Killjoy

  The next flight through Denver into Aspen was full, and she was forced to take a convoluted route from D.C. She ended up in Grand Junction, Colorado. She would have to wait until morning to board yet another flight. After she collected her luggage and checked into the hotel adjacent to the airport, she called Carrie on her cell phone. She got her voice mail on the first ring. She assumed her aunt was recharging her phone and had already gone to bed—it was midnight Aspen time. She left a message that she would arrive at the spa around noon tomorrow.

  Then she called the spa to let them know she was delayed. Since she’d left a message on Carrie’s cell phone, she didn’t ask the receptionist to connect her to her aunt’s suite.

  That night Avery slept like the dead. The following morning, while she ate her continental breakfast of toast, juice, and milk, she called her office voice mail. There were over twenty messages in her mailbox, but fortunately none of them was urgent. She made notes as she listened and then erased each one. Carrie’s message made her smile. She sounded so excited about staying in a mountain house where Tom Cruise had allegedly been a guest. How like her aunt to get stars in her eyes over such a silly little thing. Avery erased that message and continued on until she was finally finished.

  She was downstairs and checking out by eight-fifteen. While the receptionist printed her bill, Avery looked over a map of Colorado. Aspen wasn’t all that far from Grand Junction, just two and a half hours away by car. Then she heard an elderly couple talking about the lovely sights in the area, and on the spur of the moment, she decided to rent a car and drive to the spa. She took the shuttle back to the airport, rented a sedan, and headed out.

  Avery was wearing her weekend uniform, a pair of old jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a pair of scuffed tennis shoes. Carrie wouldn’t approve of the outfit, but Avery opted for comfort over fashion.

  Once she was on I-70 heading east toward Aspen, she felt as if she was really on vacation. It was a beautiful, crisp, summer morning. The sun was shining, and the sky was such a brilliant shade of blue it looked almost artificial. She rolled the window down and took a deep breath. It was wonderful. The air was so clean and light, as though she were breathing pure oxygen. It was a refreshing change after the smog of the big, overcrowded city.

  She stopped at a McDonald’s for a bottle of water and a Diet Coke. After she paid for her order, she sat down in one of the booths to look over the map. There might be an interesting side trip she could take on her way to the spa, maybe see something historical. She knew that once she checked in, Carrie wouldn’t let her leave, and she did want to see a little of Colorado. What she’d already seen on her drive was beautiful, but she felt she was only glimpsing a tip of what the state had to offer. Besides, Carrie was going to be irritated anyway because Avery was late. What difference did it make if she was another hour or two behind schedule?

  She spread the map on the table in front of her and, first of all, tried to find the spot where Carrie had told her she’d spent the night. What was it? Land of the Lakes? No, that wasn’t it.

  “Are you lost, darlin’?”

  The deep baritone voice jarred her. Annoyed her too. She simply wasn’t in the mood to get hit on. Suppressing a sigh, she frowned as she looked up, ready to tell whoever was trying to bother her to go away, but then she saw the gentleman standing before her and she smiled. He was at least eighty years old. Immaculately dressed in a freshly pressed denim shirt with a turquoise bolo tie, and Levi’s tucked into tan cowboy boots with scrollwork around the tops, he held a tan Stetson in one hand and a cup of steaming coffee in the other. His face was full of character, from his sparkling golden brown eyes and his leathered complexion to the handlebar mustache that was perfectly waxed and groomed. Both his mustache and his hair were pure white.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I asked you if you were lost,” he repeated. “I saw you looking over that map, and I figured I might be able to help you get where you’re wanting to go since I know just about every little nook and cranny in Colorado. I’ve lived here all my eighty-four years, come September.”

  “I was just looking over places of interest,” she said. “Actually, I could use your help. Would you care to join me?”

  “I’d be delighted,” he said. He put his coffee down, then scooted into the booth across from her and carefully placed his Stetson on the seat next to him. “Can’t stay but a couple of minutes. My granddaughter will be swinging by to pick me up. She’s got a nice little Western store, and I help her with the customers two days a week. That’s why I’m duded up,” he explained. “Now, where are you headed?”

  “Aspen.”

