Too Rich and Too Dead (22 page)

“I wasn't thinking that at all,” Mallory insisted.

Not reacting to that simple statement required a great deal of self-control. To hide her shock, she stabbed another piece of chicken. At least the chef turned out to have more going for him than good
lungs. “Tell me about your girlfriend. What's her name?”

“Autumn.”

Dusty and Autumn, she thought. Why am I not surprised?

“Does she work in the ski industry, too?”

“No way.”

“Really? What does she do?”

He was silent for a few seconds, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to share a detail as intimate as his girlfriend's profession. “Yoga. She teaches it, I mean.”

Dusty's reluctance to talk about the woman who had reportedly stolen his heart piqued Mallory's curiosity. But she didn't feel the need to press him for more details. She had a feeling that it wouldn't be that difficult to locate a yoga instructor named Autumn in a town this size.

Beside, it was Carly she'd come here to talk about.

“I'm curious, Dusty,” she said casually. “How did someone like you happen to meet Carly Berman?”

“You're sure asking a lot of questions,” Dusty replied, studying her warily over his mound of curly fries. “I thought you wanted to talk about her, not me.”

“I do want to talk about her,” Mallory replied evenly. “I'm really anxious to learn everything I can about what her life her in Aspen was like. And that includes getting to know her friends.”

“Then you're taking the wrong dude to lunch,” he replied, impatience creeping into his tone. “Like I said, me and Carly weren't close. We just knew each other because Aspen's a pretty small place.”

So is Carly's bedroom
, Mallory thought.
Which is why I'm trying to find out how you came to spend so much time in there—behind closed doors.

“If you want to know more about your friend's social life,” Dusty added, “I'd talk to her husband.”

“Brett?”

“That's right. Carly was crazy about the guy.”

“Really.” It was true that she'd made the same observation, based on the small amount of time she'd spent with the Bermans. But if that was really the case, what was she doing with Dusty?

She had hoped he'd be able to help her clarify that point. Not that he was likely to come right out and admit that he and Carly were having an affair. Still, he seemed strangely sincere in his insistence that Mr. Huggy-Poo really was the love of her life.

Maybe Dusty was jealous of Carly's feelings for her husband, she thought. He could have insisted that she leave Brett, then flown into a rage when she refused…

But if she loved her husband so much, she asked herself again what was she doing with Dusty in the first place?

Instead of clarifying things, Mallory's interrogation in the sky was only confusing her even more.

Still, there was suddenly someone new in the picture, someone who just might be able to cast a little more light on the puzzling subject of Carly Berman's love life.

Besides, adding “take a yoga class” to her list of Aspen's activities for nonskiers struck her as an excellent idea.

R
ather than attempting to locate Dusty Raines's yoga instructor girlfriend by asking around town, iMallory decided to try the high-tech method. Immediately after saying good-bye to Dusty, she made a beeline for her hotel room, where she turned on her laptop and Googled “Autumn Aspen Yoga.”

While she got a few links to Web sites that referred to local yoga studios with programs that changed with each season, she did stumble upon one that treated Autumn as a proper noun. Eagerly she clicked on the link.

“Autumn Drake, Yoga Instructor,” the headline said. Underneath was a photograph of a pretty young woman who Mallory estimated was about Amanda's age. She had the same long, straight hair
as her daughter, too, except hers was pale blond. Wispy, too. Its color and texture, combined with her heavy-lidded green eyes, tiny nose, gaunt cheeks, and narrow shoulders that indicated a willowy frame, gave her fragile, slightly spaced-out look.

“We recently welcomed Autumn Drake to our staff,” the blurb on the Web site read. “While Autumn brings a special interest in Vinyasa Flow yoga and Iyengar to our studio, she also incorporates the Ashtanga, Bhakti, and Jivamukti traditions into her classes. Her specialty is chakra balancing. A native of Nebraska, Autumn recently came to Aspen by way of southern California.”

Sounds like our girl, Mallory thought.

She clicked onto the home page and discovered that the name of the studio that employed Autumn was the Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water Sanctuary for Mind, Body, and Spirit. Its name made for a lengthy Web address—
www.EarthWindFireWater.com
—but it was the yoga studio's street address that she was interested in.

The studio was located on the outskirts of town, less than half a mile away, according to her calculations. After jotting down the address on a page from the Hotel Jerome notepad, Mallory slipped it into her purse and headed down Main Street, a route she'd learned well thanks to all her auto trips out of town.

Her stroll took her past wonderful old Victorian houses, small parks with thick green lawns, and motels and lodges that looked as if they had been built in the 1970s and gotten stuck in a time warp. This
primarily residential section of Aspen looked like Anytown, U.S.A., thanks to its good-size yards, tall trees, and sidewalks running through the grid of houses packed onto quiet streets that veered off the main drag.

The yoga studio reminded her that she wasn't in Anytown, after all. It was located in one of the larger Victorians, which was perched on a corner. The shingles were painted bright blue, with purple shutters and metal wind chimes dangling from the front porch. The sign above the door was hand-painted, with the letters of “earth” made out of vines, “wind” made from white wisps, “fire” yellow flames, and “water” spelled out with blue droplets.

Mallory was growing increasingly nervous. She hoped this part of her investigation wouldn't necessitate twisting her unyielding middle-aged body into pretzel-like shapes. The last thing she wanted was for somebody to decide that her chakras were in serious need of balancing.

But she took a deep breath and swung open the door. Her ears were immediately treated to the gentle tinkling of a bell, and her nostrils tingled with the intoxicating smell of spicy orange incense. She hadn't even said hello and she was already feeling mellower.

