by Patti Larsen
Someone cleared their throat, making us both jump. I looked up to find Paisley standing there, watching us. She waved off our startled reaction with a soft smile of apology before speaking.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but I think our internet is working now if you’d like to try the Wi-Fi.”
“All good,” I said, waving my phone at her. “But thank you so much.” Poaching her for sure now.
Paisley paused before leaving, her sympathy clear as she nodded to Simone. “I’m sorry about your friend,” she said. Simone didn’t comment, just hung her head. I hated to think she was ignoring the young woman because she was the help, but that’s what it felt like.
“You’re very kind,” I said, shattering the discomfort of the moment. “Thanks, Paisley.”
She nodded to me then walked away with that efficient and professional gait of hers.
Now wasn’t the time to kick Simone’s ass for being rude, but I really, really wanted to. There’d be opportunity later—and a chat with Jasmine first. Because while I would do anything to protect the young woman sitting next to me, she did not get to be a bitch because she’d been hanging out with the wrong people.
Okay then. Onward.
***
Chapter Nineteen
I left Simone to go in search of James and ask him if he recognized the girl in the photos. If it was Elizabeth that had been the lurker I was chasing down a ghost. But if someone else was in that photo, could they hold a grudge against Mason? Maybe a friend of Elizabeth’s? It was a long shot and actually stirred something inside me. A thought that I tried to shake while it built and built in my mind and wouldn’t let me go.
I was almost to the staff door when I paused and really thought about it. What if Elizabeth didn’t die after all? No, that was dumb. But my feet wouldn’t move and I lingered near the large double doors with the red glowing exit sign over them, staring up into the illuminated letters and not seeing them. If she survived, she would have told her father, come forward. Someone would have said something. But what if she couldn’t? Forgot who she was? No, that didn’t work either. Revenge was a powerful motivator, though, wasn’t it? And maybe the chance of insurance money if James was in the kind of trouble he said he was, being pushed out of the lodge like he claimed. If Elizabeth did get in touch with her father and decided to kill Mason in revenge for leaving her on that mountain…
Well. Now I was attributing murder to ghosts.
Shaking my head, I turned toward the staff door and away from the big ones marked with the exit sign, just as something rustled, like leaves in a wind, and the lights died again. Crap, that was all I needed. I stumbled forward, the faint red glow of an emergency light flickering and dying over the staff door, leaving me in total darkness.
I had just turned to head back toward the foyer when something hit me hard in the shoulder, driving me sideways and into the double doors at my right. I cried out in surprise as the way parted, a chill wash of snow hitting me, wind buffeting against me while, shock taking over, I collapsed sideways into the snowbank on the other side when the door slammed shut behind me.
I lay in the snow a moment, surprise leaving me rigid, before stumbling to my feet, tucking into the narrow corridor between the bank and the door, the wind creating a tiny cleared space along the edge of the building. Already freezing and shivering, bare legs coated in snow, I pounded on the door, panic grasping me by the chest and squeezing.
There were no handles on this side. Just the sealed center of the pair of metal doors. And no bell or any other way to contact those inside and let them know I was out here. Which, I could only guess while I struggled to figure out what to do past my terror that grew by the instant, wind and snow howling around me, was the point.
My phone was gone, lost in the snowbank and I knew better than to waste time trying to find it. While I wasn’t much of a skier, I had taken basic safety and understood I had about five minutes before frostbite started, give or take not knowing the temperature and not really caring, thanks. And maybe six to eight before my body started to lose feeling and begin procedure to protect my core from freezing. All that time to make my way around the building while shivering uncontrollably in slippery flats and a mini-dress and to a door that would open.
Easy. Okay. One step at a time. I would not give in to panic and the icy storm that made visibility impossible. My freezing fingers held contact with the wall beside me as I abandoned the doorway, chose a direction, and walked as fast as I could through the snow, using the wall to keep me from falling again. Because if I fell, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get up.
