Three: Suspicions

While Roger drove to the Contino home the next morning, Claire warmed her backside on the BMW’s heated seat, wishing the heat could penetrate the cold knot of grief and dread churning her insides. She scanned the hastily written directions in her hand. “The turn for the Highlands is just north of town, right?”

“Mom,” Judy replied, “I told you I could give Dad directions. I was there with Nick two nights ago, remember?”

Claire faced Judy in the back seat. “I know, honey, but it was nighttime, and you were only there once. That’s why I called the Continos this morning. I also wanted to make sure they were ready for us.”

Judy rolled her eyes. “Turn right at the light, Dad.” She avoided her mother’s gaze and stared out the window.

Claire wished she’d had time to put together a sympathy basket. She had brought supplies to Breckenridge so she could construct and donate a gift basket to the upcoming Summit Foundation auction, but she didn’t have suitable items for the Continos. Nothing would ease the raw pain of losing Stephanie, but Claire wanted to at least let her family know that the Hanovers cared.

As Roger drove the winding curves of Highland Drive, he let out a low whistle. “This is some neighborhood. I don’t see a single home that looks like it would sell for less than two million.”

Lining the road, cemented river stone and peeled-log mansions sat back on large treed lots. Huge, dark windows faced the ski-area mountains and seemed to stare at the car like sunken eye sockets in hollow skulls.

Claire shivered. “Most of them look empty. They must be second homes. Did the Continos rent like us, or do they own a vacation home here?”

“They own it,” Judy answered. “They usually come up from Denver once a month or so.”

“They must be doing well.” Roger’s tone was wistful.

Claire glanced at him. After Enrique, a massage therapist, was shot and killed in Claire’s bedroom two months earlier and the Colorado Springs police accused Roger of the crime, Roger had lost his corporate job as a chief financial officer during the resulting lurid publicity. He had been exonerated for the crime, but he hadn’t gotten his position back. Or found another one yet.

She smoothed her hand across his shoulders. “We’re doing well, too, Roger. Well enough for me.” Thank goodness they were diligent savers and had a considerable cushion.

He flashed her a half smile, as if he half-believed her.

Claire pointed at the sign for the Continos’ street. “There’s the turn.”

“The house is the third one on the right,” Judy added.

Roger pulled into the long driveway and parked behind a large black SUV. “A Range Rover. I should’ve known.”

He can’t be that envious. “I’m sure your X-Five is just as classy as his Range Rover.”

“That Range Rover costs twenty to twenty-five K more than my car.” At Claire’s sharp glance, Roger patted her hand. “Wishful thinking. That’s all.” He stepped out, his shoes crunching on the frozen snow.

While Claire climbed out, she pondered why men always had to measure themselves against other males. Even when they were doing well, like Roger, they always managed to find someone who made more money, was a better athlete, had a larger banana. She sighed. That’s why we women have to keep telling them their bananas are plenty large enough for us.

When they walked onto the porch, Judy slipped her hand into her father’s, reminding Claire why they had come. Claire took a deep, steadying breath as Roger rang the bell. The cold mountain air chilled her lungs.

Nick opened the door, and Judy fell into his arms. He hugged her then shifted her to his side. He held her protectively against himself, as if he already felt responsible for her.

The intimate gesture brought out Claire’s protective maternal instincts. She wasn’t ready to turn over her daughter to this young man. Not yet. Not until she was sure he valued Judy as much as Claire did.

Nick stepped back to make room for Claire and Roger. “Come inside, please. Thanks for coming.” Dark shadows edged his eyes, accentuating his heavy brows, almost black eyes, and sharp nose. His sleek, predatory features reminded Claire of a hawk, but a stressed-out, exhausted hawk.

Roger shook the young man’s hand. “I wish we were getting to know your parents under better circumstances, Nick.”

“So . . .” Nick’s voice caught in his throat, and he cleared it. “So do we. Mom and Dad are in the living room. I’ll take your coats.” After piling their coats on a nearby bench, he led the Hanovers down the hall.

Claire clutched Roger’s arm, dreading the tears and anguish to come.

