Free Iced by Carol Higgins Clark Page B

from the refrigerator and started cutting them up to make fresh-squeezed juice. “You’re going down to work this morning?”
    “God willing.” Ida was concentrating hard. It was a delicate art, deciding when the right moment was to flap the jacks.
    “Are you on the schedule?”
    “Yes, dear.”
    “The kids and I are going to take an environmental-awareness walk this morning.”
    Her back to Daisy, Ida rolled her eyes.
    “. . . and then this afternoon they’re going to a play group while I go over to Kendra Wood’s to do a few massages.”
    “The crime victims,” Ida observed. “They could probably use massages to ease the tension.”
    “Let’s hope nothing else happens in this town. At least no one was hurt. I thought I knew Eben better than that. He just didn’t seem like the type to do it.”
    “COME AND GET IT!” Ida bellowed. “Whoever did it, I hope they catch him and string him up,” she said as she carefully arranged the steaming-hot pancakes on her grandchildren’s plates. “In the meantime, we all better be on the lookout for strange happenings. I know I’ll keep my eyes peeled.” She turned to Daisy. “Maybe I should drive you over to Kendra’s this afternoon and wait while you work. It might not be safe to drive alone after dark.”
    “Mom, I’ll be fine.”
    Darn it, Ida thought. I’d just love to meet Kendra Wood.

16
    I THOUGHT YOU were going skiing early today,” Bessie Armbuckle barked at her employers, Yvonne and Lester Grant. “Does this mean you’re going to hang around for lunch?”
    She’s been a wreck since the robbery, Yvonne Grant reminded herself. She shot a warning look at her husband, who was never known to take guff from his employees: Be patient.
    “We’ll have lunch on the slopes, Bessie,” she said patiently. “Right now we’re waiting for Regan Reilly, a private investigator who is a friend of the Woods. She wants to talk to us about the other night.”
    “A private investigator?” Bessie exploded. “Haven’t we had enough people around here asking questions?”
    Yesterday afternoon, after they’d learned about the missing painting, there’d been an onslaught of police and media types. Aspen was teeming with photographers and reporters covering the activities of celebrities during the holiday week. They’d gotten wind of the robbery not long after Bessie discovered it; the phone and the doorbell never stopped all day Sunday. In desperation, the Grants had escaped to a friend’s house for Christmas dinner, leaving Bessie to hold down the fort. By now, Monday morning, her nerve endings were jangling.
    “She wants to help us,” Yvonne said patiently. “What time is your bus to Vail?”
    “Not soon enough,” Bessie replied.
    After breakfast Lester had informed Yvonne that either she had to fire Bessie, give her a couple of days off, or spend the rest of the vacation without him. Bessie had jumped at the chance to go visit her cousin in Vail and get off her sore feet for a couple of days. “It’s about time I had a day off,” she added. “You people have run me ragged with your parties in New York, the party here, and the fancy caterers with their sloppy help who I had to clean up after. This is getting to be too much for me.”
    Yvonne’s lips tightened. She was about to say, “Maybe it is,” but when she looked at Bessie’s weary and stress-filled fifty-something face, she knew that this was unusual behavior for her. She’d been with them for seven years now, traveling with them among their various homes; her dependability and efficiency made her aggressiveness bearable. Bessie’s elbow grease had made every nook and cranny of their three homes sparkle. Yvonne knew that anytime anything went wrong in the Grant household, Bessie felt responsible. The theft of the painting was the biggest thing that had gone wrong since she’d been in their employ. She just needs to get away for a few days, Yvonne told herself.
    The doorbell rang. Please