I reached a corner far faster than expected and realized my mistake as I tried to continue. While the wind made a nice channel for me to slip and slide along on the far side, that same wind instead tucked all the snow up against the wall of the lodge and instead of a way through I faced a huge wall of snow.
I’ve only faced utter despair a few times in my life and this, I’m not embarrassed to say, was one of them. The instant I accepted that I wasn’t going anywhere and had to turn around felt like the biggest failure I’d ever faced. And, honestly, for a brief moment I almost gave in to the cold. Because I was going to die out here, freeze to death before I could make it back even to the door I’d been pushed out of. I had already lost feeling in my feet, my fingers, my nose, ears. And the pounding of my heart as it labored to keep me warm, the closing in of the blackness around my vision, all signs. How long had I been exposed? Was it five minutes already? My mind went into logic mode, whispering to me what to expect while my heart hoarded blood in an effort to keep me warm. Soon, I’d start to feel like the temperature had risen as my body shut down, that I was at a normal heat again instead of turning into a Feecicle. I’d fall into a snowbank and close my eyes and go to sleep forever and they might find me in the spring if a bear didn’t drag me off and use me for a snack.
Silly. Bears hibernated for the winter. Maybe a fox or a coyote then. Wolf? Something hungry.
All of this flashed through my head as the howling wind tore at my updo and my ridiculous dress and up my skirt while desperately angry tears wet my eyes. Death stared me in the face, icy fingers pulling me into oblivion. And with a swear word I learned from my dad—and the kind of fortitude I knew he’d never let me live down if I failed—I turned my back on the storm and retraced my wobbling, weakening and slowing steps.
I didn’t even flinch when my first thought of being a large animal meal came true and a giant black bear burst into sight and leaped for me. Maybe it would hurt when he ate me, and maybe not. I was so cold I actually couldn’t find a give a crap. I tumbled sideways when he landed at my feet, into the snow at last, whispering an apology to my dad for not being strong enough in the end.
***
My feet hurt, my hands too, tingling with the kind of painful pins and needles that drove gasps from my lips and forced my eyes open. I stared into the quiet of the small room, the fire across from me crackling in happy snaps and pops, heavy weight of blankets wrapped around me so tight I felt suffocated. But warmth returned and with it the kind of shivering bout that made my teeth rattle in my mouth.
Alive. But how? A shaggy black head popped up next to me where I lay on what had to be a bed, giant pink tongue swiping my cheek, wet nose pressing into my neck.
“Moose, leave off now, boy.” I didn’t know that voice but at least understood the black bear who’d come to eat me wasn’t a bear after all. The massive Newfoundland dog leaned away, kind, brown eyes never leaving me, velvet ears perked as someone sat next to me and offered a steaming mug with big, rough hands. “Drink.”
I tried to sip, coughed when the hot coffee caught in my throat, but took another taste right away as the warmth of it shot down into my stomach and helped still some of the shivering. Within a minute I was sitting up, the blankets that smelled enough like dog I knew Moose had to sleep on them too wrapped around me and drank on my own, shaking hands both clasped around the hot mu
g and making them ache as blood flow returned.
“You’re lucky Moosey found you,” the big man said, stepping away to sink into a rocking chair next to the fire. Bill Saunders, the maintenance man with the record, if Paisley was right. Had to be. I recognized him from earlier tonight. Was it really just one night? I had no idea what time it was now, but it felt like the longest evening of my life. “You were near to frostbite and hypothermia out there. My place was the closest and I have a fire.” Was that anxiety in his voice? “Hope it’s okay I brought you here.” Apparently that was a yes to his nervousness.
Regardless of his concern, gratitude was my only emotion at the moment. I nodded over my mug. “Thank you for the rescue,” I said. “I can assure you I wasn’t out in the snow on purpose.”
He didn’t comment on that. “You’re John Fleming’s daughter.” His voice was as deep and as rough as his hands, almost expressionless, as if he expected to be rejected or berated.
“I am,” I said. “You know my dad?”
