Charlotte Halliwell was a celebrity in Park City. Locals adored Charlotte for her athletic achievements, and tourists for her unyielding and tireless effort in finding them the perfect vacation home of their dreams. Her slogan, you can ski in, but you won’t want to ski out, made an impression on people. To prove her death wasn’t an accident wouldn’t be easy. But in my line of business just because it walked like a duck didn’t make it one, and for the first time in years, I was faced with a real challenge.
The time on my watch displayed a much later hour than I had hoped. I sized up my shower, but there was no time for a quickie. I caught my reflection in the mirror. The hair looked decent, but the make-up needed refreshing. I fiddled around for a washcloth, washed the makeup off, reapplied, and then made a mad dash for the door.
I arrived at Moll’s Tavern at seven p.m. Right on time. Moll’s was my favorite spot for a late-night rendezvous, or an early one on this particular night. I looked around, but there was no sign of Nick, who ran on his own time. I waved myself past the hostess and paused to order a drink at the bar before wandering over to my usual spot.
Moll’s offered two main dining areas, one for family and the other for fun. Tonight, fun served up a live band and an open bar. Life was good.
I sat at my favorite table and tried to concentrate on my drink, but all I noticed was the haphazard arrangement of silverware placed on the table in front of me, with the spoon to the left of the knife and the salad and dinner forks to the right. I picked up the pieces, reorganized the flatware in its correct position, and reclined back, amazed in the satisfaction I received from a little silverware organization.
“Couldn’t resist, could you?”
I looked up. “You’re late.”
“No more than usual,” Nick said.
I shot him a wink.
“About ten minutes, but who’s counting.”
He glanced at my martini. “I see you went ahead.”
I took a sip and held my glass up high. “Cheers!”
Nick’s button-down shirt was tucked into a pair of dark denim jeans, which were snug and showed off his toned physique. He had a hint of a five o’clock shadow, which complemented his buzz cut. Aside from the lack of a uniform, he looked like he belonged in the military.
“Sloane, how wonderful to see you,” a woman said.
I shifted my focus to a redhead standing next to me. “And you, Claire.”
Claire was in her mid-fifties and of Irish descent. She had a roundish head, which harmonized perfectly with the plethora of freckles scattered across her face. She wasn’t much taller than the pub table we sat at and entirely stocky.
“How’s the martini?” she said.
“Perfect. How’s business?”
“Between the fancy-shmancy grand opening at Wildwood and the Sundance Film Festival, I have no complaints. You want your usual?”
I nodded.
“I’ll tell your waitress,” she said, “if I can find the silly thing. As useful as a lighthouse on a bog, that one.”
“Is anyone interested in what I want at all?” Nick said.
Claire let out a full-bellied laugh and turned around.
“Why, Detective Calhoun, I didn’t see you there,” she said.
He rolled his eyes.
“Sure, sure. You ladies finished yet? Because I’m here to eat.”
“Aw, someone feels left out.” Claire patted him on the arm. “Give us girls a minute and we’ll get you all taken care of, all right? Keep your alans on.”
Claire gave Nick a civilized nod. “Detective,” she said, walking away.
Nick shrugged.
“What about my drink?” he said.
He sized my martini up from top to bottom like he wanted to frisk it.
I waved over the waitress.
“He’ll have a Bulleit Neat.”
“A bull what?” she said.
My first impressions were seldom wrong, and in this case my instincts told me two things: she was the one Claire had referred to earlier, and tonight was sure to be her last.
“Bourbon on the rocks,” I said. “Ask the bartender, he’ll know.”
“Now where were we?” Nick said.
“Somewhere between OCD and my day, I think.”
“Right,” he said, “tell me about it.”
“You won’t believe––”
“Oh boy. Here we go,” he said.
“I haven’t even come to the good part yet.”
Nick folded his arms and rested them on the edge of the table. “Better get started then.”
“What do you know about the accident at Wildwood?”
“Same as you, I’m sure. Girl died of blunt-force trauma.”
“Her sister, Audrey Halliwell, came to see me today.”
“What about?”
“The accident, or should I say, alleged accident.”
The smile on his face vanished. “What do you mean alleged?”
“Audrey Halliwell thinks there’s a lot more to what happened, and she’s hired me to look into Charlotte’s death.”
The waitress returned with Nick’s drink and our salads. “Another martini?”
I handed her my glass.
Nick took a swig of his drink and swallowed hard. “We already know what happened.”
“Audrey suspects it might not have been an accident.”
“Let me get this straight. The woman smacks into a tree on a black diamond trail, and her sister thinks it wasn’t an accident?”
“You got it.”
“Based on what?” he said.
“Charlotte Halliwell was an experienced skier. And before you chime in, I already know what you’re going to say. That in itself doesn’t prove foul play, and you’re right.”
“You know family members don’t always think rationally after losing a loved one,” he said.
“I don’t know what to think. But I don’t see how poking around a little can hurt.”
“You didn’t take this case because of Gabrielle, did you?”
I picked at my salad and tried my best not to stab it.
Nick reached over and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”
“She was your sister. It is a big deal.”
“Maybe, but that’s not why I took the case.”
It was true, for the most part.
The waitress returned with our food. “Another ummm, drink?” she said to Nick.
He nodded.
Nick cracked his lobster. I sliced and diced my steak. Nick finished his drink. I finished mine.
“So what’s the plan of attack?” Nick said.
“The usual. Talk to people she knew, check out the ex-boyfriend, take a look at her place, and see what turns up.”
“Let me know what you find out,” he said.
“Always.”
The check came and I stood, or tried to stand, and in the process I noticed my vision had changed since I first arrived.
“Where do you think you’re off to, little lady?” Nick said.
“Home,” I said.
“You don’t plan to drive yourself?”
I smiled and dangled my keys in front of him. It took a moment, but somewhere in Nick’s head, a light went on.