“But someone might have invited you. You never heard of it before?”
“No-ope.” Judy drew it out, as if she knew what was coming next.
Claire took a deep breath and decided to ask the question. The subject had been broached, and she didn’t know when her next opportunity would be. “When Boyd talked about smoking weed, you nodded, to show you knew what he was talking about. I know you didn’t touch the stuff in high school, but have you smoked pot since going away to college?”
Judy harrumphed. “You can’t tell me you and Dad never tried it when you were in school.”
“No, I can’t. But we never touched anything stronger, like cocaine. Look, I won’t freak out. I only want to know you’re being safe.”
Judy shot a glance at Claire. “Yeah, I’ve smoked pot a few times but I didn’t really enjoy it. I haven’t done it in a while, Mom, so no need to worry.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
Relief flooded over Claire, loosening the hand she had clenched around the T-bar. “I’m glad.”
When they reached the top, Roger asked, “What kept you?”
A smile played at the edge of Judy’s lips, but she held her tongue.
“Nothing important,” Claire said. “Let’s get back to the business at hand.”
“Where did you first see the skier in black, Miss Hanover?” Silverstone asked.
Judy pointed to the top of the Ptarmigan run. “Over there.”
“Let’s go.” Silverstone skied to where she pointed, followed by the others. “Okay, stand where you were when you saw him and tell me what you remember.”
Judy moved over a ways, closed her eyes for a few seconds, then described the skier again.
“How was his skiing ability?” Silverstone asked.
“Real smooth, like someone who’d been doing it a long time.”
Matthews leaned forward on his poles. “How close together were his skis?”
A puzzled frown creased Judy’s face. “Pretty close. More like the way Dad skis than I do.”
“Ah ha.” Matthews turned to Silverstone. “He learned the old way, when we were told to keep our skis clamped tight together while paralleling. So, he’s probably at least in his forties.”
Silverstone nodded. “Good insight. Anything else you can tell us, Judy?”
She shook her head.
“We’ll do the same thing at the spot where Naylor passed your group,” Silverstone said. “You lead the way, and Hal and I will follow.”
They made their way down the smooth upper section of Ptarmigan, through the mogul field at the bottom and over to the side. Again, Silverstone asked each of the Hanovers to recount what they saw.
As Claire finished her description of Naylor’s pass, she said, “I thought he was totally out of control and was scared he would hit one of us.”
Roger shook his head. “My impression was that he knew exactly what he was doing. Sure, his style was wild, but he was coming in close to check out Judy and Stephanie and make a big impression on them.”
“My patrollers would probably agree with that assessment,” Matthews said. “Naylor’s fast . . . too fast, but he’s well liked and he never hit anyone—that they know of.”
But he pissed off someone enough that they hit him.
Silverstone turned to Claire. “I want you to find the place where you say the skier came out of the woods. Don’t go in there. Just point it out from the slope. We’ll hang back above you until you’ve located the spot.”
Claire pushed off to ski down the slope. She shuddered when she passed the place where she had heard Judy scream, then she slowed and scanned the woods. She spied the trampled area below her where Stephanie had hit the tree. Thankfully, someone had removed the bloody snow. Or covered it up.
She stopped and searched the trees along the other side of the trail, trying to remember where the ski track had exited. She spotted a broken branch, with the end piece still attached. The same one she saw Monday? She skied closer and stared at it from a few yards away. Yes.
She pointed to the pine tree and yelled at Silverstone. “Over here. I remember that broken branch.”
After he joined her, Silverstone clicked out of his skis and signaled Matthews to do the same. “Wait here while we search the area,” he said to the Hanovers.
Matthews studied the drooping branch. “Looks recent. The ends of the break aren’t dried out yet.”
Silverstone trained his gaze on the ground. “Snow’s trampled down about eight feet in, behind that fir. See?”
When Matthews took a step forward, Silverstone stopped him with a hand to his chest. “We don’t want to step on any evidence. We’ll approach from above.”
He tromped uphill and pointed out a set of ski tracks entering the woods. “Here’s where he probably came in.”
Stepping over the tracks, Silverstone positioned himself a couple of feet on the uphill side. He followed the tracks into the woods, scanning the snow as he walked. Matthews did the same from the downhill side.
Claire watched the men’s progress as they worked their way through the widely spaced trees. When they reached the trampled area, the two leaned forward, hands on their knees and scanned the ground.
A shadow swept over the slope. Claire shivered. The snow cloud that had built up during the morning loomed over the peak. A breeze ruffled her hair and blew a few snowflakes up her nose. She sneezed. “Storm’s coming.”
“Bless you,” Roger said. “Hope these guys find something before the evidence gets all covered up.”
Judy extracted a fleece neck gaiter from her pocket. She pulled it over her head, positioning it to cover her neck and face.
Feeling the temperature drop and stinging snowflakes hit her cheeks, Claire followed her daughter’s lead. Soon white flakes swirled all around them. Claire tucked her gloved hands under her armpits.
Roger stamped his skis on the ground. “This standing around and waiting is damn cold.”
Matthews pointed at the ground. Silverstone took a plastic bag out of his pocket and nudged something into it.