“Used to,” he said. Paused. “He put me away.”
Score one Paisley. An ex-con for real. Hard to judge the man who just saved my life, though. Or think he could be a murderer, not when I was finally getting warm and his sweet dog watched me with gentle eyes. “You been out long?” I tried to keep my voice level while Moose continued to stare at me, tongue out. He was huge, but kind and he clearly loved his master, so I chose to trust as the dog trusted.
“A year,” Bill said, adding a log to the fire in the potbelly stove. Sparks leaped and flames flared a moment. “I know how this looks.”
What did that mean? “You saving my life? Yeah, I’d say that looks pretty good from here.”
He didn’t accept the offer of humor, sighing instead. Moose left me at last, went to his master and shoved his big noggin under Bill’s hand. The equally large man scratched his dog’s ears until he groaned as he spoke again, voice dropping even deeper and full of hurt.
“I know what happens when everyone finds out there’s a murder and an ex-con in the same place at the same time,” he said. “And as soon as you’re up to it, we’ll go find your dad and I’ll turn myself in.”
***
Chapter Twenty
Wait, what? “You killed Mason Patterson?” But, why? I almost dumped the last of the precious coffee, heart pounding, suddenly not so comfortable with the giant man/dog combination. My brain stuttered, needing clarification. I was alive. He could have left me out there to die. Not the act of a murderer, was it?
Bill shook his head, refused to look at me. “I didn’t hurt Mason,” he said. “He was my friend. But that young sheriff will think it was me because I used to be in prison. That’s how these stories always end. So I’ll just save everyone the trouble of saying the ex-con did it.”
Chest aching with more than the cold that had almost killed me, I found my eyes stinging with new tears. “Tell me about how you ended up working here,” I said.
Bill looked up at last, dull brown eyes meeting mine and for a moment I wondered if he was even going to answer. Then, he sighed again but only after Moose nudged him in the hand for stopping his endless petting. Bill resumed scratching the dog’s ear and spoke.
“I had a job at the college for a bit,” he said. “Then some professor accused me of stealing from his office. Well, it wasn’t me.” Bill sounded angry at last, offended. “They fired me lickety split even though they caught his cute little assistant with his stuff. Because can’t have an ex-con hanging around even though I just wanted a job.”
“So Mason offered you one here?” It had to be hard. Discrimination against former criminals wasn’t a shock or anything. “Why?”
Bill shrugged, rubbing a finger over the bridge of his flat nose he’d broken a time or two in the past and healed crooked. “Dunno. Just kind of hit it off with him from the start. He’d crack jokes, buy me coffee. When he found out I was fired he offered me this job right away.” Bill’s face tightened. “I know a lot of folks didn’t like Mason none, but he was good people down deep where it mattered.”
If he said so. And honestly, the man clearly had a different experience with the kid, so fair enough. “And you’ve been here ever since?”
He shifted in his chair, seemed to relax a little, probably because I wasn’t accusing him of murder. “He made a point to come check on me earlier tonight before dinner.” His voice cracked, one hand wiping his eyes before he set his narrow lips in a thin line against his emotions, visible in the tension of his body. “Meant a lot.”
Well, so maybe I could cut Mason a little slack if he showed such empathy to a man who received none from others. “Thank you for saving me,” I said, as kindly and with as much genuine gratitude as I could. Because I really, really meant it.
“You’re welcome.” A faint smile? I’d take it. “How’d you end up outside in that getup?”
I shook my head, finishing my coffee and staring into the empty bottom of the mug. “Someone cut the lights in the back hallway and then pushed me outside and locked the doors behind me.”
He grunted. “They auto lock.”
“Who would know that?” I looked up and met his troubled frown.
“Staff,” he shrugged. “That door leads to the back entry to the ski lifts. The instructors use it sometimes as a short cut even though I tell them not to.”
“I’m lucky you were out there,” I said. “And Moose.”
He patted the big dog on the head who panted his happiness up at his master. “He’s a good dog,” Bill said. “I was making my rounds, almost didn’t go out because of the storm.”
