Murder on Ice

by Carolyn Keene

  “I think you should stay here, too,” Nancy said. “If Michael and I aren’t back in an hour, you and Liz can set out as a backup rescue team.”

  “We should head for the Overlook,” Michael said. “The power’s on there, and they can call for help. If we cut through the tall trees, we’ll get some protection in case there’s another avalanche.”

  Nancy and Michael stepped outside and snapped on their cross-country skis. They set off through the howling wind, Michael in the lead. He skied rapidly, so Nancy had to work hard to keep up with him. After fifteen minutes, Michael halted and turned to look at her. “How are you doing?” he called, smiling.

  Nancy drew to a stop beside him. “All right.”

  “Just all right?” There was a teasing, admiring note in his voice. Michael’s mood, considering the circumstances, seemed a bit too happy.

  “What are you smiling about?” Nancy asked.

  Michael laughed. “Oh, come on! The two of us alone together, speeding through the storm on a dangerous mission. What more could anyone want?”

  “Maybe to have a friend survive,” Nancy answered grimly.

  Michael frowned. “Luke Ericsen, or whatever he says his name is, brought his fate on himself.”

  “If you mean Berntsen, say so.”

  “Funny your catching on to that.” Michael pushed off expertly and skied quickly down a small slope.

  Nancy caught up with him and stopped him. “I didn’t have to catch on. He admitted everything to George.”

  “So his memory’s coming back, is it?”

  “How did you know he lost his memory?” Nancy asked, a chill running up her spine.

  Instead of answering, Michael skied away, intent on reaching the top of the next rise. At its crest he balanced lightly and turned to wait for Nancy. “Look,” he said as she joined him, sounding annoyed. “Just because we’re being angels of mercy for the guy, do we have to talk about him? It’s ruining the whole trip!”

  Nancy stared at Michael in disbelief. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” she asked incredulously.

  “I always enjoy danger!” A glint of excitement danced in his eyes again. “Admit it, that’s what real living is all about. Taking risks. Only the weak accept defeat!”

  Nancy shuddered. What was going on with Michael? He was acting very strange, and she was scared to find out why. She dug her poles into the snow and, pushing off in a burst of speed, flew past Michael down the slope.

  Immediately, Michael was after her. “Nancy!” he called. “You’re not being logical. Luke tried to kill George! If he dies from the avalanche, it would spare everyone—including the two of them—the pain of a trial.”

  Nancy stopped suddenly. “How did you know what happened to George last night?” she asked.

  “Liz told me.” Michael sounded so cool, so honest.

  But Nancy was afraid.

  “I’ll lead the way,” Michael said. “We’re getting to a dangerous part of the trail.”

  As they skied on, Nancy realized that they were headed in the same direction that she and Ned had taken the night before in search of George. Finally, she recognized the spot on Lookout Ledge where George and her masked attacker had struggled.

  “Isn’t there an easier way to go?” Nancy shouted.

  “This is fastest,” Michael shouted back. “It’s risky, but we’re both good skiers. We’ll make it.”

  Nancy paused, eyeing the ledge uneasily.

  Michael laughed. “You go first,” he suggested. “Then I’ll be able to help if you have trouble.”

  Cautiously, Nancy eased herself onto the narrow ledge. As she rounded a curve, a chunk of the ledge broke off beneath the tip of her ski and tumbled downward. She gasped and leaned back, her heart pounding. There was no choice but to go on, though. She pushed off again.

  Nancy felt as if she’d skied Mount Everest when she finally got to the bottom of the slope. Turning to watch Michael flying gracefully down the path along the cliff face, Nancy was amazed at how easy he made it look. He passed her, stopped, and pushed off again. First his right leg, then his left, expertly zipping around a tree.

  Suddenly Nancy froze. She’d seen that same fabulous technique before—when the masked stranger had escaped after the murderous attack on George!

  As if he felt her eyes boring into him, Michael’s perfect style wavered. Not much, but just enough to make him misjudge an overhanging branch in the gloomy light of the storm. He crashed into it and went sprawling.

  As he climbed to his feet, muttering exasperatedly, a small black object fell out of his pocket. Not noticing, he brushed himself off and skied on.

