Two:
Waiting for the Continos

Under the sterile glare of a fluorescent light, Claire sat twisting her hands in the waiting room at the Summit County Medical Center. Her gut churned as she vacillated between despair and hope for Stephanie’s life. The staff had been mute about the young woman’s condition, since the Hanovers weren’t family.

She rehearsed and discarded inane-sounding expressions of condolence to Stephanie’s parents and brother. Nothing sounded right. And guilt kept nagging. Could she have done anything before or after the accident to prevent Stephanie’s death?

Right after Hal Matthews left them at the base lodge to call Stephanie’s family, Claire, Roger, and Judy had driven to the medical center. Since then, time had slowly ticked by on the wall clock as they waited for the Continos. Roger sat at the other end of the sofa with his arm around Judy. She leaned against his shoulder and quietly sniffled.

Feeling prickly heat soon after coming inside, Claire had taken off her ski jacket and sweater. She couldn’t remove the heavy, waterproof ski pants, though, because all she wore underneath was long underwear. She tugged at the collar of her turtleneck and fanned her face.

Maybe Claire’s warmth was more than being overheated. She remembered reading that stress could bring on perimenopausal hot flashes. She studied Judy and Roger, who seemed comfortable. Yep, hot flash.

Roger caught Claire’s eye. “Maybe we should leave a message for the Continos and go home to wait.”

Claire shook her head. “I can’t leave Stephanie here alone.” Even if nothing more could be done to save her, Stephanie deserved to have people who knew her, at least a little, watch over her until her family arrived.

“I don’t want to leave either,” Judy said.

“Besides, if I were Stephanie’s mother, I’d want to know every detail of what happened right away, particularly what Stephanie was doing and how she felt before she …” Claire glanced at Judy. “Before the accident. We owe it to them to answer whatever questions they have as best as we can.”

“But we didn’t see the accident.” Judy’s eyes were puffy and her face was tear-blotched.

Claire took Judy’s hand. “Honey, you’ll have to be strong, especially for Nick. This will be quite a shock for him.”

Judy squeezed her mother’s hand. “You don’t think Stephanie’s alive, do you?”

“What do you think?”

“She looked bad, really bad.” Judy sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “But she had her whole life ahead of her. It’s not fair for her to die so young, from such a stupid accident!”

“Life’s not fair. Nor is death.” Claire squeezed her eyes to stop the tears. She agreed with Judy and wished her daughter hadn’t had to learn the harsh lesson so young.

The sound of a door opening and a cold gust made Claire look up.

With a solemn expression, Hal Matthews held open the outside door. The couple who followed him in had to be Stephanie’s parents. Claire remembered Judy telling her the names of Nick’s parents the night before.

Anthony, Stephanie’s father, entered first, his olive-skinned face grim under a regal mane of dark hair sprinkled with gray, the perfect picture of an Italian-American gentleman. He wore black ski pants and jacket, as if he had just come off the slopes. He turned to take the hand of his wife, Angela.

Angela’s shiny black hair was perfectly coifed, and her petite figure was clothed in a maroon-and-black embroidered pant set that must have cost a fortune. Obviously, she hadn’t gone skiing that day. Her face held a raw edge of despair.

Claire’s chest contracted. No mother should have to go through what Angela was about to face. Outliving one’s child is a mother’s worst nightmare.

Last came Judy’s Nickolas, or Nick as she called him. Tall, thin, and black-haired like his parents, his sharp features looked as if they had been chiseled out of stone. Like his father, he was dressed for skiing. Worry furrowed his young brow as he scanned the waiting room. When his gaze fell on Judy, he stepped toward her.

Judy ran into his arms, burying her face against his chest. “Oh, Nick, it was awful. Oh, God.”

Claire stood and approached the Continos, her feet feeling as if they were made of lead.

Roger followed and put a steadying hand behind her back. “Mr. and Mrs. Contino, I’m Roger Hanover and this is my wife, Claire.”

The fear in Angela’s eyes was a deep, sucking void.