I made a connection as he frowned. “The missing snowmobile,” I said, remembering he mentioned it to the GM, Donna Walker, earlier. “You were looking for it out there? In this weather?” Wow, this place knew how to attract loyal staff. Maybe there was a spot for Bill at Petunia’s too.
“I hate having things out of place,” he grunted. “Last I looked it was there, then just gone like that.” His big fingers snapped. “I didn’t want Mason to think I’d stolen it or anything. Because I didn’t.”
“Bill.” I drew a breath and swallowed before speaking again, needing to know before we headed back into the fray inside. “I need to ask you what you were in prison for.” His face fell and I watched his small, infant trust for me vanish. But before he could shut down completely, I went on. “I know you didn’t kill Mason and I’m going to tell Crew and Dad that. But if I’m aware of what crime you committed, it’ll be easier to defend you.”
Bill hesitated before nodding like he’d given up at last. “It’s not good,” he said.
That told me what I needed to know. “You were in for murder,” I said.
The big man met my eyes with his own brown gaze flat. And that answered that question.
***
Chapter Twenty One
Except, apparently, it didn’t. Because Bill finally leaned forward, hugging Moose’s big, furry head to his chest and stared into the flames as he spoke in a voice suddenly shifted from deep and deadened to full of remorse.
“I had too much to drink that night,” he said, “like every other night. But this night instead of just me in the car? Yeah, I had to have that one more beer before I went to the rink to pick up my boy.”
I knew where this was going and almost stopped him but Bill rocked a bit and hugged his dog like he was his son while the fluffy Newfoundland whined and licked his master’s face.
“I fell asleep, been working a twelve hour at the plant. Took the extra because of the money, right? And thought a few beers were a great way to wind up the day. Had to go back out to get the kid anyway. Buckled him in the back, only ten years old.” He didn’t look away from the fire. “At least I only killed him when I hit that pole on the other side of the ditch. Could’ve ruined another family’s lives that night if I’d crossed the median. Instead, I walked away with a concussion and the shakes and my son died on impact when a tree branch came through his window and pun
ctured his heart.”
I wept for him because he wouldn’t cry, that poor, broken man who sat in front of his fire with his big dog as his only comfort. Maybe Bill had already shed the tears he intended to or perhaps he’d never been able to find the strength to let himself be that vulnerable. So I snuffled and hiccupped and wiped at my own tears while he sat back again and waited for me to be done.
“Your dad was first on scene, treated me decent despite what I’d done. And the judge was kind,” Bill said into the sound of the fire snapping. “Gave me manslaughter, but I knew it was murder. Premeditated, though I never wanted to kill my own boy.” There was the hitch in his voice, the catch of hurt. “But still, I knew the risks every time I drank and drove. And I did it anyway.” He looked at me at last. “Ten years with good behavior. And I behaved. Gave up drink, haven’t touched a drop since. Got myself a mechanics diploma, worked hard to learn a trade. My wife’s long gone, divorced me over Teddy and I hardly blame her that. Hear she remarried and moved to Texas.” And just like that he’d laid out his whole life to me, a gift.
“No matter your past, Bill,” I said, “you’re no murderer. And if there’s evidence you killed Mason, I’ve yet to see it.”
He nodded to me. “Thanks for that,” he said, grunting to his feet. He couldn’t have been much over fifty but moved like a man carrying decades more than that. “We’d best get you inside and cleaned up.”
I could only imagine how horrible I looked but couldn’t care less. Sure, I could have stood on my own—told myself so anyway—but it was nice to grasp his big, rough hand, to be guided to my feet, shaking legs holding me upright. I took a minute to examine my extremities, knowing how lucky I was not to see deadened white tips on my toes and fingers. Okay, or deadened Fee in a snowbank outside the lodge. Whatever. Gratitude washed through me in a wave and I hugged Bill tight around the waist, the closest thing I could reach. I thought my dad was tall.