When they entered the living room, Anthony Contino stood and offered his hand to Roger. He, too, had dark circles under his eyes. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Hanover.”

“Please, call me Roger. And call my wife Claire.”

Claire shook Anthony’s hand. She looked at Angela, sitting on the green leather sofa. The woman was misery incarnate. Her formerly styled hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail. Obviously, she had tried applying some lipstick and blush, but most of it had rubbed off on the pile of wadded tissues before her. Tears still brimmed in her eyes, and her chin shook as she bit her lip.

Claire did what came naturally. She sat next to Angela and put her arms around the woman. She whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

That set them both to weeping again. Claire held Angela for a while, until they needed to snatch tissues from the box on the coffee table to wipe their faces.

The men had stood awkwardly with hands in their pockets and gazes averted from the sad scene. Judy quietly joined the mothers at the tissue box, pulling one out to wipe her eyes.

Angela picked up a cup of coffee and took a sip. Once she could speak, she said, “Please, tell me what happened. Everything.”

The others sat on the color-coordinated leather easy chairs and loveseat clustered around the stone-inlaid coffee table. Judy, Roger, and Claire took turns describing the events of the previous day.

When Claire began talking about the tracks she saw, Judy interrupted, “Mom, I think Mrs. Contino has suffered enough.”

The tissue pile had grown to twice its original size. Angela twisted another one in her hands. “No, please, I must know.”

Claire shot a hush glance at Judy and rubbed Angela’s shoulder. “I understand. I would want to hear everything, too.” She diagramed the ski tracks and snowboard track with her finger on the coffee table while she described them to the Continos.

Nick released Judy’s hand and sat forward. He ran his finger along the imaginary path of the unknown skier’s track. After a sharp glance at his father, he asked, “So you think the skier might have come straight out of the woods, right at Stephanie?”

Claire nodded. “She would’ve had no time to react.”

Anthony drew in a sharp intake of breath. He and Nick locked gazes.

Claire saw a clear message of fear pass between them. What the hell?

A frown of confusion passed over Angela’s face. “Do you think this skier ran into her on purpose?”

“The ski patrolman said it was an accident, Mom.” Nick glanced at his father.

“Yes, an accident. It must have been,” Anthony said quickly. “Anything else would be unthinkable, impossible.” He glared at Nick as if warning him not to say more.

“We just don’t know.” Claire realized from Nick and Anthony’s scowls that they wanted Angela to be assured that Stephanie’s death was an accident. She took Angela’s hand. “He probably took off from the woods without checking uphill first, so he never saw Stephanie.”

“Why do you say ‘he’?” Anthony asked sharply. He stared at Claire.

She shrugged. “I’m assuming the person had to be bigger than Stephanie to knock her so violently off track. The snowboarder was. If the snowboarder did it, the skier could have been a woman or a small man, I guess.” Was that why the skier didn’t stop? Could he or she have been afraid of the snowboarder and what he might do to him or her?

Nick bit his lip and watched his father, his finger tapping a solemn beat on the coffee table.

Anthony stood, smoothing his palms down his thighs, as if wiping off nervous sweat. If anything, his twisted face looked even more anguished than before. “We’ve been remiss. We haven’t offered you anything to drink. We have coffee, and I can make tea or hot chocolate.”

“Don’t go to any trouble on our account.” Roger stood. “You have enough to deal with. We just came to answer your questions and convey our condolences.”

Claire glanced at Angela, who seemed frail and worn out. “I’m sorry if I went on too long.”

“No, no,” the woman replied. “I needed to know.”

“Can we tell you anything else?”

Angela shook her head. “All we can do is wait for the ski patrol or the sheriff to find who did this to Stephanie.”

Claire rose and joined Roger, causing the others to stand too. “Roger and I will be on the slope today, too, looking for the snowboarder.”

“I wish I could look, too.” Nick’s fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides as if he itched to put those hands around the neck of the person who killed Stephanie, accident or no.

Judy looped her arm through Nick’s and looked at Angela. “I’d like to stay here today, if you’ll have me, to help with the . . . arrangements.”