Claire clasped the woman’s icy hands. “We’re so sorry this happened. If you need anything, anything at all, we’re here.” God, that was lame. After all that thinking, that’s the best I could come up with?

With tears pooling in her eyes, Angela nodded mutely.

Anthony laid a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

While they talked, Hal Matthews had checked in at the desk. An attendant buzzed open the door from the waiting room to a hallway leading to treatment rooms. Matthews stood next to her at the open doorway. “Mr. and Mrs. Contino?”

As Anthony stepped through with Angela, he called Nick’s name. Nick mouthed “later” to Judy and followed his parents.

The Hanovers returned to their seats. Judy slipped her hand into Claire’s again. Dully, Claire stared into space until she realized her hand had gone numb, squeezed so hard in her daughter’s. She gently extracted her hand and swallowed. Her throat was dry. “Roger, could you get us some water, please?”

As he stood and moved to the water cooler, Judy let out a long sigh, her gaze glued to the waiting room door.

“I know this is hard, honey.” Claire ran her hand along Judy’s hair. “Anything I can do for you?”

Judy had found comfort in the caress as a child but had shied away from her mother’s touch as a teenager. This time, she remained motionless, except for a small shake of her head in answer to her mother’s question.

Roger returned with two paper cups filled with water.

A muffled noise filtered down the hallway and out the reception window into the waiting room—a woman’s scream, followed by hysterical sobbing.

Roger’s hands shook, and he spilled some water.

Claire took her cup and glanced at the only other occupant of the waiting room, a young mother with a lethargic toddler, who stared at the empty reception window. Slowly, her head turned toward Claire and their gazes locked, she clutching her sick child to her chest and Claire’s hand still on Judy’s hair.

In her maternal bones, Claire knew the woman thought the same thing as she. Dear God, please never let that be me.

The receptionist returned and called a name.

Like an automaton, the young mother stood, breaking the spell of that mutual look of horror. She walked with her toddler slung across her hip through the door into the hallway.

Needing the contact, Claire stroked Judy’s hair again.

Judy hunched her shoulders and slid her head away from Claire’s hand. “Stop petting me like a dog, Mom.”

“Sorry. Old habits die hard.” Claire forced herself to take a swallow of water. Realizing Judy hadn’t taken her cup from Roger yet, Claire placed it on the end table beside them.

Without a word, Roger turned to pour another for himself. The three sat quietly for a few more minutes, lost in their own morbid thoughts.

The doorway to the examining rooms opened. Nick Contino stepped through, his eyes red-rimmed.

As if drawn to him by a powerful magnetic force, Judy leapt to her feet and ran to him. They hugged for a long time, then Judy pulled away to say, “I’m so sorry.” She led him by the hand to Claire and Roger and sat with him on the sofa facing theirs, their arms intertwined and hands locked in a tight hold.

A surge of jealousy engulfed Claire. Judy had shrugged off her mother’s attempts at comfort, and now she clung to her boyfriend like ivy sucking life from a tree. Don’t be stupid, Claire. Be happy she can find comfort with him.

Judy glanced nervously at her parents then licked her lips as her gaze returned to Nick. “Is Stephanie . . . ?”

“She’s gone,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

A whimper escaped Judy’s lips before she clamped them shut and gazed at their clasped hands.

“Nick, we all feel awful,” Claire said. “I wish we could have done something, anything, to prevent the accident or to help her afterward.”

Nick shook his head. “They said she was lost as soon as she hit the tree. The blow to her head was too severe.” He swallowed hard. “She probably never felt it. You couldn’t have done anything.”

Claire felt some relief. At least Stephanie hadn’t suffered. Her family, however, would suffer for years to come. “Did Mr. Matthews tell you what happened?”

“Yes, but I wanted to hear the story directly from you.” Nick peered at Judy. “If you’re up to it.”

Judy sucked in a deep breath and sat tall. “I’m up to it.”

Claire felt a surge of pride and a twinge of nostalgia. When and how did Judy grow so strong?

Judy told Nick about the snowboarder and about finding Stephanie lying in the snow. She swiped at a tear running down her cheek. “I feel so guilty, Nick. I should have kept up with her, so I could warn her about the snowboarder.”

