by J K Franko
It was a tragic accident. That’s all. Nothing more and nothing less.
Everything was consistent with this theory, except for the fact that Ann had found Joan’s shoe on the trail to the main cabin, and not on the way to the scenic overlook.
If Ann was right about where she’d found the shoe, it would mean that Joan had been on her way to the main camp, then lost her shoe, turned around, went back to the fork, headed for the ravine, and fell off a cliff to her death.
This simply wasn’t logical. It made no sense.
The officers concluded that Ann was mistaken about where she’d found the shoe.
As one deputy put it, “Why in God’s name would an eleven-year-old girl wander around in the woods, in the dark, in only one shoe?”
The case was closed.
CHAPTER ONE
January 4, 2018
The truth about Joan lay dormant for decades until an unexpected series of events brought it all back to the surface. These events began in 2018, in Colorado. And they began with another eleven-year-old girl named Arya Stark. She was the catalyst that brought everything full circle.
Winter had come to Beaver Creek Village. Snow blanketed the mountains and valley, and was still falling out of the night sky. Warm beams of incandescent light streaked out through the windows of nearby homes and across the ground, creating large amber triangles on the virgin white canvas.
On a gentle whisper breeze, the sound of music and laughter drifted up from the village to one of the condo balconies. Inside that condo, Susie Font and her husband Roy Cruise were cozily snuggled up on the couch in front of the TV. They were borrowing the place from friends for a long weekend. A half-finished bottle of wine sat on the coffee table between them, next to another empty bottle of the same vintage. There might even have been a third empty in the trash can.
The couple were binge-watching a boxed set of the epic fantasy series Game of Thrones, enthralled by the Season Six finale. In that episode, one of the main characters—Arya Stark—exacts her revenge on Walder Frey for the murder of her family. It’s a gruesome yet satisfying scene that is the culmination of many episodes.
As the credits rolled, Roy said, “Damn! That was good!”
“I know. Right?” Susie agreed, pouring herself more wine.
“I didn’t suspect the servant girl at all.”
“Yeah. I thought she was there because she was going to become Frey’s next wife or something.”
“So did I!” Roy agreed.
“Frey deserved it.”
“If anyone does, for sure, he’s near the top of the list.”
“Now that Joffrey’s dead, at the top,” Susie said.
“True. I hated that little fucker.”
Roy sipped more wine as he absentmindedly watched the credits rolling on the television.
“How about a quick one before bed?” Susie winked at her husband, biting her lip enticingly, before nodding at the balcony.
Roy took a deep breath, smiled, and then heaved himself up. “Okay. But this is the last time tonight. The altitude up here is killing me. I can barely breathe. That and these palpitations…” He patted his chest rapidly, mimicking his heartbeat.
They stepped out onto the balcony, taking the wine with them. Susie untucked the bottom of her shirt from her pants, then reached up into her bra, retrieved a box of Marlboro Lights, and handed it to Roy.
After lighting up, they leaned on the railing and smoked in silence for a few minutes. The sounds of the night floated to them—the music and laughter from the village.
Roy watched the flickering blue hue of television sets light up the windows of nearby houses, then blew a smoke ring and said, “That show is so contagious. They really get you to hate the characters, and the medieval setting makes all that killing seem normal. Like it’s okay to go around lopping off heads.” He made a chopping motion. “And then they go and give you all these characters that needs killing.” He delivered the last part with a Texas drawl, making Susie laugh.
“Crim law...”
Roy smiled at the shared memory and gave his wife a peck on the forehead. Her hair smelled of coconut.
Roy and Susie had met in law school. Although she was a bit older, he’d been a year ahead of her. They’d had a few classes that overlapped, and one of those had been criminal law. The professor, a dapper criminal defense attorney when he wasn’t teaching, had told the class the story of a criminal trial in the wild west in order to make a point about “the punishment fitting the crime.”
Two prisoners were brought before a traveling circuit judge in Texas. The whole town showed up for the trial. The first man was brought before the judge. He was accused of murder—of killing a man. After hearing all of the evidence, the judge found the man guilty of murder and sentenced him to thirty days in jail.
The second prisoner was then brought before the judge. This man was accused of stealing a horse. After hearing the evidence and arguments of the lawyers, the judge found the man guilty of the theft and sentenced him to death by hanging. The horse thief, needless to say, was dissatisfied with the judgment of the court.
“You sum-bitch! How can you hang me for stealing a horse when you let this asshole murderer off with just thirty days?” screamed the horse thief as the deputies took him away.
The judge replied, “I can abide that there’s always some men that needs killin’. But I don’t know of no horses that needs stealin’!”
Back on the balcony, Roy sat down on the small sofa, pulling a blanket over his legs.
Most would think that the sofa was put there so that the occupants of the condo could enjoy the view, but the reality was that the condo’s owners put it there as a place to sit for those who enjoyed smoking—the condo-owning husband was a cigar lover himself.
Susie joined Roy under the blanket while he continued, “Frey needed killing. Sure, it’s justice. But there’s a revenge component to it, too. A lot of the deaths on the show have that element. Look at how Joffrey died. They could have just killed him off quickly, but instead they made him suffer from poison.” He set his cigarette in the nearby ashtray.
