Aspen Gold (51 page)

Three hours and a phone call later, Sondra left the house, bundled in her full-length Canadian fisher, a matching fur turban on her head and designer glasses shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun and the snow.

Throngs of strollers roamed the bricked thoroughfares of Aspen's downtown mall, a fashion parade of high heels, furred boots, diamonds, leathers, minks, and fun furs mixing with the latest in ski togs worn by skiers and nonskiers alike. Their voices and laughter drifted through the afternoon air. Sondra ignored all of it as she waited at the appointed place near the park's timbered jungle gym.

An icy calm held her motionless. When she saw Warren Oakes moving toward her through the crowd, the corners of her mouth lifted in a small, coolly pleased smile that matched the hard gleam in her eyes.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" he said as he joined her.

"V." She sensed the unspoken question in his look and knew he was wondering why she had wanted to meet him here instead of the office. She also knew he had to be remembering they'd met in public places like this in the past--and the reason for it then.

It was the same this time--as he'd soon find out.

"So, what's up?" he asked, falling in step when she began to wander leisurely in the direction of the real estate office.

"I find myself in an awkward position with an important client," she began carefully. "The kind of problem I had hoped was in the past."

There was a long pause before Warren nodded slowly, reading between the lines as she'd known he would. "I see. What are we talking about to solve the problem?"

"This client prefers a special kind of fastball, one that doesn't leave tracks."

Sondra used their own vernacular rather than the street term of a speedball to denote the combination of cocaine and heroin. "Only the best, the highest quality, will do. Can you deliver that?"

"No tracks." He frowned. "That may take a day or two."

"That's fine."

"Who is this client?" He eyed her curiously.

Sondra smiled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"I'll have to know sooner or later."

"Not this time. The client insisted that it come from me, and only me."

"And you agreed?" Warren showed his surprise.

"As I said, this is a very important client."

"Are you sure it's safe?"

"It's the safest thing in the world. If I didn't know that, I wouldn't even consider handling it myself," she stated smoothly.

As they approached the entrance to Hudson Properties, Warren stepped ahead and held the door open for her. Sondra swept past him and proceeded directly to her private office on the second floor. Her secretary was on the phone when Sondra walked in.

"I'm sorry, Miss Hudson hasn't been in yet today," the woman said, then looked up and saw Sondra. "Excuse me, she just came in. Would you hold a moment?" She hung up her extension, informing Sondra, "Mr. Lassiter on line one for you."

"Tell him I'll be with him in a moment,"

Sondra replied with cool unconcern and continued straight into her office.

Warren followed. At her desk, she unsnapped her purse and took out a sealed envelope. Turning, she handed it to him. "This should handle that other business of ours."

Briefly he fingered the envelope, checking the thickness of its contents, then slipped it into his coat pocket. "It should," he agreed.

"Let me know as soon as you have it," she told him. "And close the door on your way out."

She removed her fur hat and coat, and laid them on a lacquered chair. When she heard the door shut, she picked up the phone and pushed the button on line one.

"J.d., it's Sondra. I'm glad you called. I have some good news for you."

"You do?" His reply was riddled with a mixture of surprise and skepticism.

"Yes. I met with Bannon this morning.

He's decided he might be interested in selling that ridge land after all. But he wants some specifics: how much land; the exact dimensions; the price you'll pay; and when. And he wants it in writing. I told him that wouldn't be a problem."

"None at all," Lassiter assured her.

"I'll have a proposal drawn up immediately. It will be on your desk no later than Tuesday."

"Bannon will be in Denver most of next week on a court case, but I'll see that he gets it as soon as it reaches me." It was a promise she made without the slightest hesitation.

"Do that. And while you're at it, make sure he accepts the offer."

"Don't worry, J.d. You will get that property. I can guarantee it."

A smile lingered near the corners of her mouth long after Sondra hung up the phone.

Lassiter would ultimately own that land, although it wouldn't happen the way he expected.

