. I have a nice little brew called the Mormon Blend.”

  Fred walked back to the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later he was holding a coffeepot in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. As he poured the coffee he said, “I want to show you something I think you’ll find interesting.” He laid the newspaper out on the table. “You not only have the same name as this fellow, but you look an awful lot alike.”

  Kier took a sip of coffee as he cast an uninterested glance at the paper. “I look nothing like John McCain.”

  “No, sir, the article below that.”

  Kier scanned the page until he saw the picture. Above it was the headline:

  Local real estate mogul dies in automobile crash

  Kier set down his coffee. “What the . . .”

  Utah real estate developer James Kier was pronounced dead after his car collided with a concrete pylon on southbound I-80. Rescue workers labored for more than an hour to remove the Salt Lake man’s body from the wreckage. Authorities believe Kier may have had a heart attack prior to swerving off the road.

  Kier was the president of Kier Company, one of the West’s largest real estate development firms. He was known as a fierce, oftentimes ruthless, businessman. He once said, “If you want to make friends, join a book club. If you want to make money, go into business. Only a fool confuses the two.”

  Kier is survived by his son, James Kier II and his wife, Sara. See page 1 of the business section for more on James Kier.

  Kier stared at the picture. “That’s me,” he said. He set down his coffee, “This is . . . crazy.”

  “Maybe that’s why your guest didn’t come.”

  “You might be right.” He reflexively reached for his cell phone and again remembered he no longer had one. “Never mind breakfast, I’ve got to make some calls.”

  “Here, take a pastry with you.” Fred quickly retrieved a cheese Danish from the buffet table and wrapped it in a napkin. “Wife made ’em.”

  “Thank you.” Kier took the pastry and his coffee and returned to his room. His first call was to Traci. Still no answer and her voice mailbox was full. Not surprising, he thought, she must be inundated with calls about me.

  Next he called Lincoln, who answered on the first ring.

  “Hello.”

  “What’s the difference between a lawyer and a vulture?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “The lawyer gets frequent flier miles.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Who do you think, monkey boy?

  There was another long pause. “Kier?”

  “Back from the dead.”

  Lincoln started to laugh. “It’s really you. I’ve been freaking out here. I thought you were dead. Or do they have pay phones in hell?”

  “No, they have cell phones, they just drop the call every five seconds.”

  Lincoln laughed again. “Where are you calling from?”

  “Park City.”

  “This is surreal. When Carol called to tell me, I didn’t believe her. But when I tried to call you, there was no answer.”

  “Well, my cell phone did die.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m guessing that th
e reporter got the wrong Kier. By the way, I want you to sue him and the rag he writes for. I want to own the thing.”

  “I’ll start checking for precedents. Of course we’ll have to show damage, but that shouldn’t be too hard. You know, there’s more than just the local paper. There’s been television and radio coverage not to mention the Net. There’s a whole river of comments up on the paper’s Web site already.”

  “Really?” Kier said. “That should be interesting.”

  “I don’t recommend you read them.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You know how people are. The Internet is the bathroom stall of media.”

  “What, no respect for the dead?” Kier said sarcastically.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Whatever. I’m headed back to town. Assuming the roads are clear, I’ll be home in a couple of hours. I need to get a new phone.”

  “Talk to you later, chief. And congratulations.”

  “For what?”

  “Not being dead.”

  Kier hung up the phone, showered and shaved. As he was getting dressed his curiosity got the better of him and he went to the Web site of the Salt Lake Tribune. His story was third down on the local page. Underneath the story was a stream of comments.

  Maguire17: Ding dong the wicked Kier is dead!!!!

  LFB09: Someone must have thrown a bucket of water on him.

  Mojo777: The article said Kier died of a heart attack before he crashed his car. I thought you had to have a heart to have a heart attack.

  LFB09: Kier had a bank vault where his heart should have been.

  Mojo777: Fitting that the car burst into flames. Just getting him used to where he’s going.

  Hope17: Show some respect for the dead.

  Mojo777: Why should we? Kier showed no respect for the living.

  Supertramp11: Amen to that. He was divorcing his wife while she had cancer. They served her the same day she got home from her first chemo treatment. Who does that?

  Mojo777: Apparently he really had it out for cancer sufferers. Didn’t you read the story about his evicting that man dying of cancer?

  Prowler2000: Kier should have died of cancer. Slow, painful cancer. Would have been poetic.

  Maguire17: My neighbor was in a deal with Kier. He committed suicide.

  Prowler2000: Is that true?

  Bbaklava: I heard the same thing.

  Supertramp11: I can vouch for that.

  Aurcadia500: I worked for Kier three years ago. He ridiculed me in front of the entire office just for having a poinsettia plant in my cubicle at Christmas. That guy was the Grinch, Scrooge, and the Bergermeister rolled into one.

  Prowler2000: Bergermeister. LOL!!!

  Supertramp11: That’s true too. Kier was adamant that no time or money be wasted on holiday decorating. He called Christmas decorations “Idiot Glitter.”

  Hope17: You shouldn’t judge him until you’ve walked in his shoes.

  Mojo777: Love to walk in them. Bruno Magli no doubt. And I promise I wouldn’t kick anyone. More than Kier would do.

  Aurcadia500: Never criticize a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes. That way he can’t do anything to you because you’re a mile away and you’ve got his shoes.

  Prowler2000: ROFLOL :-D

  Kronos345: Wow, Kier had a fan. Hooda thunk?