  Nancy skied over and picked it up. It was a little black box, a remote control device of the sort used in TV shows about spies and cops . . . and bombs.

  Suddenly Nancy’s breath caught in her throat. I’ve been so stupid, she chided herself. Michael’s been right in front of my nose, and I’ve completely missed seeing the truth. He’s the killer. He’s insane. And now I’m stuck alone with him, in a forest, in the middle of a blizzard.

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  THE EDGES OF the little black box cut into Nancy’s hand as she clutched it. A bomb control. Michael probably hadn’t set a big bomb, just one large enough to cause a few tremors on the snow-covered mountain. Enough to send down an avalanche to bury Luke Ericsen (and Jon Berntsen) without a trace. Nancy thrust the box into her pocket and set off after Michael.

  Michael was the prowler, the one setting the death traps around Webb Cove, the masked attacker who’d almost killed George.

  The case ran through Nancy’s mind. Everything was becoming Crystal clear. Michael had been lying all along, and poor Luke had had to take the rap for him.

  Nancy wasn’t sure why Michael was determined to kill Luke, but she knew it must have to do with Dieter Mueller’s death. Was he bent on revenge for his dead friend, as she had suspected earlier?

  Nancy had the feeling it was much more sinister than that. Clearly, Michael had set the first few traps—the broken rope tow, the loose bindings, the Jeep crash—for Luke. He’d probably written the word MURDERER in the snow to scare Luke and to shake him up.

  But then he’d turned on George, deliberately disguising himself as Luke and trying to strangle her. There could be just one reason—because she knew who Luke really was, and she realized that Michael was to blame for the “accidents.” And if Michael realized that Nancy had figured that out, too, he’d turn on her next.

  However, he’d then have to get rid of a whole lot of people—everyone who knew that Luke was Jon Berntsen—everyone at Webb Cove.

  All at once, Nancy was terrified for her friends back at the lodge. Had Michael planned for something to happen to them after he’d left Webb Cove? She shivered.

  Nancy’s thoughts raced through her mind as she herself raced along on Michael’s trail. She must not, must not, let him guess what she knew! Nancy kept on skiing expertly while one thought filled her mind. How was she going to get away from Michael Price? Her friends’ lives—and her own—depended on it.

  Nancy peered ahead. Oddly, nothing looked familiar. At last, mercifully, the trail widened for several yards. With a burst of speed, Nancy shot past Michael. She had to reach the hotel ahead of him! Desperately, using all her will, concentration, and skill, she skied as she’d never skied before.

  But as good as Nancy was, Michael was better. He swooped after her. Nancy streaked through the storm, only too aware that Michael was right on her tail . . . and gaining.

  The trail narrowed, corkscrewing into a curve. Nancy poled around it—and a hideous realization struck her. Among all the little hills between Webb Cove and the Overlook Hotel, she had lost her way. But Michael hadn’t. Using a circular route, he’d lured her back to Lookout Ledge, where an accident would be so plausible.

  With a chill, Nancy imagined it all. Michael would reach the Overlook, distraught, claiming that Nancy had had a fatal accident.
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br />   There was no way for her to escape. She was at the edge of a precipice, with Michael blocking her path. He stood there smiling, slowly removing his ski goggles as if he had all the time in the world. “You passed the turnoff about a quarter of a mile back. Not surprising in this weather, but too bad.”

  For a moment their eyes met, and everything was very still.

  “Why did you do it?” Nancy asked quietly.

  Michael’s eyes changed, as if he couldn’t believe her stupidity. “For a gold medal, of course!” he sneered. “I deserved to be on the U.S. ski team more than Berntsen did! But at least I was a runner-up. If he got hurt, or died . . . Then I heard him in the Broken Leg Café, challenging Dieter Mueller to that stupid night race. There was my chance!”

  Nancy never took her eyes off Michael’s. “You mean you were trying to kill Jon? Then why did you rig Dieter’s skis?”

  Michael shrugged. “They were a similar model. It was dark and I made a mistake. I watched the whole ‘accident’ from behind a tree on the slope. I didn’t realize I’d rigged the wrong skis until I saw Dieter go down instead of Jon.

