Storm Peak

by John Flanagan

  Somehow, it lacked finesse.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Jesse finished the last half-mouthful of wine in his glass and stared moodily out the window.

  The fog had rolled farther in as he’d been waiting. The lights from the bottom of the mountain had that wet, swollen look to them that told him he was viewing them through a thin curtain of suspended moisture.

  He glanced at his watch. Abby was taking her time, he thought. Then he shrugged. He was in no real hurry to continue their conversation. He guessed she could take all the time she wanted.

  The waitress was back. Her long-suffering look told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t amused by all this delay.

  “So, did you still want to order, or will you be leaving too?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” he asked quickly. She jerked her head toward the door. The restrooms were outside the main room of the restaurant, and just past them was the exit and the way to the gondola.

  “Your friend,” she said, then, as if he needed further explanation, “the lady? She’s decided she’s not having dinner.”

  He frowned. “What did she say?” he asked, then regretted it instantly. The waitress was having her revenge for being kept standing around, and for Abby’s quick flash of anger before.

  “She didn’t say anything,” she replied. “I just saw her leaving.”

  “Goddamn it,” Jesse muttered explosively. He stood up quickly, setting his chair rocking precariously before it found balance once again, and started out around the table. The girl blocked his way.

  “Just a minute,” she challenged. “You haven’t paid for this.”

  “This” was the empty wine bottle, now half-floating in the melted ice and water of the bucket. Jesse cursed under his breath, fumbled his wallet out of his back pocket and hauled out a handful of notes. He flicked through them. As was always the case, they were all ones. He finally found a ten spot and dropped it on the table. The girl didn’t budge.

  “Thirteen eighty, plus tax,” she said firmly. Jesse met her gaze, holding his anger with great difficulty. He started counting out singles, then realized there were at least eight or nine there and dropped the lot on the table, in a creased heap.

  “There. Keep it,” he said and shoved past her. The girl raised one eyebrow as she watched him go, then quickly counted the notes. She’d made about five bucks on the deal, she figured. She decided there was no need to share the tip with the other waiters and the kitchen staff-tips here at Hazie’s were usually pooled—and stuffed the excess notes into the pocket of her apron.

  He was still at the table when she’d come out of the ladies’ room. Going in, she’d walked with her head down, a small handkerchief to her eyes. She was upset about something, he knew that.

  He’d watched their conversation. Their table was too far from the bar to hear anything they said, but the body language was plain. This was not a happy couple. He wondered now why they were arguing. After the paeans of praise she’d heaped on him and the sheriff, he would have expected them to be more friendly.

  He shifted on his barstool to watch for her reappearance. Something told him that she wouldn’t be going back into the dining room. It was an instinct. A gut feeling. But his instincts had been right more times than he could count in the past.

  Then the ladies’ room door opened and she re-emerged.

  She hesitated a moment, glancing at the double glass doors that led back into the dining room. He followed her glance. He could see the deputy still sitting at the window table, his long legs splayed out underneath it as he stared out the window. The waitress was serving appetizers to a table near the doors.

  Abruptly, the blonde seemed to make up her mind. She squared her shoulders and moved to the hat rack, taking down the expensive, fur-trimmed suede parka that she’d hung there and tossing it angrily around her shoulders. Some sixth sense made her aware of his scrutiny and she glanced at him. He dropped his eyes to the bar instantly. No harm done, he thought. A woman like that was undoubtedly used to finding men looking at her.

  She crossed the bar in quick steps. The deputy missed seeing her. He was still looking out the window. The waitress looked up, saw her as she opened the outer door.

  There was a brief swirl of cold air in the bar as she opened the door, then it closed behind her and she was gone.

  Without appearing to hurry, he straightened from the barstool and dropped the five bucks that he’d had ready for the last ten minutes onto the bar.

  The barman nodded an acknowledgment of the one dollar tip as he moved away from the bar, following the blond woman to the door.

  “See ya,” he said briefly, and the barman grunted in reply, continuing to polish a glass with a white cloth. After the cozy warmth of the bar, the cold night air hit him like a barrier, bringing tears to his eyes. The wind swirled around the stairway that led down to the gondola loading base. He saw the lower door just easing shut on its pneumatic closer behind the woman. He took the stairs two at a time to make up ground. As he put his hand on the door handle, feeling the intense cold of the steel through his thin leather glove, he heard the whine and clunk of the gondola cable shudder to a halt.

  No need to appear rushed now, he thought. He gave it a few seconds, then opened the door and walked casually through. The gondola had stopped, he saw, so that the attendants could unload a cargo of soda and beer cans sent up from below. The woman was standing at the loading point, outlined against the night mist that was now beginning to swirl around the station, her hands deep in the pockets of her parka. She wore no hat.

  The two attendants worked quickly, stacking the cartons of soda and beer cans to the rear of the station. Finally, they were done and they gestured for the woman to move forward from the ready point and board the nearest car. He stepped out of the shadows as she moved, knowing they hadn’t noticed him so far, and followed her.

  One of the attendants glanced up as he moved forward, looked as if he was going to say something, then recognized the distinctive ski patrol uniform and stopped, waving him forward.

  Just as he’d thought. Ski patrollers were the invisible men of the mountain. He stepped easily into the car, still swinging slightly from the motion of the woman boarding, and dropped with a sigh onto the thinly padded bench opposite her. She glanced up idly and he smiled politely as they made brief eye contact. Then she looked away, out the window at the surrounding mist.

  He felt a surge of elation. It was working, he thought. It was working. He moved his left elbow slightly against his body, feeling the hard outline of the Walther in its shoulder holster.

  He glanced back and saw one of the attendants moving toward the big green go button that would start the cable again. There was a brief whirring, then a clunk of gears. The car swung back momentarily as the cable lurched forward.