Proud of Judy’s initiative and willingness to help, Claire gave her daughter a warm smile. A worrying thought struck her. Judy was acting like a daughter-in-law, volunteering to take on such a large role in Stephanie’s funeral arrangements. Was she that serious with Nick? Cut it out, Claire. Be glad she’s assisting Angela in some way. God knows the woman needs it.

“Thank you, Judy. I’d appreciate that. It’s all rather overwhelming.” After giving Judy a sad smile, Angela turned to Roger and Claire. “We want to have the service here, rather than in Denver. Stephanie loved the mountains, and—” Her voice caught, and her hand went to her mouth.

Nick finished for her. “We plan to spread her ashes somewhere in the mountains.”

Claire gave Angela a hug, quick enough to prevent another onslaught of tears. “We’d like to come to the memorial service.”

Angela nodded.

Anthony escorted Claire and Roger to the door and gave Roger a stiff handshake. While they walked to their car, Claire hunched her jacket around her chilled neck and reviewed the conversation
in her mind. Something troubled her. Nick and Anthony’s strange reactions to the possibility that the skier had deliberately hit Stephanie.

What are they afraid of ?

_____

Hours later, exhausted after hunting for the snowboarder on the ski slopes, Claire lay on one side of the L-shaped sofa in the living room of their rented townhouse. She groaned and stretched her sore muscles. Roger lay on the other side, nursing a beer. They had stripped off their outer ski clothing and sweaters, so they lounged in turtlenecks, long underwear bottoms, and slouched ski socks.

As the waning afternoon sun threw long shadows across the floor, Roger asked, “Who’s getting up for the ibuprofen?”

“I guess I will.” With a grunt, Claire pushed herself to her feet, staggered a bit until her stiff legs remembered how to walk, then padded upstairs to the bedroom. She returned with the bottle and passed it to Roger before plopping down on the sofa again. After swallowing two pills with some water, she said, “I wish we’d spotted that snowboarder.”

“He’s probably lying low or boarding at another Summit County resort,” Roger said. “Especially if he or one of his buddies saw the signs the ski patrol posted.”

“Either that or he could’ve been here for the day from somewhere on the Front Range, Denver, Boulder, or Colorado Springs—like us.”

“On a Monday? I don’t think so. A weekend day, maybe. I bet he’s a local or he’s here for a week or two, like us.”

“So there’s a chance we’ll still find him.”

Roger took another sip of beer. “He moved like someone hooked on snowboarding. I doubt he’ll give up more than a day or two of it, especially if he’s here on vacation. He’ll probably ditch the goofy hat, though.”

“But not his board, unless it was a rental. I remember that swirly orange pattern.” Claire rested her head against the sofa back. “I hope we find him. I want to do something for the Continos. I feel so helpless.”

The front door opened and Judy walked in. Her gaze swept over her parents sprawled on the sofa, and she cracked a wry grin. “Don’t you two look attractive.”

Claire sat up and peered beyond Judy. “Is Nick coming in? I’ll change into sweats if he is.”

“No, he just dropped me off. They still need to contact some more relatives.” Judy shucked off her coat, slid onto a barstool next to the kitchen counter, and leaned her chin on her hand.

Claire studied her daughter’s face. Judy looked tired, sad, and blotchy, as if she had done some crying.

“Poor Mrs. Contino,” Judy said. “Nick and Mr. Contino decided to call the relatives so she wouldn’t have to. But then, she and I met with the funeral director and she had to make all those decisions about the service. She kept asking me what I thought, and I had no idea how to answer her.”

“I’m sure your presence was a comfort to her.”

Judy took a moment to think. “I’m not so sure. Sometimes I’d catch her looking at me with a wistful expression on her face. I think it’s weird for her that I’m alive and Stephanie’s not. It was a little too overwhelming, so finally I had to get out of there, at least for a minute. I went to find Nick. He was with his dad in the study. That whole scene was a little odd.”

“Odd? How?”