  “But it turned out not to matter after all, because then I had the chance to kill two birds with one stone. I could take care of Berntsen, and eliminate some major Olympic competition at the same time. Too bad about Dieter. I didn’t really mean to kill him—just disable him.”

  He shrugged again, as though the fatality didn’t matter.

  “How did you pull it off?” Nancy asked, trying to keep Michael talking.

  “It was great!” Michael laughed. “Berntsen passed Mueller lying in the snow, so he put on the brakes and climbed back up to see if the guy was all right. I could tell from the look on Berntsen’s face that he wasn’t. Then Berntsen looked at Mueller’s ski—”

  Michael took a deep breath, almost in pride. “I knew I’d have to do something fast! I didn’t know if Berntsen had seen me hiding in the woods, but I was sure he’d go for help. When he did, I was ready.

  “He skied past where I was hiding, and I stuck out one of my poles and tripped him. While his face was in the snow, I hit his head with a stone.”

  Michael shook his head.

  “I thought they were both dead—so it came as a nasty surprise to learn that Berntsen had survived. But he had amnesia. Then somebody started the rumor that Berntsen had rigged the race and the accident to eliminate Mueller as competition.”

  I’ll bet you started it! Nancy thought, silently accusing Michael.

  “It was perfect—except that the scandal wrecked the morale of our team. I didn’t even get a bronze,” Michael said ruefully. “I told myself, so what? All I had to do was wait four more years for the next Olympics.

  “Berntsen dropped out of sight. He had amnesia, anyway, so I didn’t have to worry that he’d open his mouth about what had happened. Then I came here to do some skiing, and got the shock of my life when I spotted Berntsen on the slopes one day.

  “I asked around, and learned that he was the new ski instructor at Webb Cove Lodge, except that he was using some other name. A little spying told me something else. Old Jon was beginning to get his memory back. I knew I had to get rid of him before he remembered what really happened in Colorado.”

  Nancy stood silently at the edge of the cliff. The more involved Michael became in his story, the less attention he was paying to Nancy. She hoped that would give her the opportunity she so desperately needed to escape.

  Michael smiled crookedly. “So I rigged the rope tow,” he continued, “and you got on it! I tried to be a hero, but rescuing you brought me face-to-face with Berntsen. And he mentioned the Broken Leg Café.

  “That meant it was only a matter of time before he recovered from his amnesia. The worst thing, though, was that he started seeing George. She helped him remember more and more every day. I had to shut him up—and her, too, once she learned enough.”

  Michael sighed, the sound almost lost in the whistling wind. “I really did like you, Nancy. I’m sorry, but . . .”

  Michael paused, gathering his strength. The next few seconds seemed to last an eternity. Then, as Nancy had known he would, Michael lunged toward her.

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  AS MICHAEL MOVED, so did Nancy. She fell sideways, calling on her gymnastics skill to guide her away from the cliff edge. As she went down, one hand scooped up a handful of snow. The other went to her ski bindings, snapping one, then the second, free.

  Michael was still hampered by his skis. Even so, his coordination was superb. He landed beside Nancy, righting himself swiftly.

  But Nancy was a split second ahead of him. She flung the snowball in his face. As it hit, momentarily blinding him, she darted behind him and swung her ski pole across his throat, locking it against him in a choke-hold.

  Michael began to struggle. One of his hands flailed wildly, groping for her arm. But Nancy jerked the pole tighter. Michael made a muffled coughing sound, and then he sagged against her. Nancy held the viselike grip for a full minute, not daring to risk another of his tricks. Finally, she released the pressure. He slid to her feet in a heap.

  Nancy leaned back against a tree, shaking with relief. She was still there moments later when she heard voices calling her name hollowly through the wind. “Here,” she gasped hoarsely.

  Within minutes, she was in Ned’s arms. Liz was there, too, bending over Michael. Nancy was relieved that she could stop suspecting Liz. If Liz had behaved strangely, it must have been from tension. After all, prowlers and accidents and would-be murderers were not everyday happenings, and some people held up under strain better than other people did. She could stop suspecting Gunther, too. The only “evidence” against him had been circumstantial.

