The man was bearded and sinewy tall, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders. Holey tee underneath. Boots. Startling green eyes. Uninvited, he dropped to the bench beside me. Assuming this was the tardy Damon James, I slid left to make room.

Chilly nod to the new arrival, then Reynolds resumed his story.

“We used a semi-independent or ‘supported’ company, as they’re called. Sherpas who provide tents, food, supplemental oxygen, fixed ropes. But no guides.”

“Because we’re badass and can get ourselves up and down unassisted.” James was doing sardonic. Maybe his usual demeanor. “Bright’s choice. Or The Heights’s choice.” To me. “They told you about the climbers’ Holy Grail?”

“They did.” Back to Reynolds. “So Brighton should have been able to summit by turnaround? She had thirty minutes to go ninety meters.” The length of a short home run. Three NBA courts. One football field.

Just three sets of eyes, staring.

James spoke first. “Doubtful.”

“People don’t understand.” Steele, forward now, elbows on the table. “You’re dizzy all the time. Your brain doesn’t work. One morning I sat in my tent staring at boots for God knows how long, clueless which pair was mine. I had to rest twenty minutes between putting them on and tying the laces.”

“Imagine climbing a thousand stairs, carrying fifty pounds of gear, breathing only through a cocktail straw,” said Reynolds. “One step can take ten minutes. The rule is to never exceed sixty percent of your physical capacity.”

“Which is near zero up there,” offered James.

“The rule is to turn around by two P.M.,” Steele repeated, moving toward petulance.

“Rules meant nothing to Bright.” From James. “I tried to talk her into coming down with us but she’d have none of it. She was determined to summit. And absolutely certain it wouldn’t take her past time.”

“We should’ve made them turn around,” Steele said.

“Them?”

“She and the woman she stopped to help,” Reynolds said.

“You couldn’t make Bright do anything.” James, now doing scornful.

Something didn’t ring true. “If Brighton was so focused on summiting, why did she stop to offer help at Hillary Step?”

“It was weird.” Steele’s voice trailed off.

“Weird?” I prompted.

“Bright always had to be first.”

“Maybe she did have HAPE or HACE.” Reynolds didn’t sound convinced. “It’s like being drunk. Causes you to make bad decisions.”

“It might have been fine, but for the storm,” Steele said.

“There was a storm?” Were these guys for real, or feeding me the plot from Into Thin Air?

“Squall.” James corrected. “It came up fast and slowed everything down.”

“We were half-frozen by the time we got to camp,” Steele said. “My oxygen regulator was choked with ice. Cash was hallucinating and nearly wandered off the side of the mountain.” Disgusted exhale from Reynolds. “We passed out in separate tents. It was after dark when Elon realized Bright hadn’t come back.”

Again, the feeling their story didn’t track. “Nap time over, everyone’s ready to share mountaintop selfies, and no one notices your ringleader’s not there?”

“We had no idea she was in trouble.” Steele was vehement. Too vehement? “She didn’t radio. After passing her below the summit we never heard from her again. It made no sense.”

“Another guide alerted our Sherpa.” Reynolds picked up the thread. “Said the second late climber came down in bad shape, had to be escorted to Camp One and airlifted out. Damon wanted to go up after Bright, but it was impossible. We were exhausted, it was dark, and—full honesty—we lacked the skills to get the job done.”

“We couldn’t raise her on the radio. It was horrible.” Steele was either genuinely devastated or an Emmy-class actress.

“Nature one, humans zero.” James pantomimed marking a score sheet. “The next day, a Taiwanese group found her body in an alcove on the South Summit, about a hundred and fifty meters below the top. A couple of Sherpas tried to dislodge her but she was frozen in place. Not barely alive frozen, like Beck Weathers or David Sharp. Dead frozen.”

Seeing my look, Reynolds explained the reference. “Sharp was a climber who got frozen to the ground while still breathing and had to be left. His body’s now a trail marker, of sorts. Weathers, they genuinely thought was dead when they left him behind, but he somehow wandered into camp the next morning. They were able to get him off the mountain.”

