Constable Molly Smith Mystery: Winter Of Secrets Part 29

She was alone.

Always alone.

Everything was so very quiet. Not even a bird was chirping. Only the wind roared in her ears.

She turned around. At the top of the hill, beyond the giant mechanism that moved the ski lift, the terrain was much gentler and heavily treed. She hadnt bothered to look at the map of the area when Jason and the others had been studying it so intently on their first day.

Was it only a week ago? Seemed like a lifetime ago.

It was a lifetime ago. Jasons lifetime.

He hadnt seemed all that surprised when shed led him to Ewans body beneath the tree. "Figured someoned get the p.r.i.c.k some day," hed said.

Even through her shock and guilt, Wendy had looked at her brother in surprise.

"I didnt like him much, you know, once we werent kids any longer. Ewan never gave a thought for anyone but himself. But he was my buddy, eh? My best buddy since Kindergarten.

"He raped a girl in high school. We were at a house party while the parents were on vacation. Ewan got her into a bedroom and raped her. I saw her when she came out of the room. Her clothes were ripped, her lip was cut, her cheek swollen. She was crying. Ewan stood in the doorway, zipping up his pants, laughing. He told her shed be making a fool of herself if she went to the cops. She was hammered and everyone knew she put it out for the whole football team. He saw me watching, and winked."

Jason hadnt looked at his sister, just kept his eyes on the snow-covered body at his feet. "I turned and walked away. I wasnt going to back her up, not against my friend. I should have.

"If Id told the cops what hed done, maybe he would have learned something and wouldnt have tried it with you."

Jason thought Ewan had tried to rape her. If only he knew.

"Ill call the police," she said.

"No. Theyll try to make it sound like you were responsible for this. Theyll say you led him on and killed him when he rejected you."

Wendy hung her head and didnt look at her brother. The wind had shifted and snow was settling over Ewans body like a shroud.

"Look," Jason said at last. "I didnt help that girl, but I can help you. Ill dump him in the woods. Well say we havent seen him since last night. Theres nothing but wilderness around here. Itll be easy to hide a body. Theyll never find him, and if they do, whos to say some jealous boyfriend didnt get rid of him."

And so Jason had carried Ewan to the SUV, while Wendy followed, arranging the snow to hide the imprint of Ewans body and their footsteps. Which hadnt really been necessary, the snow was falling so fast, and the wind blowing so hard across the open yard, every trace of their pa.s.sing was soon covered. Jason had difficulty getting the body into the SUV, but Ewan was slight and Jason strong. Wendy had thought someone would see them, come out, investigate. But it was Christmas Eve and people had better things to do than spy on the neighbors.

Shed killed Ewan. That she could live with, he deserved it. But shed killed Jason as well. The police said hed gone into the river minutes after midnight. Hed left her not long after ten oclock. He must have driven around, looking for a spot to dump the body, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

Theres nothing but wilderness around here, Jason had said. Yet hed come back to town, still with Ewan. Had he changed his mind and decided to take the body to the hospital?

If Wendy had faced the consequences of her actions, Jason would still be alive.

Theres nothing but wilderness around here.

She was past crying, past grieving. Time to do the right thing.

The area in front of her was roped off and signs warned skiers that this section was off-limits.

She ducked under the ropes.

Chapter Twenty-seven.

Molly Smith jumped off the chair lift. A thump beside her told her that her companion, a member of ski patrol named Gareth, was on his feet as well. A round, fat full moon hung in the western sky, bathing the snow in a milky-white glow.

The resorts security guards were posted at the bottom of the runs, waiting for Wendy to come down. Outdoor staff had been told to look out for the woman in yellow while doing their regular sweep.

"What now?" Gareth asked.

"She isnt a good skier. This hill is no place for her." The official name of the major run was Black Powder, although the locals called it h.e.l.ls Vestibule, or just The Vestibule. Even the lesser runs that left from this spot were various degrees of challenging.

Other than the wind and the almost silent movement of the chair lift, all was quiet. A gust of wind lifted a breath of snow off a tree and tossed it into her face.

Smith skied to the top of the closest run and looked down. Impossible to distinguish one set of ski tracks from all the others that had been laid down during the day. She turned toward the out-of-bounds area. The traces of a few skis broke away from the ma.s.s of tracks, showing where people had walked to the edge to look at the view. Branches creaked and snow drifted off dark green needles.