  “You couldn’t be lost then. There are signs all around you. Aspen’s just a few miles away.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said. “But I was trying to locate an area called Land of the Lakes or Around the Lakes. Have you ever heard of such a place?”

  “If you’re talking about Land Between the Lakes, then, yes, I sure have heard of it. My name’s Walt Gentry, by the way.”

  “Avery Delaney,” she said as she offered her hand to shake his.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. He moved his coffee so he wouldn’t knock it when he stacked his hands on the table and said, “You won’t find the place on that map, so you might as well stop looking. Most folks outside of Colorado wouldn’t even know about it. You see, people come in here from California and Washington and buy a couple of acres of land. Then they build themselves a big house, and they think they ought to name the place, like it was the Ponderosa or something. Now, a fella named Parnell, Dennis Parnell, purchased about forty acres of prime land up high above Aspen some time back. He shouldn’t have been able to buy it, but he did,” he added with a shrug. “Then, about six years ago, he decided to build his dream home up there. It took more than two and a half years to finish it, and Parnell made those environmentalists crazy tearing up that beautiful, untamed land the way he did. Big old semis going up and down the mountain, tearing out trees to make room for a road. It was a crying shame what he did, but Parnell got away with it because money talks, and he got every kind of permit he needed. Don’t think that could happen today,” he added. “In the last couple of years, we got stronger laws passed protecting our land. Anyway,” he continued, “when Parnell’s house was all finished, he put up a big fence all the way around it. I heard the house came in at eight million, but that was a few years ago, so I’m sure the price has more than doubled. It was rumored that Parnell paid cash and owns the house and the land free and clear. I didn’t believe that gossip, but folks around here did, and then, of course, they had to speculate as to where he could have gotten his hands on so much money.”

  Avery was caught up in the story. “How did he?”

  “Folks thought it must be drug money, but turns out Parnell owned a little computer company out in Silicon Valley. One of his engineers designed a new computer chip that revolutionized the business. Don’t understand any of it,” he admitted. “But since that engineer worked for Parnell, he got the patent. He made his fortune, sold the company before it went belly-up, and moved here.”

  “He doesn’t still own the place, does he?” she asked, thinking that Parnell must have sold it to the owner of Utopia to use as a retreat for important visitors.

  “He does and he doesn’t,” Walt replied. “This is where the story takes a sordid turn. Parnell got married at the church about a mile from here. It was quite an event too, and cost a fortune. Five hundred people were invited to the reception,” he said. “I heard it took a year to plan the big party. They even had flowers flown in from Europe. I guess the flowers in the United States weren’t good enough. Anyway, the planning of the marriage lasted longer than the union. Parnell was only married eighteen months when he filed for divorce.”

  He paused to shake his head. Then he got sidetracked. “I sure don’t understand this modern world. Me and my wife, Ona May, have been married forty-seven years, and sure, there have been ti
mes when I wanted to leave and never come back. I imagine she felt the same way every now and again, but we stayed together because we said our vows and we meant them. Now I read in the papers about this new trend called ‘starter marriages.’ Have you ever heard of them?”

  She smiled. “I’ve heard the term.”

  “I don’t understand it,” he said. “Those couples ought to just live together and leave the vows out of it. I think Parnell thought he was in a starter marriage, the way he filed so quick. It’s been a real nasty divorce with lots of mudslinging, which of course hits the papers. People gobble that trash right up. He filed over a year ago, and it’s still dragging on. Everyone’s waiting to hear who’s gonna end up owning that house. The soon-to-be-ex-wife swears he promised it to her, and she thinks she ought to be able to keep it. The judge is deciding now which one of them is going to get it. Pamela Parnell says she’ll die before she lets him have it, and he says that’s fine with him. They’re both acting like five-year-olds, if you ask me. Just last week Parnell gave another interview and was quoted as saying that no matter what the judge ruled, he was never gonna let his ex have that house. Those two are quite a pair,” he added. “But the folks around and in Aspen are just as bad. Do you know they got a lottery going?”

  “You mean they’re betting over which one gets the house?”