“The door was open, so I walked in. Mr. Contino was pacing the room and crying. He kept saying over and over, ‘It’s all my fault’.”

Every time Judy or Michael had gotten hurt, Claire had felt that parental guilt—if only I had been there, protected them more, made them take fewer chances. “He probably feels he and Nick shouldn’t have gone to Copper, that if he’d been with Stephanie, he might have been able to protect her.”

“But how?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense, honey, but that’s the way parents are. He could also be feeling survivor’s guilt. Did you leave them alone?”

“I tried to sneak out, but Nick saw me. He jumped up and followed me into the hall, said their conversation was private. When I said I realized that and had decided to leave, he grabbed my arm and asked me how much I had seen and heard. He seemed really worried about me seeing his dad like that. It was probably the most upset I’ve ever seen him.”

A chill raced down Claire’s spine. If that young man’s abusing my daughter, he’ll have to deal with Mama Bear. “Has Nick ever hurt you, Judy?”

“Of course not, Mom.” Judy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Jeeze, don’t blow this up into some huge issue. He didn’t grab me in that way. You know I’d never date a guy who hurt me.”

Claire relaxed. Yes, she had raised Judy to be strong and independent. Maybe too independent. “He was probably just concerned that his dad would be embarrassed that you’d seen him crying. What happened next?”

“I told him I hadn’t heard much, and I apologized for walking in on them. I said I would knock next time. Then Nick said not to worry, that he and his dad were just really stressed out. I decided we all needed a break, so I offered to make lunch for everyone.”

“Oh.” Claire checked her watch. Almost five. “I should bring over a dinner for them.”

“You don’t need to. Nick’s going to pick up a pizza on the way home, but I doubt they’ll eat much of it. They just picked at the sandwiches I fixed them.”

“I haven’t even thought about our dinner,” Claire said. “Food doesn’t seem so important at a time like this.”

“Maybe I should order some Chinese takeout,” Roger said.

“Not for me,” Judy said. “Some friends from CU-Boulder rented a condo here for the week. Nick and I called to tell them about Stephanie. They asked us to join them for dinner tonight. He can’t, but I thought I would.”

“But we’ve barely spent any time with you since you returned from France. Not that it’s anyone’s fault,” Claire hastily added, “with Stephanie’s accident, but I thought we could spend a quiet evening together and comfort each other.”

Judy made a face. “I don’t think spending the evening with two old people in their long underwear is what I need right now.”

Claire bristled. “That’s not fair, Judy. We’ve been out skiing all afternoon looking for that damn snowboarder, and we’re pooped.”

“C’mon, I was trying to make a joke. I’m not blaming you for how you look. Or feel.” Judy got up and paced the floor. “It’s just . . . after spending the whole day with the Continos, I can’t stand being serious and sad anymore today. I want someone to cheer me up.”

Claire’s heart went out to Judy. “We’ll cheer—”

“She’s right.” Roger laid his hand on Claire’s arm. “Let her go. She needs her friends. And we could use some one-on-one time ourselves. Maybe instead of Chinese takeout, we should go to that fondue place you like. What was the name?”

“Swiss Haven.”

“That’s it. Just the two of us.” Roger winked. “Judy, toss me the phonebook, and I’ll make a reservation.”

“Make it for the late eight o’clock seating,” Claire said. “We still need to shower.”

After handing her father the phone and phonebook, Judy sat next to Claire. “I promise, Mom, I’ll spend tomorrow night with you.”

Claire sighed. “All right. I’ll hold you to that. Where are you meeting your friends?”

“Their condo. Could you guys drop me off on your way to the restaurant? We’ll probably go out somewhere, but I don’t know where yet.”

“At least you know where to find Dad and me if you need us.”

_____

By nine-thirty that night, Claire was feeling none of her skiing aches and pains. Instead, her head buzzed pleasantly from half a bottle of plumy cabernet sauvignon. Her stomach comfortably bulged from a Gruyère cheese fondue, followed by a broth fondue chinoise into which she and Roger had dipped slivers of chicken and beef.