Claire took a step toward them. “What did you find?”
“A cigarette butt.” Silverstone stuffed the bag into his jacket pocket, eyes still scanning the ground.
“Maybe the killer smoked it while he was waiting for us to come down.”
“Maybe. Or any number of people could have stopped here and had a smoke.” He straightened and motioned to Matthews. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything else.”
When the two of them reached the Hanovers, Roger asked, “You can test for fingerprints and DNA on the butt, can’t you?”
“I’ll send it to CBI to be analyzed. If they can pull either prints or DNA off it, they’ll run them against the FBI databases.”
Claire’s hopes rose. “So we might get the name of Stephanie’s killer?”
“Only if he’s committed a crime or been fingerprinted for a job application in the past.” Silverstone clicked into his skis. “The match is best done when you have two samples—one from the crime scene and one from a suspect. We’re missing the suspect here, and I’m not even sure this is a crime scene.”
When Claire started to speak, he held up his hand. “I’ll still send it to CBI. Even with a high priority, it’ll take awhile, though. They’ve got quite a backlog.”
Matthews studied the sky. “I suggest we get off the mountain. A mean storm is brewing. Weather service is predicting six inches.”
“First, I want to take another look at where Miss Contino hit.” Silverstone skied to the other side of the trail and down to the tree Stephanie hit. He leaned on his poles and peered at the scene, scanning up to the spot where the black-garbed skier had waited.
He looked at Claire. “Could you stand where you saw the ski tracks cross?”
Claire side-stepped to where she thought she remembered Stephanie’s tracks and the other skier’s had intersected. With all the snow swirling around, cutt
ing down the visibility, she had a hard time pinpointing the spot. “I think it was about here.”
Silverstone gazed at her, eyes unfocused as if lost in thought.
Impatiently, Matthews skied to him. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be caught in a total whiteout. C’mon, everyone, I’ll lead the way.” He waved his arm down the hill as gusts of snow scoured its surface.
“Well?” Claire asked Silverstone. “Now that you’ve seen the tamped-down snow, the broken branch, and the cigarette butt, do you believe Boyd and me about the skier deliberately killing Stephanie?”
Silverstone’s face was impassive. “I always believed you, Mrs. Hanover, at least to the extent of what you saw. The problem is determining what it means.”
Seven:
Altitude Adjustment
After a late lunch of spicy chicken tortilla soup and hot chocolate at the townhouse, Claire mulled over the visit to the ski resort while she loaded the dishwasher. Could the cigarette butt have come from the killer? Or was some other random person the smoker? Even if DNA or prints on the butt matched a criminal in the FBI database, that criminal could just be a ski enthusiast who had made a recent trip to Breckenridge.
At least they had returned to the slope before the storm hit. Silverstone never would have found the butt under the new snow cover. Claire hoped he was now convinced Stephanie and Boyd had been murdered. Or was open to the possibility.
Roger declared he was taking a nap and went upstairs.
Judy wandered around the living room, staring out the window and straightening pillows that didn’t need straightening.
When Claire heard her daughter sigh, she decided action was called for. She started up the dishwasher and walked into the living room. “I want to make a sympathy basket for the Continos. I could use your help picking out items. Come shopping with me.”
Judy rolled her eyes and plopped onto the sofa. “Mom, one of your baskets isn’t going to make them feel any better about losing Stephanie.”
Claire took a lot of pride in creating those gift baskets for the customers of her part-time business, but she refused to let Judy see how the flippant comment bothered her. “No, but it will let them know we’re thinking of them, that we care. Maybe that’ll give them some small amount of comfort.”
“I guess it’s something to do.” Frowning, Judy picked distractedly at a sofa cushion. “I’d rather spend the afternoon with Nick, but he said he and his folks wanted to be by themselves today.”
Claire sat beside her daughter. “How serious are you two?”
“I really don’t know. We got pretty close before I left for France, but it’s only been e-mail and phone calls since then.”
Claire didn’t ask how close, because she suspected she didn’t want to hear the answer—that Judy had slept with Nick. “What about since you returned?”
“That’s just it. This vacation was supposed to be a reunion, to see if we still felt as strongly about each other. But Stephanie’s death changed everything. I’ve tried to talk to Nick, to help him deal with it, but he’s been so distant.”
Claire stilled Judy’s hand. “You’ll pick that sofa cushion apart. Look, Nick’s probably not ready to share his grief with you yet. Men feel they have to be strong, can’t show emotion. Especially young men.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Just let him know you care, so when he’s ready to open up, you can be there for him.”
Judy hugged the cushion against her chest. “What if he’s never ready?”
“That could happen. He may want to keep his grief private and may never feel comfortable sharing it with you.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Unshed tears glimmered in Judy’s eyes. “I’m afraid he’ll never be ready to pick up where we left off. That he’ll keep on backing away from me.” She bit her lip. “I wish I knew how he really felt.”
“Has he ever said he loves you?”
Judy shook her head. “He’s said he cares for me, wants me, needs me, and that he loves being with me, but he’s never said those three words, ‘I love you.’”
“What about you?”
“I haven’t said them either.” Judy kneaded the pillow. “I don’t know, Mom. I’ve never been in love before. I don’t know if what I feel for him is love or not.”
