15 MINUTES LATER
The car skidded across the road making an rrrt sound, the kind of sound that propelled people from their chairs and to the window to catch a glimpse of the train wreck taking place outside. Only I was on a lonely stretch of road with nothing but the spinning of pine trees swirling around me. In desperation I struggled to remember the words my grandfather told me: Don’t slam on the brake, tap it. Don’t turn the wheel in the direction of the skid, rotate away from it. Or had he said to turn into the skid, and why couldn’t I remember?
The wheels gripped the road in an attempt to regain traction. I tapped the brake and fought off the urge to slam both heels into the pedal simultaneously. The car lurched from side to side before it steadied and I regained control. A minute later the iron gates of the ski resort came into view.
A boy outfitted in padded black trousers, a black and white ski jacket, and gloves waved me over.
“Hello ma’am,” he said. “Welcome to Wildwood. Valet?”
I nodded.
He pointed toward the resort. “Drive around this corner to the round-a-bout and give your keys to Phil at the front. He’ll take good care of you.”
Wildwood, Park City’s newest ski resort, attracted a diverse group of guests from locals to celebrities. I entered, stopping to look at the many photographs on the walls. Some depicted the Daily Mining Company circa 1890, while others showed off historic Main Street predating the fire that had almost left it a ghost town.
Groups of skiers hustled back and forth through the hallway eager to reach the lift and soar to their destinations. I allowed time for my fingers to thaw in front of the fire before falling in line at the front desk. A girl wearing a fitted red suit-coat accented with a bronze nametag greeted me. Her not-so-natural, bleach-blond locks were pulled back into a tight bun, giving her the appearance of a female version of the nutcracker.
“Hi there,” she said. “Welcome to Wildwood Resort. What can I do for you today?”
“I’m here to see Marty Langston.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
I nodded.
She batted her false eyelashes at me and smiled. “What’s the name?”
“Sloane.”
“And the last name?”
“Monroe.”
She picked up the phone receiver, pressed a few buttons, and waited.
“Mr. Langston? There’s a woman at the front desk to see you by the name of Sloane Monroe. What’s that––oh, sure. I’ll tell her.”
“He’ll be right with you,” she said. “He’s in a meeting and said for you to sit tight. He won’t be more than a minute or two.”
Marty emerged from a corner office a minute later dressed in a fitted suit and a loosened necktie. He extended his arms and pulled me close. “It’s good to see you, Sloane.”
I reached for his tie and straightened it. “How’s the new CEO?”
“On about two hours of sleep a night and all the coffee I can stand.” He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “What do you think? It’s more salt than pepper every day.”
“It looks great on you,” I said.
“You’ve got a coat on large enough to stow a small army inside, but flip-flops, on a day like this?”
I shrugged.
He extended his arms out to the side. “So what do you think? Have you checked the place out yet?”
I shook my head.
“What about lunch? Are you hungry?”
“I’ll take some tea if you got it,” I said.
“Let’s grab a couple drinks, and I’ll show you around.”
The resort café included three sections: a quaint bar area, a much larger open dining section with tables and chairs in varied sizes, and a more intimate section with arched windows lined with tables for two. On the opposite side, angled windows overlooked part of a ski run. I stopped for a moment and watched a skier schuss her way downhill.
“Black tea if memory serves?” he said, pouring hot water into a cup.
I nodded.
Marty glanced out the window. “Spectacular view, isn’t it?”
“Fantastic,” I said.
“So how about it?”
“How about what?”
He pointed to a group of people who appeared to be on skis for the first time. “Say the word and I’ll make it happen.”
I laughed. “I’m much more of a beach bunny than a snow bunny, Marty.”
“It’s never too late to change.”
The bunny slope wasn’t my idea of a good time. It made no sense to me why anyone would subject themselves to zero-degree temperatures when they could appreciate the mounds of white from the inside, nestled by the glow of a stoked fire. Cold was my kryptonite, and yet I liked my life in Park City. From the moment my feet brushed the soil seventeen years earlier, something inside of me had changed.
The café was deserted except for one other person, a woman seated in the open dining section. She had long, blond hair and wore a shirt tight enough to bounce a quarter off of her perky DD’s.
“How’s Kate?” I said.
“Don’t think for a minute I can’t see what you’re doing.”
“What?”
“Deflecting.”
A few more skiers whizzed by. I drank my tea and deflected in silence.
“Kate’s good. I don’t get up there to see her much, but I try to give her a jingle now and then.”
“You’re still my favorite client, you know.”
“Because of my rugged good looks?”
I laughed. “You were my first.”
He smiled.
Marty was adopted at birth. When he aspired to be and later became mayor, he’d experienced a sudden urge to find his birth mother. It took me almost six months to find Kathryn, who he referred to as Kate, but find her I did.
“How goes the PI business these days?”
“I haven’t found a case I can sink my teeth into at the moment,” I said. “But I can’t complain.”
He shot me a wink. “No one threaten your life this week, eh? How boring.”
“The week’s not over yet,” I said.
“Can’t convince you to go back to basics even if I wanted you to, right?”
“And risk the thrill of the chase? Never.”
DD glanced at her watch and rapped her manicured nails in sequence on the table. A waiter approached and whispered something to her before walking away.
Marty polished off the last of his coffee and rose from his chair.
“Ready for the grand tour?” he said.
I intertwined my arm in his. “You bet.”
We walked out of the café but didn’t make it far before the rapid succession of footsteps approached from behind. A tall male tapped Marty on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt. Mr. Langston, there’s an urgent phone call for you,” he said.
“I’m sure it can wait,” Marty said.
“You should take it, sir.”
“Why?”
The man glanced at me and then back at Marty. “I’d rather not say.”
“You can speak in front of Miss Monroe,” Marty said. “She’s like family to me.”
The man grimaced and continued. “We just got a call from snow patrol. Something’s happened on one of the ski runs. It sounds serious.”
Marty shifted his gaze from the man to me. “I better see what’s going on. Can you wait here for a minute? I’m sure it’s nothing.”
I nodded, and Marty followed the man down the hall.
With nothing left to do, I turned my attention to DD. She looked at her watch and let out a sigh of frustration before slinging her Louis Vuitton bag over her shoulder and walking out of the room.
Marty returned a few minutes later with a stern look on his face. “Forgive me my dear, duty calls. Rain check?”
“Is everything alright?”
His jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “There’s been an accident.”