Their table in the back room of the Swiss Haven had given her and Roger some privacy while they talked out their feelings of horror over Stephanie’s death. When she expressed her concern about the effect on Judy, he reminded her how strong and independent Judy had grown. He was more concerned about how Nick would deal with his sister’s death.

Their table also had provided a vantage point for watching waiters waltz between tables filled with customers. They expertly balanced platters laden with grills, fondue pots, bread baskets, and plates of raw meats and seafood. The low murmur of voices, the sizzle of grilling meats, and the occasional pops of wine corks provided a relaxing filler for the gaps in their own conversation.

Claire hadn’t realized how much stress she had been feeling until it had slunk away to lurk in a dark corner. She picked up her almost empty wineglass, took a sip, and looked at Roger. His frisky answering smile told her what plans he had for the rest of the evening. And I’m more than willing to go along with his plans.

This family ski trip had another purpose besides a reunion with Judy. The getaway was part of the healing process to repair their marriage after the Colorado Springs murder. Claire had finally convinced Roger she hadn’t slept with the handsome young massage therapist. But restoring their loving partnership was a more daunting task. A task she was determined to succeed at, by God.

Roger covered her hand with his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Isn’t this better than eating Chinese takeout with a twenty-one-year-old daughter who needs cheering up?”

Claire smiled. “You said it. Though, she did pique my curiosity when she mentioned Nick’s odd behavior.”

“What was odd about it?”

“That he was so secretive about his father’s grief.”

Roger rubbed his chin. “Could be their culture. Maybe they’re very private and keep things inside the family.”

“Maybe, but I get the feeling that Judy’s pretty close to being family herself.”

Arching a brow, Roger said, “Really?”

“Really. I’m seeing signs that she and Nick are getting serious. This family could be our in-laws someday. We need to get to know them better.” Claire ran a finger over her wineglass. “Something else was odd. Did you notice how strange Nick and Anthony acted when I told them about the ski tracks?”

Before Roger could reply, their waitress brought a steaming pot of dark chocolate fondue and a tray of pound cake and fruit. Roger speared a cube of pound cake, dipped it in the chocolate, and popped it in his mouth. After swallowing, he said, “I’ll fight you for the rest of this.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Claire speared a strawberry, dragged it through the dark sauce, and took a bite. “This is heavenly.”

With a grin, Roger quickly stabbed a banana slice, and the battle was on. They both fell into serious eating, lapping up as much chocolate as they could, until the pot was polished clean.

Roger leaned back, folded his hands over his belly, and asked, “What were you saying before? Something about the Continos acting strange?”

Claire gave up on trying to scrape a fragment of dried chocolate off the rim of the pot and put down her fondue fork. “When I raised the possibility the skier could have deliberately hit her,
I swear I saw fear in Nick’s and Anthony’s faces. Then they got nervous.”

“What would they have to fear?”

“I don’t know. And another thing. Supposedly they were at Copper Mountain skiing in the deep powder of the back bowls when Stephanie was killed, but their ski clothes were dry when they got to the medical center.”

“Copper is a twenty-minute drive away. Their clothes could have dried in that time.”

“Ours take hours to dry if we’ve been in deep snow. And Nick acted nervous when Judy asked how the Breckenridge ski patrol contacted them there.”

Roger peered at her. “You’re not trying to turn into a PI on this thing, are you?”

After risking her life to find Enrique’s killer, Claire had developed a reputation as a sleuth. One she didn’t want. I’m a gift basket designer, a mother, and a wife, and that’s all.

She rubbed her knee against Roger’s. “No, this vacation is for other things. I’m only trying to make sense of what I saw.”

Roger leaned in close, nipped her earlobe, and whispered, “Speaking of other things, let’s forgo the after-dinner coffee and head straight home.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Claire polished off her wine.

Roger raised his hand to signal the waitress, but a disturbance at the front door diverted his attention.

Judy stood in the middle of the restaurant, scanning the tables. When she saw Claire and Roger, she rushed toward them. “Mom. Dad. You’ve got to come quick.”

Claire straightened. “Why? What happened?”