  Prowler2000: Yeah, what’s with the fan club, Hope 17? The man was a monster.

  Hope17: I’d say you didn’t really know him.

  Kronos345: Why is it that everyone always tries to make people look better after death? He was what he was.

  Supertramp11: Believe what you want, Hope17, Kier’s only motivation in life was money. Gain was his only critereon for action, no matter who was hurt, no matter who was left in ashes. Just yesterday he celebrated taking some old man’s property. Believe me, I knew Kier—I played squash with him every week for seven years.

  Kier’s jaw clenched. Supertramp11 was Tim Brey. That traitorous weasel. I’m going to hand him his head on a platter. He began to type in a comment, then restrained himself. Brey was on a roll and he wanted to let him dig himself deeper. And he was curious as to the identity of Hope17.

  Hope17: This is Sara. And shame on you, Tim. Jim took care of you and your family for more than ten years.

  Supertramp11: I’m sorry, Sara, but for your sake not his. Of all people, you had the most to complain about. He made your life a living hell. I know the truth about him serving you the divorce papers. I asked him to wait until after your chemo but he wouldn’t.

  Hope17: He did some bad things. But he was a good man once. I believe he would have come back someday.

  Alleykat9: Like Darth Vader.

  Supertramp11: Your loyalty is touching, Sara, but you lost the man you loved long before yesterday. He was dead, Sara. Dead and buried.

  Alleykat9: This is like “Days of Our Lives.”

  Prowler2000: Better.

  Mojo777: Is that still on the air?

  Hope17: Then I will always love the man he was. I only wish I could have saved him. I would have given anything for that. I would give anything to have the man I married back.

  The comments continued for several more pages but Kier just stared at the last entry. How could Sara still care about him after all he had done to her? He walked to the bathroom. Bending low over the sink he splashed his face with water. Then he looked in the mirror. He felt sick to his stomach and angry. But more than anger or even betrayal, he felt something still stronger. He felt shame.

  CHAPTER

  Eleven

  It was nearly noon when Kier walked back down the stairs. Fred was polishing the banister with a dust rag. He looked up at him. “You sure you’re not a ghost?”

  “Can’t prove it.”

  Fred laughed. “Come back and haunt us again,” he said.

  Kier walked outside. The air was crisp and fresh. He climbed into his car and drove home.

  On the ride down the canyon, Kier mulled over what he’d read. “Heartless,” “Monster,” “Grinch,” “Bergermeister”? His memory had been betrayed by his “friends” as well as his enemies. Only one person seemed to care about him and it was the woman he’d betrayed. He was baffled. After all he had done to Sara, she had stood up for him. Why?

  He suddenly felt very alone. At least he had Traci. He wondered how she was handling the news. Probably a wreck, he thought.

  The roads home were clear and Kier arrived in the valley in less than a half hour. He stopped at a nearby stripmall and picked up a new phone then drove home. He pulled into the driveway, opened the garage door, and parked inside, entering from the garage. He stopped at the edge of the living room. It took him a moment to comprehend what he saw. The room was filled with dozens of shopping bags. Nordstrom, Anthropologie, Lolabella, bebe, White House Black Market; an impressive array. He pulled from one of the bags a black, tufted Gucci bag with the price tag still attached: $3,995.

  I guess she decided to cash in while the card was still good. He wondered why she brought everything to his place instead of her own until it occurred to him that she was just being efficient; his place was closer to the malls. He went to the kitchen and called Lincoln.

  “How’s it going, dead man?” Lincoln said.

  “Have you contacted the newspaper yet?”

  “No. I had to get Carol to go into the office. But we’re just about to serve them.”

  “Belay that.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you to contact them yet.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want anyone to know that I’m alive.”

  “What have you got up your sleeve, Kier?”

  “This is an opportunity, Lincoln. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “Did you see what Brey wrote on the Tribune site?”

  “Yeah, I saw that. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. Now I know the truth. For the first time in my life I c
an see what people really think of me. This is a platinum opportunity.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  “No plans.”

  “Let’s get a drink at Porcupine Grill. Say, seven?”

  “Seven it is.”

  “See you then.” Kier hung up and went back to the front room. He sat down in a wide crushed-velvet chair and lifted his feet up on the ottoman staring at the door while he considered his next move. First Brey, now Traci. He was wondering the best way to handle the two of them when he heard a car pull into the driveway. A moment later came the sound of keys in the deadbolt. The door opened a few inches, then swung open as Traci walked inside, pushing the door open with her rear. Her back was toward him and her arms were threaded through the handles of more shopping bags. She was humming cheerfully. Kier waited for her to set down her bags before he spoke.

  “Hi.”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice and swung around.

  “I’d ask where you’ve been, but I don’t need to, do I?”

  “James.” She held a hand to her chest. “You’re . . . what are you doing here?”

  “Where should I be?”

  “But the paper said . . .”

  “I know. I read it.” Kier looked over the mountain of shopping bags. “I’m sorry you were so broken up by the news. You must have been devastated.”

  For a moment she just looked at him, speechless, then recovered. “You know shopping is how I cope with tragedy. It’s therapy.”

  “Looks like group therapy. You must feel like a million bucks. Or is that just how much you spent?”

  Her expression relaxed. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re okay. What would I have done without you?” She reached out her arms.

  “Let’s find out. Take your things and go.”

  “James,” she purred, smiling seductively. “C’mon Jimmy.”

  “And leave the credit card.”