  “That’s right. The odds are ninety to ten in favor of Pamela Parnell getting it because of the shady way Dennis got himself those permits. There’s talk he’ll be indicted. And the judge who’s deciding which one of those sorry characters will get the house is a real dedicated environmentalist. Time will tell, I suppose.”

  He leaned forward, tapped the map with his forefinger. “Right there,” he said. “That’s Land Between the Lakes. It was so named, you see, because it sits between two big, clear-water lakes. Have you got a pen on you? I could circle it for you.”

  Avery dug through her backpack, found a ballpoint pen, and handed it to Walt. His fingers were crippled with arthritis. He had trouble holding the pen as he made the circle.

  “From where we’re sitting, it’s about a two-hour drive away. There are some other fancy homes up there, but you won’t get near any of them because all the roads are privately owned and gated.”

  “I thought my aunt was staying at a retreat called Land Between the Lakes, but I must have been mistaken. Maybe I didn’t hear her correctly. There was a lot of static on the line.”

  “Could she have said Twin Lakes?” he asked. “Now, Land Between the Lakes is up north, but Twin Lakes is south of here, and it is marked on the map.”

  He pointed to the location. Avery nodded, then folded the map and put it in her backpack. She shook his hand again as she stood. “Thank you for helping me,” she said.

  “It was my pleasure,” he replied. “You be sure to buckle up, darlin’. There are some crazy drivers out there, taking those winding roads at seventy miles an hour. They’re begging for death. Don’t you let them take you with them.”

  She got back in the car and started out again. Guilt prevented her from taking any side trips. Besides, she had soaked up a little local color when she’d visited with Walt. He was a genteel old man, and she’d thoroughly enjoyed listening to him.

  Maybe she could talk Carrie into doing a little hiking. That thought was so absurd, she laughed. Avery had heard that her aunt actually had been quite a jock in high school. She’d played volleyball, basketball, and just about every other sport that was offered. Avery remembered playing with Carrie’s tennis trophies. Did her aunt still have them, or had she thrown them away? Oh, well, no matter. Carrie definitely wasn’t an outdoors girl now. She detested exercise.

  Carrie’s goal for her stay at Utopia was to be pampered, not whipped into shape. Avery sighed loudly. She hoped to heaven Carrie didn’t make her do all that girly stuff with her, like mud baths and seaweed wraps. It wasn’t that she had anything against being pampered, but she didn’t have all that much time to have fun, and she would rather get muddy exploring the countryside.

  Avery drove through Aspen and continued on. An hour later she was certain she was lost. She was about to pull over and check the map again when she spotted the sign for Utopia. The road curved sharply, then climbed and narrowed to a gravel driveway. Then the gate came into view. She stopped to give her name to the guard on duty.

  “Your name isn’t on the list for today’s check-ins.”

  “I have a reservation,” she insisted. “My name should be there.”

  He moved closer to the car and smiled. “I’m sure it’s just a mix-up. You can straighten it out at the front desk.”

  “Thanks,” she called out as she drove through.

  They certainly were friendly at the spa if the guard was an indicator. She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw him standing in the middle of the road watching her drive away.

  His salt-and-pepper hair reminded her of her uncle Tony. Oh, Lord, she forgot to call him last night. As soon as she checked into her room, she’d do just that. Tony was such a worrier. Avery knew that he and Carrie were having problems, but she hoped that they would be able to work them out. Carrie was probably the reason they weren’t getting along. Although Avery loved her aunt with all her heart, she wasn’t blind to her faults. Carrie could be a real pain sometimes. Marrying Tony was the best thing she had ever done, and maybe, while she was relaxing at the spa, she would take the time to think about her priorities. She had always taken Tony for granted, and no marriage could survive long that way. Fortunately, her uncle had the patience of a saint. He’d hung in there longer than any other man would have.

  She went around another sharp curve. For Pete’s sake, where was the spa? Since passing through the gate, she had to have driven halfway up the mountain, and she was completely surrounded by wilderness. Then, when she was sure she must have taken a service road by mistake at the last fork, Utopia came into view.