Nick hugged her again, but seemed unable to speak, to assure her that she deserved no part of the blame in Stephanie’s death.

Claire felt she had to say something. “None of this was your fault, Judy.”

Judy stared at her. “You’re just saying that.”

Claire realized Judy needed to hear it wasn’t her fault directly from the Continos, but she tried to offer what assurances she could. “There’s still a possibility that the snowboarder didn’t do it.”

“Mr. Matthews sure made it sound like the snowboarder did it,” Nick said. “He said the resort posted a description of the slimeball, asking anyone who knows him to contact them. They gave a description to all the patrollers, too.” His jaw worked. “The guy better hope they find him before I do.”

Judy tugged at her hand that was clenched tight in his fist. “You’re hurting me.”

Nick jerked his hand away. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” Judy said, rubbing her knuckles. “How did they find you? Weren’t you and your dad snowcat skiing in the back bowls at Copper Mountain?”

Nick shot her a glance then quickly said, “Mr. Matthews called the house. Mom gave him Dad’s cell phone number, and he called that. Good thing we got good reception at Copper. By the time we drove here, Mr. Matthews had picked up Mom and brought her here. We met them in the parking lot.”

Claire wondered why Nick seemed rattled by the question. She scanned his clothes. No wet spots, even on the bottom hem of his ski pants. She hadn’t seen any wetness on his father’s ski clothes either. Their outfits must have been made of awfully quick-drying cloth, or the two men were excellent skiers who never fell. She realized Nick was watching her and met his gaze.

“Mom and Dad will probably want to talk to you, too,” he said.

Claire nodded. “That’s why we stayed.”

Nick pursed his lips. “I don’t think Mom can handle it now. Could you come by our house tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Roger replied. “What else can we do?”

Nick turned his gaze on Judy and his expression softened. “Take care of my girl here.”

Noting Judy’s answering look of adoration, Claire felt a sudden shock of realization. These two had fallen hard for each other. She studied the handsome, mysterious young man in a new light and vowed to find out more about him.

Nick extracted himself from Judy’s clutches and stood. “I should go back to my folks now. The doctor gave us the number of the only funeral home in town.”

His eyes glistened, and he took a moment to compose himself. “They’re coming to get Stephanie soon.” He turned away and, with clenched fists, walked through the reception door.

Judy held her hands over her mouth as tears slid down her cheeks.

Claire handed her a tissue. Judy would take that from her, at least.

While Judy dabbed her tears, a man wearing jeans, a brown work shirt, and a black fleece vest with a sheriff’s star logo sewn onto it walked into the waiting room. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, tall, lean and well-muscled with short-cropped black hair. His cold, gray-blue eyes studied Claire’s family before he walked over to them.

“I’m Owen Silverstone, detective with the Summit County Sheriff’s Office. Are you the Hanovers?”

“Yes we are,” Roger said.

The man’s high, prominent cheekbones bespoke his Native American heritage. “I need to ask you some questions.”

Startled, Claire asked, “Why?”

“We’re required to investigate all deaths at the ski resort, but first I have to talk to Hal Matthews. Do you mind waiting here?”

Roger spread his hands wide. “That’s what we’ve been doing already.”

Claire’s gut rumbled. The wall clock showed it was already after one, and they hadn’t eaten lunch. Not that she could stomach anything yet.

Detective Silverstone thanked them, then went through the reception door, leaving the Hanovers alone again.

After three more patients had entered the waiting room, the detective returned. “The Continos have left, and Hal’s available to join us. I found an empty office in the doctors’ center next door so we can talk in private.”

He held the outside door open and ushered them across the parking lot, then into the adjoining building and an office inside. Hal Matthews was already there, perched on the side of the desk. Three chairs crowded the space in front, and he indicated the Hanovers should sit in them.

Detective Silverstone sat in the chair behind the desk and took out a notebook. “Hal already filled me in on what you told him about the snowboarder. We have an ongoing problem with recklessness on the slopes, and we’re working hard to curb it. Hopefully, if enough of these kids get charged with assault or manslaughter, they’ll get it through their thick heads that they need to slow down.”