  “Is he dead?” Nancy asked through cracked lips.

  Liz shook her head. “He’s alive but out cold. That must have been some stunt you pulled!”

  “He was the one who tried to kill Luke . . . and then George, and me, too.”

  “Shh. We know,” Ned whispered. He held her tightly, his lips pressed against her hair.

  It was not until they were at the Overlook Hotel, waiting for the police to question Nancy and for rescue squads to attend to both Luke and Michael, that she was able to find out why Ned and Liz had come out in the forest looking for her.

  Nancy and Ned were sitting in front of the hotel fireplace, their hands clasped gently, when she asked him about it.

  “Luke regained consciousness,” Ned said. “He hit his head during the avalanche, and somehow the blow jarred away his amnesia!

  “He remembered all about Dieter Mueller’s accident, how after Dieter fell he was hurt but still alive, how he’d discovered the missing screw in Dieter’s bindings . . . and how he’d noticed Michael Price hiding in the trees farther down the slope. Of course, he didn’t suspect that Michael would try to hurt him as he skied down to get help for Dieter. And he never remembered any of it—until today.”

  Nancy shuddered. “It’s hard to believe anyone would do such horrible things.”

  “But Michael did,” Ned exclaimed. “And when Liz and I realized that you were out there alone with a murderer, we took off after you, skiing like maniacs.”

  “It was wonderful seeing you two come through those trees,” Nancy said with a sigh.

  “You managed to take pretty good care of Michael without our help, though,” Ned said, smiling.

  Soon after that, the police arrived to take Nancy’s, Ned’s, and Liz’s statements. Afterward, an officer drove them to the county hospital, where George, Bess, and Gunther were keeping a vigil over Luke. Bess looked haggard, and Nancy knew that she felt both relieved at Gunther’s innocence in the case, and guilty at having suspected him.

  Michael had regained consciousness, but he wasn’t talking. “And not just because of that bad sore throat you gave him,” the police lieutenant said to Nancy. “We’ve been on the phone with the Colorado police and the German embassy. Price is going to need a very high-powe
red lawyer!”

  Luke was in surgery, having suffered not only a broken leg and a couple of crushed ribs, but internal injuries.

  It wasn’t until dawn that a nurse came into the visitors’ lounge, smiling. “Mr. Berntsen’s regained consciousness.” She looked at Ned. “He’s asking for someone named George.”

  George leaped up and rushed down the corridor with a cry of joy. The nurse, who’d obviously expected a boy to respond to Luke’s call, was mildly astonished.

  A few hours later, when the others were finally allowed into the room, George was still there, holding Luke’s hand tightly. Luke looked haggard, but for the first time since they’d met him, he seemed at peace. His eyes lit up as Nancy came in.

  “I guess I owe you a big apology for the way I’ve treated you,” he said. “The first day, when I overheard that you were a detective, I—I just freaked out. The way you poked into things, I was sure that if you started investigating me, I’d end up in jail, even though I hadn’t killed Dieter.

  “But George tells me Price is going behind bars now, so I want to thank you, sincerely and deeply.” Luke smiled almost shyly.

  “You know, Luke,” Nancy told him, “you’re all right!” Then she giggled. “I guess well have to get used to calling you Jon Berntsen, won’t we? At least, if we’re going to see any more of you.”

  “Oh, you’ll see me,” Luke assured her. He and George exchanged loving glances. Then George turned scarlet, and the others laughed.

  “One more question, if you don’t mind,” Nancy said.

  “Go ahead,” Luke replied.

  “Didn’t you ever wonder if you might have been guilty? After all, you had amnesia and you couldn’t remember what you’d done just before and during the race.”

  “No way,” Luke said. “Dieter and I were friends, good friends, even if we were always competing with each other.”

  “You never suspected that anyone might get hurt in the night race?”

  Luke sighed. “I should have. The other people at the Broken Leg thought I was crazy! The worst part was knowing that everyone else believed I’d killed Dieter—and not remembering enough to prove them wrong.”