  It was aptly named. “My goodness,” she whispered. The place was gorgeous and seemed to radiate tranquillity. The buff-colored stucco buildings were nestled in the lush landscape of towering evergreens. The main structure looked as though it were part of the sloping mountain. Small bungalows dotted the hillside with stone paths winding in and around the thick pines. There were wildflowers everywhere. She could hear the sound of rushing water. She turned and saw a fountain of steps built into the side of the lower hill. The bubbling water rolled down the slate and splashed over a golden sphere suspended in a circular pool.

  A maintenance truck pulled out in front of Avery’s car from a service road. She braked and waited as the crew quickly unloaded some barrels, her gaze taking in the beauty and serenity of her surroundings. A young couple, obviously in love, caught her attention. They were holding hands as they strolled down the path parallel to the fountain. They stopped halfway, turned to each other, and kissed passionately.

  Avery felt a pang of envy and forced herself to look away. And then she couldn’t stop herself from glancing back at the couple and noticing the way they looked into each other’s eyes. They were probably newlyweds, she thought.

  The truck moved out of her path, and with a sigh, she drove up the steep incline. At the crest was a cobblestone circle drive. Huge clay pots overflowing with ivy and pink and yellow flowers were placed liked sentinels in front of the marble steps leading up to the entrance.

  People were coming and going, all at a sedate pace. Like the lovey-dovey couple on the hillside, the guests were dressed in identical navy blue jogging suits. On the jacket, above the breast pocket, was a little logo of a sphere with the name of the spa printed in gold thread.

  Avery put the car in park as the doorman rushed forward. He opened her door, put his hand out to assist her, and said, “Welcome to Utopia.”

  Chapter 6

  MONK WAS IN LOVE. THOUGH HE HADN’T BELIEVED SUCH A miracle could happen, he had met the woman of his dreams, and since then he had been acting like a crazy, ridiculous fool. Jilly was his soul mate. No doub
t about it. They were absolutely perfect for each other, for they shared the same dreams, the same fantasies, the same goals, and most important of all, the same sense of unfair play.

  She had hypnotized him from the moment they’d met in that dirty nameless little bar and grill on the outskirts of Savannah. His breath had caught in his throat when she walked in, a vision in a silky red dress and red stiletto heels. She was simply . . . magnificent. As he had instructed over the phone, he was waiting in the corner booth with a blue folder in his hands. When she saw him, she smiled, and in that instant, he knew he was lost.

  The bloom of first love hadn’t worn off. He still ached with his love for her. Even when he was supposed to be working, he couldn’t stop smiling. These days his mind only had room for thoughts of her. While he was doing the necessary drudge work of surveillance, one of his favorite ways to pass the time was to recall, to the most intimate detail, the first time they had made love. It had happened exactly three hours after they had met. Jilly had taken him back to her hotel room, stripped him of his clothes and his inhibitions, and had made passionate love to him. He closed his eyes in bliss as the memory flooded his senses. The sweet taste of her in his mouth, the musky scent of her perfume, the heat of her silky body pressed against his, the deep, almost animal sounds she made when he touched her just so. She had been wild, forceful, and rough—just the way he liked it—and yet, at the same time, she had been exquisitely vulnerable.

  Monk marveled over his lack of discipline when it came to Jilly. Never in his wildest imagination would he have believed he was capable of silly romantic behavior, or that he would ever marry. Yet, two months ago he had proposed—down on one knee, no less—and she had thrilled him with her acceptance. He told her he would do anything for her, anything at all, and then set about proving it. Desperate to please her, he knew he was putty in her hands, yet he couldn’t seem to mind.

  Jilly was the first person in the world whom he completely trusted to keep his secrets. He knew all of hers too. They had been living together for four months when, late one night, after they had made love and were cuddling together on the sofa in their silk robes and sipping chilled champagne, he opened up to her and told her all about his bleak life on the dried-up patch of farmland in Nebraska with his dried-up, stern, joyless parents. His father hadn’t believed in sparing the rod, and his mother, a weakling who was afraid of her own shadow and who never went anywhere or did anything outside of the home except church on Sunday mornings, would stand with her hands folded behind her back and watch as her husband tried to whip the wanderlust out of their only child. Monk learned early in life never to complain to her because she always told his father what he had said. By the time he was ten, he hated both of them and would fall asleep at night dreaming of new ways to torture them.