“Want to start right off, or take a warm-up run?” he asked, dragging his thoughts back to the slopes.
“Let’s take a quick warm-up run, and then head up top to avoid the crowd.” She responded.
“Sounds good.” Grady felt more confident as they slid their skis to the chair. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the leering gazes other guys were giving Melanie. He had to admit it felt good.
They ended up taking their warm-up run on an intermediate blue named “Duster.” Melanie was a good skier, but didn’t seem quite as experienced as Grady. She almost lost her balance once, but recovered well. They ran alongside each other, almost matching turn for turn each other’s movements on the wide, smooth slopes. The fresh show had indeed been packed down, and the groomed run had lost its moguls.
Stopping while they were still above several lifts, Grady asked, “Ready to try something tougher?”
“Sure.” Melanie pulled out her ski run map, and they picked an expert slope up top.
They were almost level with the Vortex lift, so they skied over and took it to the top. From there they skied over to the right, and then came to a stop. Pulling out her map again, Melanie confirmed that they should run across the ridge past the two double-diamonds until they reached the single-diamond slope called “Twister.” They both slid forward so they could look over the side of the mountain. This was the starting point of one of the double diamonds, as it ran under the lift.
“Whoa, I don’t think I’m ready for that, just yet.” Melanie said with a grin as she looked over the precipice.
Grady was glad she felt that way. He was a good skier, but the mountain seemed to drop away like a cliff, and he was still a little stiff. The snow was crusty and chopped up from skiers, with little new snow. It looked like a difficult run even with perfect snow, but the crusty stuff could catch a tip. Grady didn’t want to finish the rest of the trip on his backside, or on his recovering face.
“Yeah, looks like a lot of crust, and chop underneath. Maybe after the sun softens it up it’ll look better.” Grady offered. He wasn’t sure it would, but he wanted to sound optimistic.
“Maybe.” Melanie responded, but not very enthusiastically.
They slid back from the edge, and Melanie called out, “Last one to the run buys lunch!” She pushed away down the ridge.
Grady jammed his poles into the snow and sped after her. He was gaining rapidly as they reached the top of the second double-diamond. It looked just as bad as the first, but Grady was concentrating on catching Melanie. The run was still in shadow and full of early morning frozen ruts. His skis were bouncing around wildly. They had picked up a reckless amount of speed, and there were no good places to stop without crashing.
“Wheee!” She cried as she bent her knees to absorb a bump, and launched off the ground from the other side.
Grady had come up beside her and was about to pass. The exhilaration ran through him as the icy wind blasted his face. Just as they approached the trees marking the far edge of the double-diamond run, Melanie abruptly stood up from her crouch and slammed into Grady’s shoulder. The sudden move knocked him off balance, and he careened over the edge into the crusty snow. The slope was terrifyingly steep. His speed shot up. Clumps of ice bashed into his skis. It was all he could do to stay standing. He should have fallen, but he didn’t, obstinately trying to pull out. His path took him directly through the slope they wanted and into the trees, as he rapidly traversed across the run. He frantically tried to keep from splitting his legs around scrub brush as the cleared slope ended, and trees began. As they got thicker, the snow became softer and deeper. Grady’s speed slowed rapidly.
Grady was worrying about a hidden root catching him under the powder when a limb caught his right pole, yanking his arm backward. He spun completely around and into a small pine, ice crystals flying around him as branches dumped their snow. He fell away from the tree, dazed. Both skis released and were gone, hidden under the surface powder. One of his legs was jammed into the snow, and his arms were flared out. He lay silently for a moment, staring up at the tree.
Reaching a hand to his head he quietly said, “Ow”. Apparently he’d hit his head on something, but his hat had stayed on. Rising up on one elbow to a sitting position, he found one leg was trapped, and buried beneath him.
He had not seen Melanie as she calmly skied through the trees behind him. She had followed at a smooth, controlled speed, and was handling the slope like a ski patroller. Sliding up behind him, she said. “I’m so sorry! Are you all right?”
“Man, what a crash.” Grady groaned back.
Melanie quickly looked around. They were deep in the trees, completely hidden.
“Here let me help you.” She was uphill and behind him, her skis and feet planted sideways to his back. Bending way over, she grabbed under his arms and together they struggled until he regained his feet, or at least got them evenly under him as his boots repeatedly sank in the snow.
It was quite a process getting his skis back on, but eventually he was able to traverse thru the trees to an open space. Looking up, he saw clearly that it wasn’t a good direction to ski, but the distance and steep drop made sidestepping back up the hill a ridiculous idea. They both looked across and down, but only saw more trees.
“Well,” Grady said after a minute or two, “looks like there’s not much choice. It’s across, or down. Down doesn’t look too good.”
Melanie pulled out the map. They may have run half the length of ‘Twister’, but it was hard to tell. “We aren’t on the map anymore.” She smiled and laughed at the idea. “Seriously, this isn’t a run, but I know people take it all the time to get untracked powder over the ridge.” She ran her finger along a valley in the picture. “I think if we go along here,” she continued, “we’ll come out near the ski-in lodges, and we can traverse back to the lifts, or catch the lodge bus.”
“I think you’re right.” Grady sounded confident, but he wondered whether she was right. “Don’t they have a rope-tow down there?”
“Yes, I think they do.” She was pointing to a spot further down the mountain. “Let’s go that way.”
“You lead. I haven’t been down this side.” Grady polled forward to give her an open path so she could maneuver, and get them started down the hill.
Melanie picked a traverse path going gently down through the trees. It looked like a deer trail. The branches and limbs seldom crossed, and were small and flexible. They slid a little as they knocked twigs out of their way with their polls.
After a short distance the slope of the hillside relaxed, and the trail headed downhill, allowing them to stop polling and pick up a little speed from gravity. The trees thinned into fewer and fewer clumps. Grady started having fun again, and Melanie was laughing. They both celebrated little bumps and turns on the makeshift path. A couple of times he had to edge out of her tracks to avoid running into her from behind, while she broke the trail. Before long they were rushing along the side of the valley on the backside of the ridge, headed away from the resort.
Below them was a snow-covered stream. Occasional spots of water appeared where the water was too wide, or too fast for the snow to completely cover it. Melanie spotted what looked like a hiker’s bridge. She turned abruptly, and raced across it, the tips of her skis leaving the snow as she came off the other side.
Grady followed with a little more speed that made the lift at the end exciting. His extra speed sent him into a drift and stopped him instantly. Melanie didn’t notice. She was swiftly skiing down the trail.
Pushing back with his polls, Grady stomped around to get his skis back in Melanie’s tracks. He pushed hard on the poles to get some speed to catch up, and slid after her, following her trail.
Every now and then he caught a glimpse of her through the trees, but the terrain and soft snow kept him from gaining much ground. Gradually the valley became steeper again, and he had to concentrate to avoid catching an edge or snagging a tree. His breath began to wheeze wi
th the exertion. The burn in his thighs was growing, and each new bump made his legs weaker. When he suddenly burst through the scrub oak on the edge of the road he found Melanie standing almost across his path.
Making a hard left to avoid her, the change from soft to hard pack and the burning in his legs turned a sloppy stop into a spinout crash. He half fell, half slid to a crunching, twisting stop, ending up on his back at the side of the road. Grady’s skis had rattled across some gravel on the exposed blacktop where the sun melted the snow. With his polls crossed, skis at odd angles, sunglasses crooked, and panting for air, Grady looked up from the ground to find two men standing over him with guns drawn.
“Good morning, Colonel.” One of them said.
Chapter 66
Christen sat with her arms protectively crossed on the heavily worn office chair. Her eyes were looking down at the old green cushion, and the chipped paint of the metal legs resting on faded commercial linoleum tiles. Across the gray metal table from her sat a female deputy, and the Sheriff of Summit County, Utah.
The Sheriff had been the first one to arrive at the Harris’ farm. It had been a few minutes past midnight when the call had come in. Christen had been unable to speak at first, but Frank Harris knew a crime when he saw it. Mrs. Harris had been trying to get Christen to drink some hot chocolate while he called the police.
The first faltering words from Christen sent Frank to the upstairs window at the side of the house. From there he could clearly see the flames in the distance. There would be nothing to save, but he called the fire department anyway.
By the time the Sheriff arrived Christen had stopped shaking, but the story of her ordeal came out stuttering and disjointed. They had to keep going over the events of the past week with her to get it straight. Now she sat in the interrogation room, exhausted. Warmer clothes, heavy socks, soft snow boots, and new bandages from the EMT had helped clear her mind. The cold deep in her body was fading. Breakfast had helped.
The deputy at the front desk had already called the University dormitory, and was now on the phone with the police near Marty’s house. Christen’s file was thickening rapidly. The Sheriff ran a tight ship. Usually his cases were simple to unravel. This was the biggest crime he’d dealt with in years.
“So, you can’t remember any names besides ‘Mary?’” He had been methodically retracing every part of her statement for what seemed like hours to Christen.
“No, Sir.” She said again.
“What else can you recall? Was there anything unusual in the last few weeks at school? Any new people on your floor, or in your classes? Maybe a new teacher?” He probed.
“No, Sir. I can’t remember anything that was different. I was just sitting there. I’ve told you everything.” Christen was swaying a little in the chair. It was clear she needed to sleep. The Sheriff finally relented.
“Okay, Christen. If anything comes to mind, I want you to tell us right away. Officer Morgan is going to take you to a nice safe cell, so you can lie down and rest while we take care of some things. If there is anything you need, just ask, but I want you to relax—take a nap if you can. You’ve been a brave girl, and you’re safe now. Give sleep a try.”
They all stood up. The female officer gently took Christen’s arm, leading her out through the desk area. Mr. and Mrs. Harris were sitting on the lobby benches, and saw Christen go by.
“Is she going to be all right?” Mrs. Harris worriedly asked the Sheriff as he came over to them.
“She’ll be fine, now. We’ve got your statements, so you two can go home. We’ll call you if a question comes up. Thank you for all your help.”
Christen had heard them and looked back, smiling weakly, and mouthing the words, “Thank you” to the couple.
They waived to her, and left after Christen disappeared down the hall.
Christen laid down on the bunk. She fell asleep before the deputy quietly closed the door.
Chapter 67
Grady lay on the hard-packed side of the road. He lifted himself up, using his elbow, and looked into the muzzle of a Sig forty-caliber. Melanie shuffled over, still on her skis, catching his attention.
Grady was twisted away from her, but looking back over his shoulder he saw her smile at him.
“It was fun. Sorry we didn’t get a few more runs in.” Her smile was a cross between genuine regret and sly victory. It even contained a little attraction.
“Thanks for the lesson. Would you consider best two out of three?” Grady gibed.
Melanie shrugged her shoulders a little as her green eyes narrowed.
“It’s really too bad. I would rather have taken my time.” She turned and pushed away, running her skis along the road toward the lodges. She disappeared quickly around the bend of the curving mountain lane.
Grady watched her ski away, then turned back to the pistol.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” He asked conversationally.
“Let’s start with you getting up.” One of the men said. The second man started walking toward a car parked up the road, almost out of sight.
Motioning with the tip of the gun barrel, Grady’s captor indicated his interest in seeing Grady stand. Visibly struggling, Grady pushed up to a sitting position, then to a deep crouch, so he could prop himself up to a standing position with his pole.
With both hands on one pole Grady started to get up. The gunman watching him didn’t notice the angle of the second pole as it rose up from the ground. It appeared that Grady was suffering a normal skier’s struggle to stand until the moment the rising pole tip jabbed viciously at the gunman’s face. Grady’s desperation and full weight heaved into the pole. The metal tip penetrated deep into the gunman’s upper lip, ricocheting off his teeth, upper jaw, and the bones below his nose. The force of the thrust continued pushing the sharp point until it tore through the soft nasal cavity, and only stopped as the basket prevented the spike from traveling to the gunman’s eye.
His head snapped backward, blood gushing over his face and pouring down his throat, choking off his voice. Frantically trying to grab the pole and pull it out of his face, he flailed and fell backwards, dropping his gun. Falling on his back, he thrashed against the pain and embedded ski pole.
Grady let go of the pole, pushing hard with his remaining pole and on the opposite ski. The skating action propelled him across the small road into the trees covering the steep slope on the other side. He was completely off balance, trying to bring his skis back together.
The gunman at the car looked up in time to see his partner go down, and Grady skiing toward the tree cover. He pulled out his pistol to fire, but only got two shots off before Grady was deep into the trees. Running toward the trees he saw Grady go straight down, then sharply to the right on the steep, forest covered hillside. He fired until his clip ran empty. Grady’s angle and erratic movements through the thick trees blocked his shots. He was an impossible target. Each bullet missed, hitting branches, snow, and rocks.
All of Grady’s concentration was focused on surviving. He rapidly accelerated directly into the forest. Miraculously, he kept finding enough room to squeeze through the tightly growing trees. He broke branches with both sides of his body, and lost his pole after snagging a tree. His hat had been torn off. Blocking limbs from his face with his arms, he tore long rents in his jacket sleeves. His jeans snagged on twigs flashing by.
When he reached the bottom of the narrow valley, the tips of his skis dove directly into the rocks of a small stream, and he fell headfirst into the bank on the other side. The snow broke his fall. He’d missed a rock by inches. He got to his feet, fumbling frantically with one ski to snap on the released binding. He pulled hard on a branch to start moving again, and continued skiing along the stream edge. No shots rang out behind him, but he wondered if his breath, coming in haggard gasps, and pounding heart were blocking outside sounds.
As he grappled with the terrain and trees, Grady fought his way downhill, and away from where he thought the road existed. Emerg
ing into the open, he was relieved to see the resort downhill from him. He pointed his skis to go as fast as he could handle to the crowded area.
Grady’s wild entrance caught the attention of many skiers standing nearby. His aching legs could no longer hold him up as he slid, half-crashed into a standing rack of skis.
As quickly as his throbbing, exhausted muscles could handle, he popped loose his bindings, and stood the rental skis in the rack. He stumbled awkwardly into the lodge. Finding a bench, he pulled off his ski boots and left them. Walking down the hall in his socks, he realized that his torn clothes didn’t fit in with the casual hotel guests. He took off the jacket, and entered the lodge’s clothing and ski gear shop. He bought a white turtleneck shirt, a plain lightweight black parka, black gloves, black running shoes, and black jeans. Changing in the nearby restroom, he stuffed his ski clothes into a large trashcan, and headed for the most expensive restaurant in town.
From a distance Grady observed the restaurant entry and parking valet. When it neared prime time for lunch, he walked up to the entrance just as the attendant drove away to park a car. Stepping up to the valet stand, he graciously accepted a restaurant patron’s car keys, handing the owner one of the paper claim numbers sitting on the stand. He drove off in the patron’s silver SUV. In an hour he would be in Massachusetts.
Chapter 68
Hunt joined the Saturday workaholics arriving at Justice. Security glanced at his pass, and accepted it without a second glance. Practice and skill made it appear that he had a key when he easily picked the lock on Robert’s main office door.
One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1) Page 35