“Welcome to the sanctuary,” a dark-haired woman about her age greeted her. “How can I work with you to improve your mind, body, and spirit?”

The first two are doing just fine, thank you, Mallory thought. But I suppose I could use a little help with the third.

“Actually, I'm interested in speaking with one of your yoga instructors,” she said. She stood up straight and looked the woman in the eye. Just being here gave her the distinct feeling that her chakras were way out of line, but she was hoping no one would notice. “I'd like to interview her for a magazine article I'm writing.”

The woman brightened. “A magazine article? For
Yoga and You?”

“Uh, no. Actually, it's not for a yoga magazine. It's a travel article about Aspen I'm writing for a lifestyle magazine.”

“Which one?”

“The Good Life.”

“Ah.” From the way the woman frowned, Mallory wondered if she disapproved. After all, the “good life” her readers were interested in had more to do with sleek sports cars, Sub-Zero freezers, and vacations in glitzy destinations than inner peace.

“And I know that Autumn's background includes all kinds of yoga,” Mallory went on, anxious to sell this woman, who was in essence guarding the door, on the idea of giving her a few minutes with Dusty's better half. “That's why I'd like to interview her for my article.”

When the woman still looked skeptical, Mallory added, “Of course I'd be able to mention Earth, Wind, and Fire and give you some free publicity.”

She had a feeling there was another element in there somewhere, but it had slipped her mind.

The woman didn't bother to correct her. In fact, for whatever reason—perhaps having reached a
higher plane—it appeared that she had decided to forgive Mallory for her slip. “Autumn is in back. If you'd like, I'll see if she's free.”

As Mallory waited, she checked out the merchandise lined up on the shelves. Apparently even the most spiritual person couldn't live by yoga alone. Also necessary were yoga pants, yoga shirts, yoga jackets, and yoga bags to put it all into. In addition to yoga mats, there were special sprays and wipes to keep them clean. There were also scented candles, sticks of incense, lotions, CDs with yoga-appropriate music, meditation cushions, meditation benches, and silk eye pillows.

So much for giving up one's worldly goods, Mallory thought, fingering a silver pendant with the word
Om
nestled within a swarm of curlicues. Who knew that yoga required almost as much equipment as skiing?

A wave of disappointment swept over Mallory when the same woman returned—alone. But with a serene smile, she said, “Autumn will meet with you in the Crystal Room. It's behind the curtain.”

“Thank you.”

Mallory didn't know what she'd find back there. But as she pushed aside the long, bead-studded hot pink silk curtain hanging from the ceiling, she discovered a large, modern room with mirrors lining one entire wall. It reminded her of the type of space in which ballet classes are taught.

Autumn was at the other end, twisted not as much like a pretzel as a rubber Gumby doll. Her body faced one way, her head faced the other, and her right
arm reached high into the air. Frankly, she didn't look the least bit comfortable. Neverthe less, the expression on her face was one of total bliss.

“Come in,” she greeted Mallory without looking in her direction. “I understand you want to learn about yoga.”

“Uh, I actually want to learn about yoga classes,” Mallory corrected her. She noticed that Autumn was wearing a pair of yoga capris and a yoga tank top that looked a lot like the ones she'd spotted on sale up front. Her blond hair was pulled back into a haphazard knot, with wisps falling out hither, thither, and yon. “I'm writing a magazine article about things to do in Aspen that have nothing to do with skiing. The point is to explore whether it's a good place to travel even for people who have no interest in getting on the mountain.”

“I see.” Autumn twisted around so that all of her body parts were facing the same direction. But instead of coming over to talk to Mallory, she got down onto the floor, raised her legs up into the air until she was in a headstand position, and then bent her legs. She looked enough like a pretzel that Mallory had to keep from pointing and exclaiming, “Aha! Just as I thought!”

“Which magazine?” Autumn asked.

“Uh,
The Good Life.”
Mallory had never realized how difficult it was to talk to someone who was upside down. “It's based in New York.”

“New York?” Autumn brightened. “I was there once.” Her aura quickly went from positive to negative. “Too many people. Very bad karma.”

And you don't even pay taxes there
, Mallory thought.

“How did you find
me
?” Autumn asked.

Exactly the segue I've been hoping for.
“I met a friend of yours.”

“Really? Who?”

“Dusty Raines.” As she was still debating whether or not to identify him in the terms he'd supplied, she blurted out the words. “Your boyfriend.”

Autumn snapped out of her headstand faster than an Olympic gymnast going for the gold. “Dusty told you he's my boyfriend?”

“That's right,” Mallory replied, trying to sound casual.

She could practically see Autumn's chakras becoming dangerously unbalanced.

“As a matter of fact,” she continued breezily, “he told me that you'd be a good person to talk to. For my article, I mean. Since you're involved in something other than skiing and all.”

“Well, he's certainly not my boyfriend.” Autumn spat out the words. “At least not anymore. Not since he started hanging out with that—that old crone!”

Hey, wait a minute!
Mallory thought.
I happen to have been in the same algebra class as that old crone. And in a lot of the world—that is, in places that aren't Aspen—forty-five isn't exactly considered the ideal age to be put out to sea on an ice floe.

But aloud she said, “I'm not sure who you mean.”

“Carly Berman. The woman who owns Tavaci Springs. The one who was just murdered.” Shaking
her head, Autumn added, “Boy, is he gonna miss
her.”

“You almost make it sound as if he was her lover,” Mallory said evenly.

“If you can call it that,” Autumn shot back. “More like her gigolo. Not only were they having sex. Plenty of it, too, at least if you believe all his bragging. And she was always buying him stuff. I got the feeling it wasn't only her surgically enhanced breasts that turned him on. I think he also found her credit cards pretty alluring.”