After hours, the courthouse seemed like an empty tomb. Bannon sat on the edge of the bailiff's desk, the phone to his ear, and listened to the hollow echo of footsteps in the outer hall. Absently he rubbed the stiffness in his neck and shoulders as he gazed out the window at the nightscape of Denver's skyline.

There was a click, followed by the sound of the first ring as the operator put his long distance call through.

After the second ring, it was answered.

"Silverwood Ranch."

Recognizing his daughter's voice, Bannon smiled. "Hello, Laura."

"Hi, Dad," she returned brightly.

"How's the trial going?"

"Slow," he admitted. "What have you been up to today?"

"Just everything," she declared. "After school, Kit and I took her old toboggan and went sledding. It was a riot, Dad. We crashed so many times we were covered with snow. We had to use the broom to brush each other off before we could come in the house. Then we made pizza for supper.

Well, we made two, actually, because we burnt the first one. Cremated might be a better word. But it was okay. The second one was better anyway. And before you ask, I've only got two math problems to do and I'll be finished with my homework."

"That's good."

"Kit says its remarkable," Laura replied. "Are you at the hotel now?"

"No, I'm still at the courthouse, so I can't talk long. Where's Kit?"

"She's standing right here. Do you want to speak to her?"

"Please."

A second later, he heard Laura's muffled voice saying, "It's Dad. He's still at the courthouse."

Kit came on the line, her voice warm and full of life. "Hi. What are you doing there so late?"

"The morning got taken up with a bunch of pretrial motions. Then the voir dires ran longer than anyone expected. The judge decided he wanted to get a jury impaneled before we quit for the day."

"That's probably good, but it makes for a long day. You must have had a premonition something like this might happen when you decided to stay in Denver tonight."

"I guess." Premonition--he wished Kit hadn't used that word. It struck too close to the nagging unease he hadn't been able to shake since he'd met with Sondra. And it was that feeling that made him ask, "Did you hear anything from Sondra today?"

"No. Why? Did you think I might?" Kit asked, her tone curious but light.

"Not really." Truthfully he wasn't sure what he thought. He just kept remembering that look in Sondra's eyes, a look that had bordered on madness. He'd expected tears, or anger, but not that. Bannon shook away the mental image. "I don't even know why I asked that question." He paused, then added, "Maybe I just miss you."

"I miss you, too. I don't know why, considering Denver isn't far away at all and you'll be back tomorrow night. Still it feels like it might as well be forever. Crazy, isn't it?"

"Not to me." The bailiff stepped in and indicated the judge was ready to see Bannon in his chambers. "I have to go, Kit. The judge has made his strikes from the list of prospective jurors. After the other side has made theirs, it'll be my turn." He glanced at his watch.

Six-thirty. "With luck, we'll be out of here in an hour and I'll be at the hotel by eight.

I'll call as soon as I get there."

His estimate was overly optimistic.

It was after nine o'clock when Bannon finally walked through the doors of the Brown Palace, the reigning dowager of Denver's grand hotels, showing her age in spots yet retaining her air of regal elegance.

Tired and on edge, he turned the heavy cases, bulging with trial documents, over to a waiting bellman, then checked at the desk for messages. There were three, all from Agnes, none so urgent that they couldn't wait until after he called Kit and told Laura good night.

He shoved them in his suit pocket and started toward the elevator, tugging at the knot of his tie and pulling it askew.

"Bannon, this is a surprise. I didn't realize you were staying at the Brown."

Focusing on the man who had smoothly intercepted him, Bannon smiled a little grimly. "Hello, Lassiter." He went through the motions of shaking the man's hand. "How are you?"

"Fine. just fine," he replied, a complacent gleam in the look he gave Bannon. "By the way, you should be hearing from Sondra in the next day or two."

"Sondra." Bannon frowned, the mere mention of her name making him alert. "Why?"

"We stopped over in Aspen on our way into Denver and left that written offer you requested with Sondra."

"A written offer? For what?" His frown deepened. "I'm afraid you've lost me, J.d."

Lassiter seemed amused by his reaction.

"The ridge-top land you own, of course. I take it Sondra didn't tell you I was the party interested in buying it."

"No. But it wouldn't have made any difference if she had."