Judy leaned her hands on the table, brought her head close to theirs, and spoke in a whisper. “When we were at Downstairs at Eric’s, I saw a hat on a wall peg by the video games that looked like the one the snowboarder wore. I tried to keep an eye on the hat to see who it belonged to, but it disappeared while I was giving the waiter my order.”

“Tough luck,” Roger said.

“No, listen. When I saw the hat was gone, I asked people playing the games if they saw who took it, pretending I wanted to buy one like it. Finally, one guy said it belonged to somebody called Nail-It.”

“Sounds like the nickname of a snowboarder.” A shiver of excitement stirred in Claire’s belly.

Judy nodded, her eyes wide. “I thought so, too. I asked the guy if he knew where Nail-It went, and he said Nail-It usually hangs at Sherpa & Yeti’s.”

“What’s that?” Roger asked.

“An underground grunge bar on the other side of Main Street. I decided to follow him there, but my friends refused to go with me. They said they’d just ordered and wanted to eat.”

“A grunge bar?” Claire asked. “I’m not sure you should be exposed to that environment.”

“Mom! Grunge is a way of dressing. It doesn’t mean the place is dirty.”

“No, what I mean is, I don’t think you should be going to any bar.”

Judy placed her hand on her hip and looked askance at Claire. “I’ve been twenty-one for three months now. I’ve been in lots of bars in France. I know my way around them.”

Oh, God, my daughter is drinking and hanging out in bars now. Claire stared at Judy while visions of drunken debauchery starring her daughter crowded into her mind. She rubbed her forehead. No, don’t be ridiculous. Judy’s responsible. She wouldn’t go overboard. Would she?

“We should call Detective Silverstone instead of confronting this snowboarder ourselves.” Roger opened his cell phone and pulled the detective’s card out of his wallet.

“Nail-It might be long gone before the cops get there.” Judy grabbed Claire’s hand. “C’mon. We’ve got to hurry. Here’s our chance to find the guy who killed Stephanie.”

Claire glanced at Roger. “She’s right on both counts. We can’t wait for the police and she shouldn’t go alone.”

“Foiled again.” Shooting a look of regret at Claire, Roger stood. “I’ll go with her while you pay the bill.”

“But I can’t. I left my purse at home.”

“All right, you go, but if you find the guy, don’t approach him. I’ll call Silverstone, pay the bill, and catch up.” He punched the detective’s phone number into the cell phone.

Claire grabbed her coat and zipped it shut as she followed Judy out of the Swiss Haven into the dark night. Streetlights cast puddles of light on the ground, while a swath of bright stars shone overhead. Claire trotted to keep up with her daughter’s fast pace and maintain her footing across the frozen slush piles lining the sidewalk.

As they headed across Main Street, breathing clouds of vapor in the frigid air, Judy asked, “What did Dad mean by ‘foiled again’?”

Claire pulled her collar tighter around her neck. I’m not about to discuss my sex life, or lack thereof, with my daughter. “Never mind.”

They passed in front of a cream-colored building with maroon and teal trim, one of many Victorian-style buildings in the historic downtown district. Judy stopped by a sign advertising the businesses within—an insurance office, a souvenir shop, and a black square with “Sherpa & Yeti’s” scrawled in red, as if it had been painted in blood.

Claire stared at the flyer advertising that month’s entertainment —Jungle Brothers, Bongo Love, De La Soul—listed as hip-hop, funk, and African dance bands. She wasn’t even sure what those music styles sound like.

“It’s down here.” Judy beckoned to her from halfway down a narrow flight of concrete stairs leading to the basement. A rhythmic thumping pulsed from the open doorway, and the distinctive purplish glow of a blacklight painted the bottom of the dark stairwell.

As Claire hesitated, a trio of young men in baggy jeans brushed past her and clattered down the steps. Though the temperature was below freezing, only one wore a jacket—a hooded sweatshirt with a grenade logo stenciled on the back.

A grenade?

“Mom?”

Feeling as if she was descending into Dante’s Inferno, Claire walked slowly down the stairs.

What are we getting into?