Too Rich and Too Dead (19 page)

He stopped abruptly, glancing up at her shyly. “End of sob story,” he said with forced joviality “I'll shut up now.”

They were both silent for a long time, each of them acting as if the simple act of sipping coffee was
such an intense experience that it required all their concentration.

“I really appreciate your being so open with me,” Mallory finally said. “And if for some reason you ever regret it, I'm willing to pretend this conversation never happened.”

Trevor didn't respond, so she had no way of knowing if he was already sorry. But she knew that from her own perspective, she had no remorse over having been honest with him.

“So what happens now?” she asked lightly. “I mean, are you planning to stay in Aspen or go back to New York…?”

“I think I'll stay for another day or two,” he replied, without looking at her. “Maybe I didn't come to Aspen under the best of circumstances. But now that I'm here, I'm thinking it wouldn't be such a bad idea for me to spend a couple of days away from the office. It's been too long since I've taken a trip of my own. I could probably benefit from a break.”

“Are you sure you're not just checking up on me?” Mallory teased. “Making sure I'm doing my job?”

“Maybe I am,” he replied. Without looking at her directly, he added, “Or maybe I just want to make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

Given how worried Trevor seemed to be, Mallory decided not to mention that she was doing more here in Aspen than writing a magazine article. When he announced after breakfast that he was going to take a walk around town to get his bearings, leaving
Mallory to get some work done, she decided it was a good time to pay Sylvie a visit.

She had thought the HoliHealth executive was worth looking at from the beginning. But the fact that it was Sylvie, and not Mallory, that Harriet had chosen to rendezvous with immediately after the police had released her had catapulted Sylvie to a top spot on Mallory's list of suspects.

She rifled through her suitcase until she found a silk scarf she'd tossed in at the last minute. It was one she'd never been all that attached to anyway, so she figured that if she lost it while she was traveling, leaving it behind in a restaurant or failing to notice that it had slipped off her shoulders, she wouldn't care.

Clutching it in her hand, she went back down to the lobby. She stood half hidden by a large potted plant, scoping out the area until she spotted the youngest, most gullible-looking bellman around. The sandy blond stubble that covered his head and his round rosy cheeks made him look as if not long before, he'd been driving a tractor instead of pushing a luggage cart.

“Excuse me,” she said after making a beeline in his direction, “I'm Mallory Marlowe. I'm a guest at the hotel. A friend of mine left this in my car last night. She's staying here, too, but I don't know her room number. Do you think you could deliver it to her?”

His eyes traveled nervously between Mallory and the scarf she was waving in front of him. “I'm on luggage duty today. We've got a big crowd coming in.
But you could call the front desk and I'm sure they'd put you through to her room.”

Mallory did her best to look like a damsel in distress. “I would, but I know for a fact that she's not in her room right now. She's, uh, out somewhere having breakfast.”

“In that case, you could still call her room and leave her a message—”

“Please,” she interrupted, wondering when farm boys had gotten so feisty, “I'm on my way out to an important meeting and I really don't have much time. Do you think you could just find out what room she's in and drop this off?”

When he still hesitated, she decided to try the New York way of doing things. She reached into her wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar bill.

“Thank you so much,” she said, shoving it at him as if it was clear she wasn't about to take no for an answer. “I really appreciate your doing this.”

“I'll get on it right away,” he assured her, his eyes widening and his rosy cheeks growing even rosier as he stared at the bill in his hand.

Glad to know ten bucks still buys
something
in this town, Mallory thought wryly as she told him Sylvie's name, then watched him walk away.

After he got Sylvie's room number from the clerk at the front desk, he headed toward the pair of elevators that served the front section of the hotel. Mallory was relieved that Sylvie's room was in the original building. It was only three stories high, which would make it easier to track him.

As soon as the elevator doors had closed, she
rushed toward the fire stairs and raced up them. When she reached the second floor, she opened the door and peered down the hallway. No one was there, and there was no pinging sound to tell her that the elevator was stopping there. She ducked back into the stairwell and emerged on the third floor, where she stuck her head out the door even more carefully than before. Sure enough, she could see the bellman standing in the hallway a few doors down.

