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Despite the crisp mountain air and long day driving and settling in, I tossed and turned as sleep eluded me. No doubt the Mason dilemma was weighing heavy on me, not to mention the sense of dread. At least the foreboding had vanished. Maybe tonight I’d sleep better. Porsche was still sleeping, peaceful or not I couldn’t tell. I left her a note and went down for breakfast early.
I waited at the entrance and was the first seated when the breakfast café opened. It was in the Alpine Chalet with a breakfast bar set up along one wall. The large windows along the opposite wall overlooking the ski mountain and the town were now a view into the storm that had descended on the town overnight. Snow swirled, churned, and gusted. A strong blast struck the windows, setting them rattling. A waiter had started the fire in the grand stone fireplace in the center of the dining area open on both its front and back for patron’s enjoyment.
The breakfast bar included standards of scrambled eggs, waffles, bagels and so forth, plus the traditional Bavarian white sausage and huge pretzel. I opted for the chef’s special item for the morning, a sweet onion and herb quiche with a fruit cup.
Halfway through my first cup of coffee, shortly after my trip to pick out my breakfast items, I observed several staff run out the side door and congregate on a small overlook. The staff were pointing into the trees surrounding the property.
A few early rising guests walked out, bundled up in ski jackets with earmuffs and their scarves were caught by a breeze and whipped around. They danced in the age-old attempt to stay warm. Could there be a moose or other striking animal below the patio of such interest? What would warrant standing out in a brutal storm?
I savored the next succulent bite, eyes closed for full appreciation, but my culinary rapture was suddenly interrupted with the tramping of several feet. My eyes opened in time to see two police officers in heavy parkas go outside with the gawking group. Oh no. A sense of the world tilting a bit hit me. Not again.
“It’s a body out there.” The waitress with the nametag of Kylie spoke in low tones to the waiter name tagged Zachary.
“Are they sure? Could it be an animal? A deer maybe?” Zachary replied.
I took another bite of my quiche. I wasn’t going to let this ruin my amazing breakfast. Too late, it tasted flat now. The fruit cup wasn’t any better. I thought about my sense of dread on the trip here and how it was gone this morning. As if there was a cosmic anxiety about the coming death. I didn’t think this was an accident. Gulp.
“No, clearly a person. This early and the cold temperatures overnight, it won’t be pretty.” They shook their heads in sympathy. They seemed too young to have that much experience with the sadder side of life. I, on the other hand, should have been too young also but sadly I couldn’t claim that innocence any longer.
One policeman in a parka was pointing and seemed to direct others below to the body via his hand radio. Some resort patrons gathered to one side with excited gloved gestures and heads together.
Zachary questioned a few people who scampered inside, blowing into their hands or rubbing them together.
“No way! Seriously.” Zachary’s stage whisper made it to my table. It took Kylie seconds to run over to Zack with a pot of coffee still in her hands. Eventually, she returned to topping-off coffee for the few early risers.
“So, what’s all the excitement about?” I asked when she reached my table.
“Well, there was this really difficult woman staying here. It seems she’s dead, her body’s just over the patio there. This is terrible.”
“Who was it again?” Surely Kara from dinner last night wasn’t the only difficult patron.
“She’s some realtor who liked to throw her name around like she was somebody. She could be a good tipper if you played up to her.”
“Can you describe her? I think I ran into her last night.”
“You know, older, mid length styled blond hair.”
Well, it could be the impatient woman last night, or any middle-aged woman from that vague description. Kylie wandered off.
By the time the officers came inside, apparently done directing from the patio, I had finished my second cup of coffee and assembled a breakfast to go for Porsche.
I braced myself against the frigid air and bolted out onto the patio overlook. I had to know if it was Kara from last night. The arctic blast when I opened the door made my eyes water and sucked the air from my body. Ice had already built up on the patio surface and I slid the last foot to the railing. I nearly lost my breakfast from the unintended ice-skating and accompanying adrenaline jolt.
The blowing snow made it hard to see down to the ground. I could barely make out two men below loading a person into a body bag – blue metallic shoes and navy-blue pants stuck out in the white tableau.
I was positive it was the woman everybody was talking about, the divisive Kara. What a sad epitaph for her life. I squinted against an icy blast and took a brief moment to look around for splashes of blood, but there wasn’t any visible, or it was already covered from blowing or drifting snow. I gingerly walked back to the door, already chilled through in less than two minutes.