“The same with Frey. They made him eat his kids before killing him, for fuck’s sake.”
Roy tended to get philosophical when he drank, and Susie sensed a “deep” conversation coming. She tried to lighten things up. “That’s just for dramatic effect.”
“No,” said Roy. “I think there’s more to it. It’s biblical—Old Testament style. You know? It isn’t just enough that evil people must die. It’s the wrath of the angry God of Abraham. Just in case there is no life after death, no hellfire, no eternal damnation, these people have to suffer before they go. Dying isn’t enough. They have to die badly. Their deaths have to be worse than, or at least as bad as, the reason they’re dying—what they’re being punished for.” Roy looked at Susie. “They have to suffer for their sins.”
Susie broke her husband’s gaze and looked off into the night, before taking a drag of her cigarette and exhaling the cloud slowly.
Roy drained his wine glass and then refilled it, topping off his wife’s glass at the same time. “I’m beginning to think there’s something to that, you know? An eye for an eye.”
Susie looked at her husband for a few seconds and then forced a smile. “You’re drunk, you fool,” she said, and then snuggled against him before adding, a few seconds later, thoughtfully, seriously, “Just let it go.”
“No,” he said. “I’m serious. I think it’s inside all of us. It’s human nature. After all, we’re not that far from barbarism, even in this day and age. I mean, ask yourself, what keeps us civilized? A legal system that protects self-interest. Think about it. The death penalty is capitalism in its purest form.”
“Bullshit,” Susie said, exhaling smoke, sitting up and crushing out her cigarette.
“No, listen,” R
oy said as he leaned forward and grasped his wife’s forearm. “Capitalism is all about creating an environment where every man—”
“Person,” interjected Susie, stretching and stifling a yawn.
“Yeah, you know what I mean, Suze... every person can pursue their own self-interest without interference, so long as they don’t infringe on anyone else’s rights. So, we come up with a list of the worst infringements on other people’s rights, the worst crimes. And, for committing those crimes, we impose the ultimate punishment—death. We have the death penalty because we believe that there are certain crimes so bad that, if you commit one of them, you are not human. You are an animal. No. Worse. Even animals deserve to live. If you commit certain crimes, you are less than an animal. You don’t deserve to live. You deserve to die. You have no place in civilization.”
“Babe. Come on. It’s late. I’m tired and it’s freezing out here. Let’s go to bed,” Susie said, attempting to derail her husband’s train of thought, rising from the sofa and heading for the door.
He took another deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly. Thoughtfully. And, just as his wife was stepping back into the condo, he called after her, a bit louder, “Suze... would you do it, if it was me?”
The words may as well have been his hand on her shoulder. She stopped and frowned. She knew what this was about. It wasn’t about some shitty television show or a philosophical rant. This was about their past. Something that they had not discussed in years. She stared at him. She wanted to see his eyes, but he had turned away and was now staring out into the night as if looking for his own brand of justice out there. She asked him, to get him to look back at her, “Do what?”
Roy hesitated before responding. Distant music and laughter filled the void. “Walder Frey. If he killed me. Would you want him dead? Would you just want him dead? Or would you want to make him suffer?”
“Roy…”
He turned to her, tears glistening in his eyes. “Just answer the question, Suze.”
Susie looked at her husband as a lump formed in her throat. “Honey, she’s gone. Camilla’s gone. It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing we could do. We have to let her go,” she said softly.
Roy turned away from her as a tear slid down his cheek. He was hurting. She hated seeing him like this.
The breeze shifted direction, carrying the music and laughter away and stirring snow from the roof, dropping bits over them in a powdery cascade.
The little snow flurry broke the moment, and Susie walked back to her husband, wiping away her own tears with the back of her hand. She stooped to kiss him on the head, then sat on the edge of the sofa next to him. Looking him in the eye, she took the cigarette from him with one hand while holding his hand with her other. She drew a deep long drag and released the smoke into the night.
“But,” she whispered, “if that motherfucker had survived I would have killed him, gutted him, baked him in a pie, and fed him to his mother.”
CHAPTER TWO
Roy had no idea what he had set in motion that night. That brief conversation on the balcony would have repercussions for years to come. It would change all our lives.
His plan for the trip had been much simpler. He had come to Colorado for the mountains—to snowboard. And that was how he spent the next morning.
At just after 2:00 p.m., Roy was coming down the mountain with his legs pretty well fried from a day spent snowboarding. After the snowfall from the night before, the conditions on the mountain were ideal. Half of the runs were groomed and there was tons of powder.
Roy had begun snowboarding in his early thirties. Their daughter, Camilla, was two years old at the time, and they’d come to Colorado to show her the snow.
As a latecomer to snowboarding, he was still uncomfortable with steep downhills. Powder, however, made for easy maneuvering and a lower likelihood of catching an edge. In powder, Roy could let loose: all of the adrenaline with much less risk. These were the conditions in which he felt most at ease.
Considering the ideal conditions, it wasn’t crowded on the slopes.