“I'm really sorry about the mistake,” he was saying to whoever was standing opposite him as he tucked the scarf into his pocket. “She told me this belonged to you, but I guess she was confused.”

Confused… like a fox, Mallory thought.

She retreated back into the stairwell one more time, closing the fire door and waiting until she heard the pings that told her the elevator was whisking her emissary away. Once she knew she was safe, she ventured out again, checked to make sure the coast was clear, and then headed straight for the same door at which she'd seen him standing.

She rapped on the door loudly, doing her best to sound authoritative.

“Goodness, what is it
now?”
a female voice muttered from inside room 312.

When the woman flung open the door, she looked surprised, as if she'd just assumed she'd find the same bellman standing there. Mallory took advantage of having caught her off guard by sticking her foot in the doorway just far enough that Sylvie couldn't close it and leave her out in the hallway.

“Do I know you?” Sylvie asked curtly. Almost
immediately, her expression softened. “I do, don't I? You and I spoke at the Bermans’ house yesterday morning.”

“That's right.” Mallory shook her head. “Isn't it the saddest thing? I've been so upset ever since I heard the news…” Rubbing her forehead, she added, “Do you think I could sit down? I keep getting lightheaded. I don't know if it's the altitude or just being so freaked out about poor Carly…”

The threat of having the limp body of someone who had just fainted cluttering up her doorway was clearly too much for the woman. Sylvie quickly moved aside. “Of course. Come in. Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”

“Water would be great.”

Mallory plopped into the nearest chair while Sylvie disappeared into the bathroom. As she listened to the water running, she glanced around, surprised by what she saw.

A large open suitcase sat on one end of the king-sized bed, piled high with neatly folded clothes. A large leather tote bag, its mouth gaping open, sat on the floor nearby. From where Mallory sat, she could see that stuffed into it was a laptop computer and a stack of manila file folders.

“Thanks,” she said when Sylvie came out of the bathroom with a glass of water, wearing a concerned expression.

After taking a few gulps and doing her best to look perkier, Mallory observed, “I see you're on the way out. I don't mean to keep you.”

“That's okay. My flight isn't until two o'clock. I
wanted to leave earlier, but when I called to change my flight, this was the first one I could get.”

Aha, Mallory thought. So Sylvie's decided to get out of Dodge.

Still, it was possible that the only reason she was suddenly in such a hurry to get out was that her business here in Aspen was done. With no Carly to negotiate with, what would be the point of staying?

The point, she quickly realized, could be trying to work out a deal with the husband of the deceased. Especially since a good businesswoman would know that negotiating with someone who was under great stress could well yield an even better deal than usual.

Of course, it was possible that Brett Berman simply refused to deal with her right now. Whatever the explanation for Sylvie's hurried departure may have been, Mallory intended to do her best to find out precisely what it was.

“I understand you and Carly had a business relationship,” she said, “which means you two weren't friends, the way she and I were.” Once again, she was nearly certain that her cavalier use of the word
friends
was making her nose grow longer. “The two of you
were
just business associates, weren't you?”

“Not yet,” Sylvie replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. “What I mean is, that's what I was hoping for. But I wasn't able to make that happen before she got—before all this happened.”

From her tone, it sounded as if she was annoyed that Carly's murder had gotten in the way of her business plan.

“I've been working on this deal for nearly two
years,” Sylvie went on resentfully. “And I have nothing to show for it. Nothing! I can just imagine the laugh they're having back at headquarters.”

“Even these days, it must be tough, being a woman executive,” Mallory commented, trying to sound sympathetic.

“Hah!” Sylvie snapped. “Try being an African-American woman in a company full of white men! It's the pits.”

“And you'd think a company that specializes in health-related products would be a bit more progressive,” Mallory added, trying to fuel the fire that was obviously lurking not far below the surface, even though it was covered up by a button-down shirt and a tailored jacket.

If Sylvie wondered how Mallory came to know so much about her business, she didn't show it. Like most people, she probably just assumed that everyone she came across traveled in the same sphere she did and that they all shared the same outlook, not to mention similar experiences.