Confused, Claire looked at the senior ski patroller and back at the detective. “But didn’t Mr. Matthews tell you about the tracks I saw?”

Silverstone checked his notes. “He said you thought you saw an extra pair of ski tracks in addition to Miss Contino’s and the snowboarder’s.”

“Yes,” Claire said, “And I believe—”

“I’m surprised you only saw one extra set, or that you could distinguish the tracks. Lower Ptarmigan’s usually crisscrossed with tracks by that time in the morning, not to mention ones from the day before. It’s not a slope that gets groomed every night, is it, Hal?”

Matthews shook his head.

Feeling a twinge of irritation, Claire gripped the arms of her chair. “But three inches of snow fell last night, so that covered yesterday’s tracks. And the T-bar didn’t open until a few minutes before we got on.”

“That so, Hal?”

“I talked to the lift operators,” Matthews said, “to see if they remembered the snowboarder. They remembered the goofy hat, but that’s all. And they said they started up the T-bar at ten fifteen.”

“So, we were some of the first skiers to make tracks in the fresh powder.” Claire edged forward in her chair, anxious to make her point. “Not only were the tracks clear, but both the skier’s tracks and the snowboarder’s went close to Stephanie’s where hers veered off into the woods.”

Silverstone quirked an eyebrow at Matthews. “Did you see that?”

“No. Mrs. Hanover claimed the sled went over them, so they were gone when she told me about them.”

Claimed? Realizing the senior ski patroller didn’t believe her, Claire kept pushing. “The ski tracks came straight out of the woods above the collision point. No turns. If the skier was the one who hit her, either he never saw Stephanie or he deliberately hit her.”

Judy stared at her mother. “You think someone killed her on purpose?”

“Whoa.” Matthews put out his hands. “You’re getting carried away here.”

Claire focused on the detective. “No, I’m just covering all the possibilities.”

Silverstone stroked his chin. “We always look for the simplest explanation first. Accidental collisions happen all the time on the mountain, though they rarely result in death.”

He checked his notes. “You said the snowboarder passed the four of you, then he passed Miss Hanover again, presumably after stopping somewhere, before he reached Miss Contino?”

“Either he hit Stephanie and the skier must have seen it,” Claire said, “or the skier hit her and the snowboarder saw it. What’s still puzzling me is why neither one stopped to help her.”

“Not everyone’s as responsible as you,” Matthews said. “It’s amazing what assholes some of our patrons can be.”

“Well, we know nothing about this skier,” Silverstone said, “or if he or she even exists. Our best course of action is still to find the snowboarder.” He flipped his notebook closed and glanced at Matthews.

“I called in while you were fetching the Hanovers,” Matthews said. “The patrollers haven’t spotted him yet. One more thing. The ski resort prefers to be the primary contact with the press on this.”

Silverstone addressed the Hanovers next. “Until we determine if criminal conduct was involved, none of you should talk to the press. It could harm our case if we need to bring charges. And, as you can imagine, a death on the slopes can be very damaging to the local economy if it’s blown out of proportion.”

Anger boiled in Claire’s gut. They’re more concerned about bad publicity than the truth.

Roger covered her clenched hand with his. “We understand.”

Matthews stood. “The lifts will start shutting down in less than an hour. Would any of you be willing to ski Peaks Seven and Eight again tomorrow and help us look for that snowboarder?”

Claire looked at Roger and he nodded.

Judy shifted in her chair. “I think I should be with Nick . . . if he wants me.”

Claire turned to Matthews. “We need to visit the Continos in the morning, but Roger and I should be able to ski after that.”

“Both the ski patrol and the sheriff’s office would really appreciate it.” Silverstone plucked a card out of his wallet and handed it to Roger. “I understand you’ve already got Mr. Matthews’s card. Carry both with you tomorrow along with your cell phone. Call either one of us if you spot the boarder.”

He peered at Claire and Roger in turn, as if to assure he had their full attention. “Under no circumstances should you approach him yourself.”