A single line of skis, the snow on either side punctuated by the round imprint of poles, skirted the out-of-bounds signs and went under the rope. The tracks wobbled, looking as if theyd been laid by someone not too skillful, and snow hadnt begun to fill the depressions.

"Jerk," Gareth said, and Smith started, thinking for a moment he was calling her names. "Theres always someone too clever for his own good." He pointed at the tracks. "Theres a reason this area is posted. Its dangerous ground out there."

"Shes got what, about a fifteen-twenty minute lead on us? Shes not a good skier, but this sections pretty flat. Whats it get like further in?"

"Heavily forested. Its never been used for a run, mostly because if you take a left theres a heck of a cliff."

"Molly, you there?" Radio.

"Im here. Shes gone into the backcountry behind Black Powder."

"Not good," Stockdale said. "That areas under an avalanche warning. Mountie with the dogs here."

She let out a grateful puff of air. "That was quick."

"Says he was nearby. Hes getting a machine and coming up. Says for you to wait there."

"Will do."

Skiing wasnt so bad, once you got away from the crowds and the clumsy little kids and teenage show-offs. There was no groomed trail here, no tracks laid down by earlier skiers. There was a rough sort of path cutting through the trees, used by deer and elk perhaps, and it went down at a gentle angle. That wasnt so bad either, not like the terrifying drops Jason and Ewan seemed to think she could be goaded into trying.

Wendy had fallen in a pile of soft snow almost as soon as shed taken her first step past the boundary rope, and been afraid she wouldnt be able to keep on her feet long enough to disappear. Wouldnt that be embarra.s.sing: to flounder around up to her waist in a pile of snow, like a fish flipped into a boat, and be rescued by some stuck-up, know-it-all ski patroller.

After only a few feet of careful going, she entered the woods. A solid line of trees uphill kept the snow from blowing too deep here. She no longer had to struggle in the powdered snow that everyone else seemed to love.

She had never heard such silence. Blissful silence. Not a sound but wind moving through the trees and snow settling on the branches. No one nagging her to do better in school, to work harder, to start saving some money, to ski faster. To keep up. Keep up with her mother the surgeon, her father the professor. With Jason, the prodigy. Jason the Perfect.

The cold winter moon lit up the path in front of her.

Chapter Twenty-eight.

They heard the two-stroke whine of snowmobile engines coming toward them, and moments later two machines broke out of the trees. Adam Tocek was driving the first, large and bulky in the protective suit. Norman was tucked into the seat in front of him, protected by the drivers arms, wearing an orange avalanche-dog vest. They pulled up in a spray of powder, and Tocek lifted his visor. Another member of the ski patrol was driving the second snowmobile, which pulled a first-aid toboggan.

The driver tossed a pair of boots toward Smith. "Dont know if thesell fit, but we figured youd be better off without your ski boots."

Smith caught the footwear. "Glad you could make it, Adam."

"What you got?"

"Woman on skis. Were pretty sure she went that way." Smith turned and pointed her pole toward the solid line of snow-wrapped trees. "Shes involved in the Wyatt-Yarmouth and Williams deaths, you know about that?"

Tocek nodded.

Norman showed everyone his large pink tongue.

"Shes not too good on skis, and she isnt out for a pleasure jaunt."

"Trying to run?"

"Not thinking, most likely. I spoke to her less than an hour ago and she was drinking heavily and close to a breakdown."

"Can you operate one of these things?"

"Been driving snow machines a lot longer than patrol cars." She released the bindings of her skis and stepped clear before planting the skis toes first into the snow. While Gareth supported her by one arm, she changed boots. "Whats happening down below?" she asked, bending over to tie the laces.

"John Winters is on his way, and the helicopter is on standby. Norman and I were heading to the office when I heard the call."

"Tracks are visible as far as I followed them. She fell at least once. If were lucky, sh.e.l.l give up and wait for us."

"As long as that moon stays out, we can find her. Lets go."

Smith told the woman whod come up with Adam to remain here and direct other searchers if needed. Then she pulled a helmet out of the snowmobiles storage compartment, put it on, swung her leg over the snow machine, and settled into the drivers seat. Gareth clambered on behind her. Smith dropped the visor, and reached for the controls to rev the engine. A low mumble came from the row of mountains ahead of them.