“Most of him. He left behind a nose, an arm, and most of his toes,” James said. “But I saw the before pics. He wasn’t so great-looking to begin with.”

Jesus flipping Christ.

James rolled on, matter-of-fact. “Brighton was dead. There was nothing we could do. It was descend or die. Everyone knew the risks going in.”

“What do you think happened to Brighton?” Not barely alive frozen. Dead frozen.

James shrugged. “She was either too exhausted or too disoriented to work the ropes down Hillary Step. She sat down to rest and froze in place. It happens.” He paused. “She might have made it overnight if the temperature hadn’t taken a nosedive. But it was just too fucking cold and she had too little oxygen.”

Steele chimed in. “The other climber told the Sherpas that Bright insisted she descend Hillary Step first. Claimed she waited at the bottom but Bright never showed. Said she didn’t have the strength or oxygen to go back up, so she headed to camp to find help.”

“What was the other climber’s name?”

Ten seconds of nothing.

“She was Italian, I think.” Steele looked to Reynolds.

“No. Colombian.”

“She was a solo climber,” James said. “We didn’t know her.”

“You never tried to locate her? I mean later, after you were all down off the mountain?” These three were a piece of work.

“What was there to say?” Reynolds shrugged. “Bright was dead.”

The new silence was broken by Steele. “I’m sorry but I can’t keep kicking myself. It’s been three years. Time to let it go.”

By implied command, Reynolds swung his feet from under the table and stood.

Also rising, Steele said, “It was hard.” Almost pleading. “You just don’t know.” Then, Reynolds in the lead, bodies not touching, the two strode toward the door.

“Ain’t she a darlin’?”

My gaze swung to James. He was watching Reynolds and Steele, his face unreadable. But the venom in his tone was clear.

“You don’t like Dara?”

“If anyone had motive to leave Bright on that mountain it was Dara.”

I didn’t see that coming. “Seriously?”

“Dara hated Brighton. As in, wanted to be her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Stand by your man.” The lyric half-sung, half-whispered.

“Dara wanted to be with Cash?”

James did something meaningful with his brows.

“She seems so passive.”

“Passive as a coiled mamba until it takes off your face.” At my look. “Fine. I shouldn’t single Dara out. Everyone verbally loooooooved Brighton, but they were all trying to score something off her. Even me.”

“Oh?”

“You know we were business partners, right?”

“Dara mentioned it.”

“Bright came up with the idea to start a nonprofit to help Nepali Sherpa. Called it Bright Ascents. Hidden agenda: boost our profiles and make us reality TV worthy. I had the Everest connections but Brighton had the charisma. She was the star power with the rich friends. In less than a year she raised over a million bucks.”

“Your role?”

“My handsome face and boyish charm.” Getting no reaction from me, he went on: “I knew the climbing community. Could navigate Nepali red tape. If we ever started a project, I was going to grease the wheels. Until then, I was just along for the ride.” Winsome wink. “Looking pretty.”

“And a small salary?”

“Do you work for free?”

I dipped my chin, acknowledging he had a point.

“Elon Gass?”

“Poor Elon never had a dime to his name. Bright funded his trip. He owed her upwards of thirty thousand dollars.”

“Pretty steep for a walk up a mountain.”

Too late I realized my bad pun. James ignored or failed to catch it.

Derisive expulsion of air. “And that’s the budget version, ma’am.”

“Depends on how you count costs.” My reply was acid. Brighton Hallis had paid the highest price possible.

James scooched right and stood in one quick, controlled move, all angles and knees and sharp shoulders. A long meeting of our eyes. Then, “There’s no love lost between Dara and me. My view? She’s not the brightest bird in the cage. But she’s got one thing right. You weren’t there, you can’t judge. Brighton put herself at risk and ‘paid the price.’ ” Air quotes like angry little hooks. “Hell, she put the whole team at risk. We all could’ve died. I’m sorry she’s gone, but it wasn’t our fault, and I refuse to feel guilty just because she was a pretty blonde with the last name Hallis. Case closed.”

With that, he stalked off.

In a short forty-eight hours I would learn how wrong they all were.