barn hasn’t been cleaned out in decades,” Geraldine said. “This might give me a good excuse.”
“Anything, anything that might be of historical significance. I can help you if you’d like,” Ted Weems had said.
Geraldine had declined the offer. “At first I’d like to be left alone with the memories,” she’d said. “If I get good and depressed, I’ll call you in for help.”
Now, as Geraldine pushed herself out of her rocker, the stiffness in her bones made her feel every day of her seventy-five years. “Let’s get going, girly,” she said to herself. “The day is a-wastin’. If I’m going to get anything done in that barn, I’ve got to move.”
She had already made a few interesting discoveries, like old spittoons that had been put to use in Pop-Pop’s saloon and a pair of Pop-Pop’s faded overalls that she thought they might hang on display to symbolize the work ethic.
Geraldine ambled past the painting of Pop-Pop in front of the saloon and saluted as she did every morning. She wanted to keep him home until the night of the party.
“I’ll come down and visit you all the time,” she said aloud as she buttoned up her jacket.
Geraldine pulled open the front door, stepped down on the porch and bent over to pick up the paper. She was about to chuck it inside the living room when the headline caught her eye.
She growled, scanned the story, and charged back into her house to make a phone call.
18
T HAT’SIT! I’M ruined!” Louis howled when Regan appeared at his office door.
Tripp, the young tanned clerk who’d been at the desk when Regan arrived, was standing there with a dejected look on his face.
“What happened?” Regan asked quickly, unzipping her ski jacket.
Louis waved his hands at Tripp. “Tell, tell, tell!” Louis’s eyes were watery and his face looked as if his blood pressure must be as high as the altitude. In the corner near his desk a little humidifier was humming away, gently blowing a fine mist of cool air into the tense environment.
Tripp ran his hand through his sun-streaked hair. Regan sat down on an upholstered chair opposite Louis’s antique desk. Tripp sat down in its twin.
“What?” Regan asked again impatiently.
“My buddy Jake, who works at a restaurant across town . . . it’s a pretty cool place . . .” Tripp began.
Louis moaned.
“Anyway, he called me up a few minutes ago. I guess that Geraldine Spoonfellow, the one who’s sponsoring the party and donating the painting, is bent out of shape because Louis recommended an ex-con for a job in Aspen and didn’t tell anybody . . .”
“So?” Regan asked.
“She called over to this other restaurant and asked about their availability. She wants the historical committee or whatever to switch the big party from here.”
“You see, Regan?” Louis asked plaintively.
“Why is it so important to her?” Regan asked.
“Because she’s been on a crusade to take a bite out of crime. She’s taking it out on me because that no-good Eben went back to his old tricks.” Louis pounded his desk. “I’m having an anxiety attack.”
“Take it easy, Louis,” Regan warned. “Can I get you anything?”
“A cup of coffee?”
“No coffee now. You need something a little soothing. How about some herbal tea?”
“Whatever. Tripp, you go get it,” Louis growled.
Shoot the messenger, Regan thought.
“Sure, man,” Tripp said, glad to get away.
“Herbal tea for two and a plate of cookies.”
Tripp gave him the thumbs-up sign, which made Louis scream, “Hurry up!”
“Tell me more about this Geraldine,” Regan said when the door had closed behind Tripp.
Louis threw a file across the desk at her. Regan opened it and skimmed the article from the Aspen Globe. She looked up at Louis. “Let’s go visit her.”
“I’m afraid,” Louis whined.
“Stop it. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“She’ll tell us she’s definitely moving the party.”
“Right.”
“Which means I’m
“Anything, anything that might be of historical significance. I can help you if you’d like,” Ted Weems had said.
Geraldine had declined the offer. “At first I’d like to be left alone with the memories,” she’d said. “If I get good and depressed, I’ll call you in for help.”
Now, as Geraldine pushed herself out of her rocker, the stiffness in her bones made her feel every day of her seventy-five years. “Let’s get going, girly,” she said to herself. “The day is a-wastin’. If I’m going to get anything done in that barn, I’ve got to move.”
She had already made a few interesting discoveries, like old spittoons that had been put to use in Pop-Pop’s saloon and a pair of Pop-Pop’s faded overalls that she thought they might hang on display to symbolize the work ethic.
Geraldine ambled past the painting of Pop-Pop in front of the saloon and saluted as she did every morning. She wanted to keep him home until the night of the party.
“I’ll come down and visit you all the time,” she said aloud as she buttoned up her jacket.
Geraldine pulled open the front door, stepped down on the porch and bent over to pick up the paper. She was about to chuck it inside the living room when the headline caught her eye.
She growled, scanned the story, and charged back into her house to make a phone call.
18
T HAT’SIT! I’M ruined!” Louis howled when Regan appeared at his office door.
Tripp, the young tanned clerk who’d been at the desk when Regan arrived, was standing there with a dejected look on his face.
“What happened?” Regan asked quickly, unzipping her ski jacket.
Louis waved his hands at Tripp. “Tell, tell, tell!” Louis’s eyes were watery and his face looked as if his blood pressure must be as high as the altitude. In the corner near his desk a little humidifier was humming away, gently blowing a fine mist of cool air into the tense environment.
Tripp ran his hand through his sun-streaked hair. Regan sat down on an upholstered chair opposite Louis’s antique desk. Tripp sat down in its twin.
“What?” Regan asked again impatiently.
“My buddy Jake, who works at a restaurant across town . . . it’s a pretty cool place . . .” Tripp began.
Louis moaned.
“Anyway, he called me up a few minutes ago. I guess that Geraldine Spoonfellow, the one who’s sponsoring the party and donating the painting, is bent out of shape because Louis recommended an ex-con for a job in Aspen and didn’t tell anybody . . .”
“So?” Regan asked.
“She called over to this other restaurant and asked about their availability. She wants the historical committee or whatever to switch the big party from here.”
“You see, Regan?” Louis asked plaintively.
“Why is it so important to her?” Regan asked.
“Because she’s been on a crusade to take a bite out of crime. She’s taking it out on me because that no-good Eben went back to his old tricks.” Louis pounded his desk. “I’m having an anxiety attack.”
“Take it easy, Louis,” Regan warned. “Can I get you anything?”
“A cup of coffee?”
“No coffee now. You need something a little soothing. How about some herbal tea?”
“Whatever. Tripp, you go get it,” Louis growled.
Shoot the messenger, Regan thought.
“Sure, man,” Tripp said, glad to get away.
“Herbal tea for two and a plate of cookies.”
Tripp gave him the thumbs-up sign, which made Louis scream, “Hurry up!”
“Tell me more about this Geraldine,” Regan said when the door had closed behind Tripp.
Louis threw a file across the desk at her. Regan opened it and skimmed the article from the Aspen Globe. She looked up at Louis. “Let’s go visit her.”
“I’m afraid,” Louis whined.
“Stop it. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“She’ll tell us she’s definitely moving the party.”
“Right.”
“Which means I’m
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