“You would think that,” Sylvie said, “except for the fact that the company I work for is run by the founder's two grandsons. Even though it's the twenty-first century, somehow they manage to maintain the same world view that their granddaddy probably held.”

“I didn't realize HoliHealth was that old,” Mallory said.

Sylvie nodded. “The company started back in the early 1950s, right after World War Two. It was called Henderson Health and Healing back then. The old
guy, Cliff Henderson, was a real health food nut. A big follower of exercise gurus like Jack LaLanne and advocates of vitamin therapy like Adelle Davis. He was from Iowa, but he was attracted to California because he was convinced it was going to become the health food capital of the world.”

“Good move,” Mallory observed.

“Definitely,” Sylvie agreed. “He started selling vitamins to health food stores—at least the few that were already in business back in those days. Cliff Henderson just muddled along for a decade or so. But then the sixties came along, and all of a sudden HH and H took off. In addition to vitamins, the company started selling protein powder, exercise equipment, books—you name it. By the 1970s, Cliff Henderson's son, Cliff Junior, was old enough to come into the business. The third generation took over in the late eighties. They hired some marketing firm to update the company. Flax and Bulgar, the grandsons, are also the ones who came up with the new name, HoliHealth.”

“Flax and Bulgar?” Mallory repeated. “You're kidding!”

“Nope. I'm afraid not.”

“I guess it's better than naming your kids Bran and Wheat Germ,” Mallory mused. “But it sounds as if despite their names, Flax and Bulgar aren't exactly the most open-minded people in the world,” she prompted.

Sylvie snorted. “Hardly. The two of them must be the most conservative guys in the entire state. They actually wear suits and ties and wingtip shoes to
work every day.” Glancing down at her own conservative outfit, she added, “That's the only reason I dress like this. I have to, since it's part of our corporate culture.

“And speaking of corporate culture, Flax and Bulgar treat their products as if they were widgets,” she went on, her tone growing even more bitter. “I mean, it doesn't matter that they're selling health and vitality. For them, it's all about the bottom line. They could be selling socks or cars or… or machine guns. I swear that the only reason they hired me is because they thought having an African-American woman in a high-powered position would make them look good.”

With a tired sigh, Sylvie added, “I tell you, working with these guys day in and day out is a real strain. I feel as if I'm constantly beating my head against a wall, trying to get them to accept my ideas.”

“Then why not just move on?” Mallory asked, sincerely curious about a woman like Sylvie, one who was clearly quite capable, would stay in a job that caused her so much resentment.

“Because I'm not a quitter.” Sylvie stood up straighter, her dark brown eyes narrowing. “Four years at Princeton and another two at Harvard getting my MBA taught me to work hard and to face any challenge I meet head-on.”

Even if all that head-banging leads to a chronic headache? Mallory wondered.

“I really believed this deal was going to make the difference,” Sylvie continued, sounding as if she was
talking more to herself than to Mallory. “I thought that this time, I'd show them.”

“Then you must be terribly disappointed that it's not likely to go through after all. Now that Carly's gone, I imagine that things will be in a state of chaos for some time.”

Sylvie looked startled by Mallory's observation. She opened her mouth to speak, then quickly snapped it shut. “That's exactly right,” she said simply.

Before Mallory had a chance to explore Sylvie's feelings about the possible acquisition of Rejuva-Juice any further, their conversation was interrupted by the sound of knuckles rapping loudly on the door.

“What now?” Sylvie muttered.

As soon as Sylvie opened the door and Mallory spotted the two men standing in the hallway, she knew the answer to that question.

“Ms. Snowdon? I'm Detective Lieutenant Derbas. Homicide.”

“Is something wrong?” Sylvie asked, her voice thick.

“We'd like to ask you a few questions.” The detective glanced around the hotel room, his eyes lighting on the suitcase on the bed. “In fact, if you're thinking of leaving town, you'd better think again. I'm afraid we'll need you to stick around until we get this whole thing sorted out.”