“What do you feel for him?”
“He makes me feel good, really good about myself, like I can do anything I want to, as long as he supports me. And until this happened, we could talk about anything for hours and hours. You know what I mean?”
“Oh, yeah.” You’ve got it bad, honey. “Remember, I’ve had twenty-six years’ experience loving your dear old dad. Tell me, when you’re together, do you always feel the urge to touch him, stroke his hand or ruffle his hair?”
“Yes.” With an excited flounce, Judy turned toward Claire. “And I always want to do things for him, which is why I wish he’d talk to me now. In the fall when I was still on campus, I would bake him honey wheat bread in the dorm’s kitchen and bring it to him still warm out of the oven.”
Claire grinned. “I didn’t know you could bake bread. I thought you were a klutz in the kitchen. When are you going to make us a loaf ?”
“I don’t feed people who call me a klutz.” A smile cracked Judy’s lips then disappeared. “But seriously, is that how you felt about Dad before you two got married?”
“I still do, though in his case, brownies are the path from his stomach to his heart.”
With a jolt, Claire realized that she was Judy’s age when she married Roger. Accepting that her daughter might be ready to make that big step would be difficult. Claire studied Judy’s face, shining with anticipation and heartfelt emotion, and felt a rush of maternal protection. Heaven help that young man if he breaks her heart.
Claire stood. “Let’s shop and make that basket. We’ll take it over to the Continos tomorrow. Maybe Nick’ll be ready to talk to you then.”
“I hope so.” Judy managed to look anxious and excited at the same time. She joined her mother in the hallway and donned her coat. “What are you planning to put in the basket?”
Claire threw her muffler over her shoulder. “That’s part of the fun of putting a gift basket together—the thrill when I find something unique that really matches the occasion or the person who’s getting the basket. I thought I’d start with a nice pen and some high-quality thank you notes or blank cards Angela can use for thank you notes.”
“There’s a stationery store on Main Street,” Judy said. “We can walk there.”
They stepped outside, and a blast of cold air peppered Claire’s face with snowflakes. “We may need a hot drink before long.”
While she briskly walked the two blocks into town with Judy at her side, Claire smiled to herself. She was looking forward to spending the afternoon with her daughter, sharing the hunt for those elusive items that made one of Claire Hanover’s gift baskets special.
Judy turned to Claire. “Thank you cards and a pen won’t fill a basket. What else do you have in mind?”
“Some soothing things, like scented candles or a book of uplifting poems. Are the Continos religious?”
“Catholic. Nick doesn’t go to church much, but his mom attends mass every Sunday.”
“Okay, some religious poetry or a book about taking your grief to God, or something like that. And some soft music. A gift basket should have something for every sense—taste, smell, sight, touch, and sound. What kind of music do Nick’s parents enjoy?”
Judy thought for a moment. “Classical, I think.”
Claire rubbed her hands together as they turned onto Main Street. “Good, I’ll ask at the stationery store where we can find some nice CDs.”
An hour later, they each lugged three plastic bags of purchases, including a dyed wicker basket Claire had found for thirty percent off at an import store that carried Middle Eastern furnishings. The basket exactly matched the colors in the Continos’ ski house living room and could be used
to hold reading materials later.
The wind tugged at the bags, flapping the plastic edges. It tore at Claire’s face, too. Her cheeks were raw, her whole body felt chilled, and her feet were killing her. She spotted a coffee and oxygen café across the street called Altitude Adjustment.
She angled her head at the café. “I need to get off my feet and have a hot drink.”
“Good idea.” Judy led the way.
Claire ordered a couple of vanilla lattes at the counter and searched for a place to sit. She spotted the blonde from Sherpa & Yeti’s two nights before, sitting with a young man with a scraggly beard and long dark hair. Both looked distraught, their faces grim.
Claire set her packages on the seat of a booth across from the two. “There’s the young woman who pointed out Boyd to us. We should talk to them.”
“I think we should leave them alone,” Judy said. “Can’t you tell they’re grieving for him?”
“Of course I can tell. That’s precisely why I want to talk to them.” After pushing away Judy’s restraining hand, Claire walked over to the couple. She leaned down and spoke softly to the blonde, “You’ve heard about Boyd, I presume.”
The blonde bit her lip and nodded.
“I just wanted to say how sorry I am that I couldn’t have done more to save him.”
The young woman’s eyes widened, and she pointed at Claire. “You were the woman working on him in the street before the paramedics came!” She turned to her companion. “She was also the one looking for him at the bar.”
The young man stared at Claire, narrowing his eyes with suspicion.
“May I?” Claire sat next to the blonde. “Maybe it would be helpful if I explain things. My name’s Claire Hanover, and that’s my daughter, Judy, over there.”
She waved Judy over to join them. When Judy shook her head, Claire waved again, more insistently this time. With an exasperated toss of her head, Judy picked up her coffee and all their packages and walked over. She sat next to the young man and shoved the packages under her chair.
After she was settled, the blonde said, “I’m Mandy and this is Pete, Nail-It’s roommate.”
To Hell in a Handbasket Page 8
