Too Rich and Too Dead by Cynthia Baxter Page A

I'm targeting nonskiers.” Mallory patted her mouth with her napkin. She'd suddenly found herself the focus of everyone's attention, and the last thing she wanted was to be caught with elk juice dripping down her chin. “I'm trying to find out if a visitor can have a good time in Aspen without setting foot—or ski boot—on a mountain.”
    “And what's your conclusion so far?” Gordon asked.
    “Mallory only got here this afternoon,” Carly explained, sounding a tad cross. Mallory wondered if it was because she hadn't been the center of attention for at least three minutes. “She just checked into the Jerome a few hours ago. And I haven't given her a chance to do any sightseeing. As soon as she called me to say she was in town, I insisted that she come to dinner. She's coming to tonight's presentation, too.”
    Smiling at Mallory prettily, she added, “As for that interview, I'll make sure I set aside enough time on Thursday to give you whatever information you need. I'd be happy to be the focus of your article.”
    “What a surprise,” Juanita mumbled before picking up the last of the plates and vanishing back into the kitchen.
    Surprisingly, Mallory didn't share Juanita's cynicism. In fact, she couldn't have been more pleased.
    I got what I came for, she thought happily. Even more important, I got what I promised Trevor.
    She knew, of course, that her next challenge would be getting Carly to let down her guard. She hoped to get past her defenses and uncover something more about what made this successful Aspen entrepreneur tick. Her ups and downs, any personal demons that may have plagued her along the way, events in her past, both positive and negative, that had gotten her to this point…
    It could have been the wine—or perhaps just her burgeoning confidence—but at the moment Mallory felt completely confident that she'd be able to deliver.
    Maybe Carly was voted Most Likely to Succeed, she thought with satisfaction. But this onetime classmate of hers isn't doing too badly herself.

“All journeys have secret destinations
of which the traveler is unaware.”
    —Martin Buber

    R ather than gathering around the fireplace for brandy, the evening's after-dinner activity consisted of the Bermans and their two guests taking the Rolls into downtown Aspen for Carly's eight o'clock presentation at the Wheeler Opera House.
    Brett drove, insisting that there was no reason why his chauffeur should have all the fun. He parked the elegant silver car half a block away from the theater, maneuvering it so that it took up not one but two parking spaces.
    As the foursome headed toward the entrance—Carly taking the lead with her husband trailing after her, Mallory and Gordon lagging a few paces behind—Mallory was shocked by the size of the crowd streaming inside. Scores of men and women, almost all of them old enough to remember whenEisenhower was president, pushed their way into the small lobby on the first floor. They chattered away, exhibiting the same excitement they'd probably felt when they'd seen the Stones in concert for the first time—or in some cases, Frank Sinatra. It wasn't until that point that she realized just how popular Carly was. Or at least her claim that she had the ability to restore youth.
    “I'm going backstage,” Carly informed them when they reached the double doors that opened onto the small lobby. “I have to do my breathing exercises before I go onstage.”
    “I'll come with you,” Brett offered. “We need a few minutes to go over the introduction.”
    As Carly charged off toward a back stairway with Brett in tow, Mallory turned to Gordon.
    “In that case,” she said, “we might as well go inside and find seats.”
    “If you don't mind, I think I'm going to bow out,” he replied, glancing longingly at the door. “I've seen Carly's dog-and-pony show before. Besides, she's not the only one who's putting on a show tonight. So are the Nuggets.” Smiling sheepishly, he explained, “I'm