"I think you'll find my offer is very generous.

In fact, I think you'll be very glad you changed your mind and decided to sell."

Bannon shook his head. "I don't know where you're getting your information, Lassiter, but that land isn't for sale--not to you or anyone else."

It was Lassiter's turn to frown, none too pleasantly. "According to Sondra, you met with her on Saturday and agreed to sell. I don't know what you think you'll gain by--"

"I met with Sondra on Saturday, but this subject was never part of our discussion."

"You're saying she lied. Why?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Bannon replied grimly.

Kit tiptoed down the dimly lit hall to the spare bedroom that Paula had recently occupied. The door stood ajar. Quietly and carefully, she poked her head into the room and peered through the shadows at the small body curled beneath the blankets, a tangle of long black hair framing the pale face on the pillow.

Laura was sound asleep. Smiling, Kit gazed at her a moment, conscious of a warm, vaguely maternal feeling stirring within. She was glad she'd suggested that Laura stay with her while Bannon was in Denver. They had needed time to get acquainted without Bannon around. Awkward moments and all, it had turned out better than Kit had hoped.

Withdrawing, she pulled the door almost shut and retraced her steps down the hall to the stairs, avoiding the floorboards that creaked. In the living room, a cheerful blaze crackled merrily in the fireplace. Scrapbooks and photo albums lay in haphazard order on the tiled hearth, some open, some not. A giant bowl of popcorn, partially consumed, sat on the coffee table amid greasy bowls, dirty pop glasses, and wadded paper napkins. Cassette tapes littered a sofa cushion, left there after Laura had gone through them, finding most of the choices wanting.

Kit surveyed the mess, the corners of her mouth kicking up in amusement. She hadn't realized they'd had this much fun. She almost wished Bannon would call and give her a temporary reprieve from the task of cleaning all this up.

Briefly she wondered why he hadn't called yet. He had said he'd phone as soon as he reached the hotel, and it was already after ten. Poor guy, she thought, hoping he'd taken time to at least grab a sandwich.

With a shake of her head, she set about straightening the living room, tackling the sofa first, gathering up all the cassettes and returning them to their slotted tape case. Turning her attention to the coffee table, Kit piled the dirty glasses and bowls atop the buttered popcorn in the big bowl and added the used napkins to the stack.

Picking it up, she wrapped both arms around the bowl's sides and turned toward the kitchen. She stopped, alarm skittering through her at the sight of a dark, slender figure in the kitchen doorway. A woman, clad in a black spandex ski suit that hugged every curve.

A close-fitting knit cap covered her hair, leaving only the circle of her pale face exposed.

"Sondra," Kit murmured, almost breaking into a relieved smile; then she saw the gun in Sondra's black-gloved hand, a silencer fastened to the end of its barrel, and her heart leapt into her throat again.

"I'm surprised at you, Kit."

Sondra's voice was a low, emotionless croon, its eerie cadence raising the flesh along Kit's shoulders and back. "After all those years living in Los Angeles, I thought you would have learned to keep your doors locked."

As Sondra took a slow, sinuous step into the room, Kit noticed the gleam of moisture on Sondra's black boots, the vestiges of melting snow. Too late, Kit remembered she hadn't locked the back door after she brought in that last armload of firewood.

"Why did you come here? What do you want?"

Even as she asked the questions, she was afraid of the answers.

"Can't you guess?" Sondra replied in that same unnerving croon. "You had John Travis. But he wasn't enough, was he? You had to take Bannon, too. It's a shame, Kit.

If you hadn't been so greedy, you wouldn't have to die."

Kit stared, hearing the words but not wanting to believe them. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. This was all just some scene from a psycho-thriller. She wanted to pretend that somewhere a camera was rolling. Only there were no cameras, no lights, and no director was going to yell

"Cut!" at the crucial instant.

Crazily, she remembered those low-budget horror films she'd made, the way she had always laughed and said she got the parts because she had passed the scream test. At this moment, she didn't think she could get a single sound to come out of her throat. Not that it mattered. Even if she could scream, who would hear her?