As he came off Buckaroo and dropped into Hay Meadow, he focused on making wider, gentle turns. This was his last run of the season, and he wanted to finish upright and injury-free.
Roy believed that most people who got injured in snow sports did so on their last day on the mountain. He’d actually researched it and found that the majority of skiing and snowboarding injuries happen at the end of the day, most likely due to fatigue. Hence, he was playing the odds and quitting a day early.
Roy’s like that. He’s a planner. A strategist. Always thinking ahead.
He reached the bottom of the run, pulling up just to the right of the Centennial gondola lines and, as he stepped out of his bindings, he checked the time. There was just enough for one more run.
But that’s when you get injured.
He smiled and removed his goggles, revealing piercing green eyes that shimmered in the dazzling light. He took a beat, then stretched his back, picked up his board, and headed toward the Hyatt firepit where he expected-slash-hoped he would find Susie.
She’d been asleep when he’d left for the mountain that morning and, after their discussion the night before, he was a bit stressed about seeing her. Dredging up the past never did either of them any good.
Fucking Arya Stark.
As Roy approached the firepit, he spotted Susie seated next to another woman. They were talking, laughing, and drinking from champagne flutes.
There is a God, he thought as he headed over to the bar for a drink. As he waited, he noticed that Susie and her friend’s glasses were almost empty, so he took the initiative and ordered three fresh Veuve Cliquots.
“Ladies…” he said, setting the drinks down on a table.
“Are any available?” the blonde stranger asked, feigning looking around herself with a giggle.
Susie laughed, harder than the joke merited. “Hi babe,” she said, standing up to kiss him on the lips.
Roy noticed that she was somewhat unsteady on her feet and that she’d probably already had one too many.
“Roy, this is Deb. Deb...” Susie paused.
Her companion held out her hand to Roy and finished her sentence, “Wise, Deb Wise. Pleasure.”
The friend was a skier; obvious from the boots and gear. And there was a bit of a twang to her accent—sounded like Texas. What she was wearing seemed new. Very poseur. In his opinion, she hadn’t spent more than an hour on the mountain in that gear.
She was taller than Susie, who is petite at five-feet-three-inches. Deb had a good six inches on her, he guessed. He also noticed the contrast between her cold blue eyes and her very animated face.
He sat on the edge of the firepit, facing their chairs.
Susie gushed, “We’ve been hanging out since just after lunch. And we’ve been very naughty. Plotting all sorts of evil.” Both giggled again.
“We’ve had way too much to drink,” Deb said.
“Although things have calmed down a bit since we switched to champagne,” Susie added.
Deb laughed, hard.
Not that funny, thought Roy. “What were you drinking before?”
“Brandy,” they said in unison. Something they both found equally hilarious.
“How was your day, hun?” Susie asked.
“All good.” Roy smiled. “Lots of powder. Had some great runs. Hard to beat a day like today.” He leaned back slightly, letting his back absorb the heat coming off the firepit.
“I bet you’ll never guess how we met,” Deb said.
“Beauty contest,” Roy suggested. “Tied for first place.”
“Oooh,” Deb purred, smiling at Susie. “I like this one. He’s definitely a keeper.”
“Deb lives in Austin, Roy,” Susie said.
“Ah. Hook ‘em,” Roy commented, raising the a
ppropriate fingers.
“Roy and I met in law school at UT,” Susie added.
“You told me,” Deb said. “Tom went there, too. Business, I mean. Not law. His MBA.”
“Roy still gets back to Austin quite a bit, on business,” Susie added.
“Sure do. So, Tom is your husband? Is he around?” Roy asked, seeking testosterone. The air hung thick with estrogen.
“He’s a bit under the weather actually. Altitude, I think.”
“Tell me about it.”
“We’re thinking of getting dinner, the four of us, tomorrow night.” Susie beamed.
She had worked for some time in television—journalism—and she could switch the smile and the charm on and off at will. Roy knew that. He also sensed he might still be on her bad side for raking up their past the night before. Better to go along to get along. “Sounds great. Love to meet him.”
“Speaking of,” Deb said, “I should go check on him.” She smiled at Susie, and then, in a quick and surprisingly elegant gesture, drained her champagne flute.
Susie stood up. “Okay. Big kiss.” They exchanged double cheek kisses.
“We’ll touch base tomorrow. Yes?”
“Oh sure.”
“Okay. See you both then,” Deb said, smiling at Roy and heading off toward the hotel.
“She seems nice,” Roy said.
“Very. Chatty. Funny. Kinda cute, too.” Susie smirked.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Roy said with a grin. “So, where, for dinner tomorrow?”
Susie and Roy headed back to the condo, discussing restaurant options.
But, despite their plans, the dinner with Tom and Deb Wise the next night never happened.
CHAPTER THREE
Roy Cruise is not the spontaneous sort. He spent his last day on the mountain doing exactly as he had planned. No more snowboarding. Instead, he and Susie woke late, had breakfast, and headed to the Nordic Center to do some snowshoeing.
It was a beautiful day. The air was crisp, clean, and the sun was bright in a clear blue sky. The trails up at McCoy Park were in great shape, too. There was hardly anybody there. It felt like they had the place to themselves.