  Then another clunk and crash and the car was swinging in a wild arc as the cable abruptly stopped again. He felt a quick surge of anger, wondering if the attendants were having second thoughts, in spite of the ski patrol uniform. Then, as he leaned forward to get a better view of the control station, he saw the deputy hurrying toward the gondola in long strides.

  Jesse came down the stairs three at a time, pulling his leather jacket on as he went. Subconsciously, he was aware of a change in the natural rhythms around him. Something was missing. Then he realized what it was. The gondola had stopped running. The deep background hum of the drive machinery and the regular clunk and crash of doors opening and cabins disengaging from the main cable was an all pervading constant in the Thunderhead Station. Now it had stopped. At least, he thought, Abby wouldn’t have left yet.

  He emerged into the cold wind and fog that swirled around the loading station, just as one of the attendants hit the start button and the machinery ground into motion once more. The cabins began their swaying, dipping dance as the cable began to move again. He could see two dim shapes in the cabin that had just passed the loading point. It hadn’t yet reached the automatic tri
p that would close the double doors.

  He hesitated, measuring the distance, wondering if he could make it in time before the doors shut. Deciding he couldn’t, he swung back to the control panel a few paces behind him and crushed his fist down on the big red emergency stop button.

  The whirring and clunking died again. The cabins bounced as the cable stretched and retracted, reacting to the sudden stop. He heard the angry voice of one of the attendants behind him as he started toward the cabin, felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.

  “Hey, mister! What the hell are you doing?”

  He swung around angrily, shoving the hand away, letting the attendant see his features. His right hand was already reaching into his wallet pocket, where he kept the deputy star that Lee had given him. Then he saw the attendant was one he knew and there was no need for further identification.

  “Official business, Frank,” he lied crisply, seeing the man’s expression relax a little as he realized the gondola had been stopped by a cop. He jerked his head toward the cabin. “Someone in that cabin I need to talk to, all right?”

  He was striding toward it as they spoke. Frank, with his shorter legs, was having to half run to keep up. He looked a little aggrieved still.

  “Well, okay, Jess. But next time, how’s about you tell me what you’re up to before you just crash in here and hit the stop?”

  “It’s urgent, else I would have,” he replied briefly, his eyes fixed on the gondola cabin. He thought now he could make out another figure inside it. He frowned slightly. Maybe Abby wasn’t in there after all. He knew the rules on no two people riding down unless they knew each other. Hell, he’d instituted them. So, if there were two people in this cabin, he didn’t see how one of them could be Abby.

  He glanced quickly around at the other cabins in sight. There was only one other where passengers might have already boarded. It was fractionally before the loading point, doors wide open, under the full lights of the station. It was obvious there was no one in it. He hesitated, then started back toward the first cabin. Now he could see the pale gleam of blond hair in the seat with its back to him and he knew it had to be Abby. He lengthened his stride.

  “Start her up again, Frank.” He tossed the comment briefly over his shoulder, sensed the other man slowing down and dropping behind him. The gondola swayed as he stepped quickly inside, then the cable engaged, the doors clamshelled shut and they were moving out into the thickening fog above Yampa Valley.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Abby looked up quickly as he boarded the cabin and sat opposite her.

  He could see the anger in her eyes still.

  “Abby …” he began, in a conciliatory tone, but she put up a hand, as if to ward him off.

  “Just leave it, Jess,” she said tightly. “You’ve said all there is to say.”

  “Let’s not finish like this,” he said, then, conscious that there was a third party present, he looked sidelong, saw the ski patrol uniform for the first time and understood why the attendants had allowed a second person to load with Abby. He frowned slightly. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, although his face was partly obscured by the upturned collar and the wool cap pulled down low over his eyes. Sitting alongside him the way he was, it was difficult to get a clear look at his features without being too obvious. Maybe he’d seen him around the ski patrol headquarters. There were so many new faces that came and went each year on the patrol and he couldn’t keep track of them all. He dismissed the man from his thoughts, turning back to Abby.

  “So, Abb,” he said gently. “Where to now?”

  She looked around at him, the anger and the hurt still evident.

  “For us, you mean? Looks like nowhere, doesn’t it?”

  “I meant for you,” he said, deliberately not rising to the bait she’d offered. She shrugged, huddled herself deeper into the fur-trimmed parka. He’d loved her once, he realized, but even then, he’d known she had the capacity to act like a spoiled child.

  “I guess I’ll go back to my room at the Mountain View,” she said. “Then tomorrow, I’ve got a taxi ordered for eleven to get me to my flight from Hayden.”

  “Back to Denver?” he asked. Again, her eyes accused him.

  “Where else?” she replied. “At least there’s something for me in Denver.”

  He felt the man beside him move slightly. He glanced sideways at him, with a look that apologized for involving him in a personal scene like this. Caught unawares, the other man was watching them intently. He’d moved slightly away from Jesse, leaving a small space between them. As Jesse’s gaze caught him, he turned away abruptly, obviously embarrassed at being caught listening in so openly. He stared out the far side window at the fog.

  “I’ll drive you to the plane,” he suggested, turning back to Abby. She smiled. The smile never reached her eyes.

  “Taxi’s fine,” she said shortly. Then her eyes slid away from him to look at the man beside him. Jesse followed her gaze. The man had been fumbling with the zipper of his parka. As Jesse looked at him, his hand dropped to one side. He grinned at the deputy.

  “Little warm in here,” he said. Jesse cocked his head thoughtfully.

  “Wouldn’t say warm exactly” he replied. “Sure is a lot colder outside in that wind,” he conceded. As if in answer to his statement, a gust of wind rocked the cabin, clearing the surrounding fog slightly and showing the lights of the condos on the hill as they slid down past them. The other man shrugged. He seemed a little tense, but then, