To Hell in a Handbasket

by Beth Groundwater

  “I tried to sneak out, but Nick saw me. He jumped up and followed me into the hall, said their conversation was private. When I said I realized that and had decided to leave, he grabbed my arm and asked me how much I had seen and heard. He seemed really worried about me seeing his dad like that. It was probably the most upset I’ve ever seen him.”

  A chill raced down Claire’s spine. If that young man’s abusing my daughter, he’ll have to deal with Mama Bear. “Has Nick ever hurt you, Judy?”

  “Of course not, Mom.” Judy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Jeeze, don’t blow this up into some huge issue. He didn’t grab me in that way. You know I’d never date a guy who hurt me.”

  Claire relaxed. Yes, she had raised Judy to be strong and independent. Maybe too independent. “He was probably just concerned that his dad would be embarrassed that you’d seen him crying. What happened next?”

  “I told him I hadn’t heard much, and I apologized for walking in on them. I said I would knock next time. Then Nick said not to worry, that he and his dad were just really stressed out. I decided we all needed a break, so I offered to make lunch for everyone.”

  “Oh.” Claire checked her watch. Almost five. “I should bring over a dinner for them.”

  “You don’t need to. Nick’s going to pick up a pizza on the way home, but I doubt they’ll eat much of it. They just picked at the sandwiches I fixed them.”

  “I haven’t even thought about our dinner,” Claire said. “Food doesn’t seem so important at a time like this.”

  “Maybe I should order some Chinese takeout,” Roger said.

  “Not for me,” Judy said. “Some friends from CU-Boulder rented a condo here for the week. Nick and I called to tell them about Stephanie. They asked us to join them for dinner tonight. He can’t, but I thought I would.”

  “But we’ve barely spent any time with you since you returned from France. Not that it’s anyone’s fault,” Claire hastily added, “with Stephanie’s accident, but I thought we could spend a quiet evening together and comfort each other.”

  Judy made a face. “I don’t think spending the evening with two old people in their long underwear is what I need right now.”

  Claire bristled. “That’s not fair, Judy. We’ve been out skiing all afternoon looking for that damn snowboarder, and we’re pooped.”

  “C’mon, I was trying to make a joke. I’m not blaming you for how you look. Or feel.” Judy got up and paced the floor. “It’s just . . . after spending the whole day with the Continos, I can’t stand being serious and sad anymore today. I want someone to cheer me up.”

  Claire’s heart went out to Judy. “We’ll cheer—”

  “She’s right.” Roger laid his hand on Claire’s arm. “Let her go. She needs her friends. And we could use some one-on-one time ourselves. Maybe instead of Chinese takeout, we should go to that fondue place you like. What was the name?”

  “Swiss Haven.”

  “That’s it. Just the two of us.” Roger winked. “Judy, toss me the phonebook, and I’ll make a reservation.”

  “Make it for the late eight o’clock seating,” Claire said. “We still need to shower.”

  After handing her father the phone and phonebook, Judy sat next to Claire. “I promise, Mom, I’ll spend tomorrow night with you.”

  Claire sighed. “All right. I’ll hold you to that. Where are you meeting your friends?”

  “Their condo. Could you guys drop me off on your way to the restaurant? We’ll probably go out somewhere, but I don’t know where yet.”

  “At least you know where to find Dad and me if you need us.”

  _____

  By nine-thirty that night, Claire was feeling none of her skiing aches and pains. Instead, her head buzzed pleasantly from half a bottle of plumy cabernet sauvignon. Her stomach comfortably bulged from a Gruyère cheese fondue, followed by a broth fondue chinoise into which she and Roger had dipped slivers of chicken and beef.

  Their table in the back room of the Swiss Haven had given her and Roger some privacy while they talked out their feelings of horror over Stephanie’s death. When she expressed her concern about the effect on Judy, he reminded her how strong and independent Judy had grown. He was more concerned about how Nick would deal with his sister’s death.

  Their table also had provided a vantage point for watching waiters waltz between tables filled with customers. They expertly balanced platters laden with grills, fondue pots, bread baskets, and plates of raw meats and seafood. The low murmur of voices, the sizzle of grilling meats, and the occasional pops of wine corks provided a relaxing filler for the gaps in their own conversation.

  Claire hadn’t realized how much stress she had been feeling until it had slunk away to lurk in a dark corner. She picked up her almost empty wineglass, took a sip, and looked at Roger. His frisky answering smile told her what plans he had for the rest of the evening. And I’m more than willing to go along with his plans.

  This family ski trip had another purpose besides a reunion with Judy. The getaway was part of the healing process to repair their marriage after the Colorado Springs murder. Claire had finally convinced Roger she hadn’t slept with the handsome young massage therapist. But restoring their loving partnership was a more daunting task. A task she was determined to succeed at, by God.

  Roger covered her hand with his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Isn’t this better than eating Chinese takeout with a twenty-one-year-old daughter who needs cheering up?”

  Claire smiled. “You said it. Though, she did pique my curiosity when she mentioned Nick’s odd behavior.”

  “What was odd about it?”

  “That he was so secretive about his father’s grief.”

  Roger rubbed his chin. “Could be their culture. Maybe they’re very private and keep things inside the family.”

  “Maybe, but I get the feeling that Judy’s pretty close to being family herself.”

  Arching a brow, Roger said, “Really?”

  “Really. I’m seeing signs that she and Nick are getting serious. This family could be our in-laws someday. We need to get to know them better.” Claire ran a finger over her wineglass. “Something else was odd. Did you notice how strange Nick and Anthony acted when I told them about the ski tracks?”

  Before Roger could reply, their waitress brought a steaming pot of dark chocolate fondue and a tray of pound cake and fruit. Roger speared a cube of pound cake, dipped it in the chocolate, and popped it in his mouth. After swallowing, he said, “I’ll fight you for the rest of this.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Claire speared a strawberry, dragged it through the dark sauce, and took a bite. “This is heavenly.”

  With a grin, Roger quickly stabbed a banana slice, and the battle was on. They both fell into serious eating, lapping up as much chocolate as they could, until the pot was polished clean.

  Roger leaned back, folded his hands over his belly, and asked, “What were you saying before? Something about the Continos acting strange?”

  Claire gave up on trying to scrape a fragment of dried chocolate off the rim of the pot and put down her fondue fork. “When I raised the possibility the skier could have deliberately hit her,

  I swear I saw fear in Nick’s and Anthony’s faces. Then they got nervous.”

  “What would they have to fear?”

  “I don’t know. And another thing. Supposedly they were at Copper Mountain skiing in the deep powder of the back bowls when Stephanie was killed, but their ski clothes were dry when they got to the medical center.”

  “Copper is a twenty-minute drive away. Their clothes could have dried in that time.”

  “Ours take hours to dry if we’ve been in deep snow. And Nick acted nervous when Judy asked how the Breckenridge ski patrol contacted them there.”

  Roger peered at her. “You’re not trying to turn into a PI on this thing, are you?”

  After risking her life to find Enrique’s killer, Claire had developed a reputation as a sleuth. One she didn�
�t want. I’m a gift basket designer, a mother, and a wife, and that’s all.

  She rubbed her knee against Roger’s. “No, this vacation is for other things. I’m only trying to make sense of what I saw.”

  Roger leaned in close, nipped her earlobe, and whispered, “Speaking of other things, let’s forgo the after-dinner coffee and head straight home.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Claire polished off her wine.

  Roger raised his hand to signal the waitress, but a disturbance at the front door diverted his attention.

  Judy stood in the middle of the restaurant, scanning the tables. When she saw Claire and Roger, she rushed toward them. “Mom. Dad. You’ve got to come quick.”

  Claire straightened. “Why? What happened?”

  Judy leaned her hands on the table, brought her head close to theirs, and spoke in a whisper. “When we were at Downstairs at Eric’s, I saw a hat on a wall peg by the video games that looked like the one the snowboarder wore. I tried to keep an eye on the hat to see who it belonged to, but it disappeared while I was giving the waiter my order.”

  “Tough luck,” Roger said.

  “No, listen. When I saw the hat was gone, I asked people playing the games if they saw who took it, pretending I wanted to buy one like it. Finally, one guy said it belonged to somebody called Nail-It.”

  “Sounds like the nickname of a snowboarder.” A shiver of excitement stirred in Claire’s belly.

  Judy nodded, her eyes wide. “I thought so, too. I asked the guy if he knew where Nail-It went, and he said Nail-It usually hangs at Sherpa & Yeti’s.”

  “What’s that?” Roger asked.

  “An underground grunge bar on the other side of Main Street. I decided to follow him there, but my friends refused to go with me. They said they’d just ordered and wanted to eat.”

  “A grunge bar?” Claire asked. “I’m not sure you should be exposed to that environment.”

  “Mom! Grunge is a way of dressing. It doesn’t mean the place is dirty.”

  “No, what I mean is, I don’t think you should be going to any bar.”

  Judy placed her hand on her hip and looked askance at Claire. “I’ve been twenty-one for three months now. I’ve been in lots of bars in France. I know my way around them.”

  Oh, God, my daughter is drinking and hanging out in bars now. Claire stared at Judy while visions of drunken debauchery starring her daughter crowded into her mind. She rubbed her forehead. No, don’t be ridiculous. Judy’s responsible. She wouldn’t go overboard. Would she?

  “We should call Detective Silverstone instead of confronting this snowboarder ourselves.” Roger opened his cell phone and pulled the detective’s card out of his wallet.

  “Nail-It might be long gone before the cops get there.” Judy grabbed Claire’s hand. “C’mon. We’ve got to hurry. Here’s our chance to find the guy who killed Stephanie.”

  Claire glanced at Roger. “She’s right on both counts. We can’t wait for the police and she shouldn’t go alone.”

  “Foiled again.” Shooting a look of regret at Claire, Roger stood. “I’ll go with her while you pay the bill.”

  “But I can’t. I left my purse at home.”

  “All right, you go, but if you find the guy, don’t approach him. I’ll call Silverstone, pay the bill, and catch up.” He punched the detective’s phone number into the cell phone.

  Claire grabbed her coat and zipped it shut as she followed Judy out of the Swiss Haven into the dark night. Streetlights cast puddles of light on the ground, while a swath of bright stars shone overhead. Claire trotted to keep up with her daughter’s fast pace and maintain her footing across the frozen slush piles lining the sidewalk.

  As they headed across Main Street, breathing clouds of vapor in the frigid air, Judy asked, “What did Dad mean by ‘foiled again’?”

  Claire pulled her collar tighter around her neck. I’m not about to discuss my sex life, or lack thereof, with my daughter. “Never mind.”

  They passed in front of a cream-colored building with maroon and teal trim, one of many Victorian-style buildings in the historic downtown district. Judy stopped by a sign advertising the businesses within—an insurance office, a souvenir shop, and a black square with “Sherpa & Yeti’s” scrawled in red, as if it had been painted in blood.

  Claire stared at the flyer advertising that month’s entertainment —Jungle Brothers, Bongo Love, De La Soul—listed as hip-hop, funk, and African dance bands. She wasn’t even sure what those music styles sound like.

  “It’s down here.” Judy beckoned to her from halfway down a narrow flight of concrete stairs leading to the basement. A rhythmic thumping pulsed from the open doorway, and the distinctive purplish glow of a blacklight painted the bottom of the dark stairwell.

  As Claire hesitated, a trio of young men in baggy jeans brushed past her and clattered down the steps. Though the temperature was below freezing, only one wore a jacket—a hooded sweatshirt with a grenade logo stenciled on the back.

  A grenade?

  “Mom?”

  Feeling as if she was descending into Dante’s Inferno, Claire walked slowly down the stairs.

  What are we getting into?

  Four: The Snowboarder

  When Claire reached the bottom of the stairs, she grabbed Judy’s arm and whispered, “Did you see that sweatshirt with the grenade logo?”

  Judy tsked. “You’re such a dinosaur, Mom. That was a hoodie, and Grenade is a brand of snowboard wear.” She dragged Claire into the small, dark alcove inside the door.

  A young man with a scraggly beard sat perched on a stool behind a cash register. “Three dollar cover.”

  While Claire blinked to adjust her vision to the dark interior, Judy dug some bills out of her pocket and paid him. A larger and more muscular young man lounged on a stool beside a small coat-check counter. Presumably the bouncer, he looked Claire up and down then gave her a mocking half smile, as if to say, “You don’t belong here, do you?”

  She and Judy took off their coats and handed them to the young woman behind the counter. They headed down another dark flight of stairs lined with a flexible red tube light. The noise picked up as they rounded the corner into a room no larger than their basement rec room in Colorado Springs. Packed with young people, the room held a pool table and a bar along the far wall. Art Deco posters lined the black and red walls.

  Underlying the chatter of voices and strains of a wailing guitar, the deep thump of a persistent bass echoed in Claire’s stomach. Her full tummy churned from the stench of cigarette smoke, beer, and hormone-drenched young bodies. Claire realized she had at least twenty years on everyone else in the room.

  Skirting the outstretched cue of a man aiming a shot, she followed Judy around the pool table into the larger back room, the source of the heavy thumping.

  A pimply faced disc jockey with large earphones looped around his neck bopped on a tiny stage behind a stand of stereo equipment. Flanking the stage, huge speakers pulsed a primitive dance beat. The disc jockey loaded a vinyl record on one of the two turntables in front of him.

  Claire wondered why he wasn’t playing CDs. When he rubbed the record under the needle, producing a scratchy repetition of a section of music, she realized why.

  People stood talking in clumps in front of the stage, but no one danced. The ratio appeared to be about two men to every woman, and most of the clumps were single-sexed. Everyone held drinks. Claire presumed that later in the evening, the liberal lubrication of alcohol would facilitate more mixing.

  While she and Judy pushed through the crowd, a rotating mirror ball bathed faces with multiple colors. Posters of bands Claire had never heard of lined the black walls, along which young people lounged on tall stools, smoked, and drank beer. That seemed to be the only beverage everyone was drinking, though the mirrored bar stocked bottles of liquor.

  When they reached the bar, Judy put her head next to Claire’s so she could be heard. “Beer, Mom?”

  “Why not?”
Maybe a beer would settle her stomach and help her to not feel so out-of-place. She had already received a few stares. Remembering why she was there, Claire searched the room. Though many of the young men wore baseball caps, some backward, or knit beanies, none sported a hat of multi-colored fleece dreadlocks. Claire doubted Nail-It would wear such a hat in the warm room.

  As Judy handed over a glass of beer, Claire said, “I bet we won’t see that hat in here. He would probably leave it at the coat check. We’ll have to ask around.”

  Claire leaned over the bar as the bartender brought Judy’s change and shouted, “You know a guy named Nail-It?”

  “Nope.” He moved on to fill another order.

  Claire turned to the young man on her right. “How about you? You know a snowboarder named Nail-It?”

  The guy gave her a suspicious glance, shook his head, and turned his back to her.

  “You’re embarrassing me, Mom.” Judy clutched her beer as they stepped away from the bar. “You can’t ask everyone here if they know him.”

  “Why not? How else are we supposed to find him?”

  “Go up the stairs and ask the coat-check girl if a guy has already checked the hat. If he hasn’t, wait and watch for him.”

  “Good idea. You do that. But remember what your dad said. Don’t talk to the snowboarder. In the meantime, I’ll keep asking around.” Claire took a sip of beer for courage.

  Judy shot her mother a dubious look then walked into the billiard room.

  Claire approached a quartet of young women clustered at the other end of the bar and spoke with a raised voice so it would carry over the music. “Excuse me. I’m looking for someone. Do any of you know a snowboarder named Nail-It?”

  “Nail-It Naylor?” the brunette on the end asked. “Why’re you looking for him? If he owes you money, join the crowd.”

  The others laughed.

  “No, he doesn’t owe me anything,” Claire said. “He witnessed an accident on the slope yesterday. It involved a friend of mine, and I just want to ask him what he saw.”