"Snowpacks moving," Tocek said. "Over that first ridge. Should be well beyond any ground our target can cover." His machine edged forward.

They went slowly and lay low to duck under the ropes. Tocek gave the engine a bit more gas, and they headed into the wilderness.

The moon threw the tracks of Wendys skis into deep relief. Tocek tried to keep to one side of the trail, to preserve the track in case they needed to backtrack, but the trees soon closed in leaving them without much room to maneuver. Wendys trail started off wobbly, veering off in all directions, rounding trees, turning back on itself, but it soon settled into a more-or-less straight line.

Smith watched Norman. The long hairs at the ruff of his neck and around his ears stood up under the force of the wind, and his nose was constantly twitching as he sniffed the air.

Adam Tocek had to go slowly, keeping his eyes on the trail. He came to a near stop and gave Norman a push. The dog jumped off the machine, gave himself a shake, and fell into pace to lope beside them. The moonlight was good but the forest was full of fallen branches and snow-covered boulders and deep shadows that could conceal a fallen skier.

Norman came to a sudden stop. He lifted his big head and barked. Just once. Darkness swallowed the lights of the snow machines. Ahead, there were no more trees, no more snow. Nothing but blackness. Smith pulled up beside Adam as he dismounted and got off her own machine. Her legs were heavy and the snow was deep beneath her ill-fitting boots. She could feel Gareth moving beside her.

They joined Adam and Norman at the edge of the cliff. The ski tracks didnt waver, they simply disappeared over the edge. Smith reached for the dogs head and felt Adams glove. He turned his hand over and took hers. They stood together looking down. The side of the mountain had been cut away as smoothly as a knife slices off a piece of cake. It was at least a hundred feet, probably more, to the bottom. The remains of the ancient rock fall showed jagged black edges above the snow.

Far below, a tiny patch of yellow lay across the boulders, broken, twisted.

"Call for a helicopter," Adam said at last. "This isnt a rescue anymore, its a recovery."

Chapter Twenty-nine.

Red lights lit up the deep winter night. A stretcher was guided down the ramp and loaded into the back of the ambulance, and a man climbed in after it. It pulled into the street, sirens warning cars to get out of the way. Two police officers watched. A light snow was falling, but there was no wind and the night was calm.

"That was the hardest thing Ive ever done," Molly Smith said.

"Yup."

"Do you get used to it?"

"Never," John Winters said.

It hadnt taken long for the helicopter rescue team to descend into the crack of the mountain and bring out the body of Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth. Winters had joined Smith and Tocek at Blue Sky, before going back to town to break the news to Wendys parents. Smith, overwhelmed by what she saw as her failure to protect the young woman, accompanied him.

Mrs. Wyatt-Yarmouth had, at first, simply refused to believe them. She insisted that the police had made a mistake. Winters gently persisted and offered to drive the couple to the hospital, whereupon Patricia had screamed and flown at him, ready to blindly take out all her rage and grief. Winters grabbed her hands, and spoke to her softly, until she was spent. Then hed laid her on the bed and called an ambulance to take the inconsolable woman to the hospital. The entire time her husband stood at the window, looking out at the street lamps in the alley. Smith pressed her back against the wall, and felt useless.

"My wife has made friends with Mrs. Wyatt-Yarmouth," Winters said, fishing in his pocket for his cell phone, as the ambulance doors slammed shut. "Sh.e.l.l want to help, if she can. Can I give you a lift somewhere Molly?"

"No, thanks. I need to walk for a while."

He watched her walk down the street. At first she moved slowly, her head down, her hands stuffed into her pockets. She kicked at a lump of dirty snow. As she waited at the corner for the light to change, she straightened up, lifted her head and held her face to the falling snow. Then she punched the air with her fist, once, and dug into her pocket for her own cell phone. When the light was green, she ran across the street with a wave to a pa.s.sing pedestrian.

She pulled up a stored number. "Hey," she said, "its me." Hed given her his number earlier, in case she needed to talk. She didnt need to talk, not about Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth and grief and sorrow. Enough sadness in the world; time to get back to living. "I havent celebrated the New Year yet, and Im starving. What time do you get a break? Its late so pretty much everythings closed, but we can probably get a sandwich at the Bishop. Want to meet me? Dinners on me."

"Id like that, Molly," Adam Tocek said. "Give me half an hour."

Chapter Thirty.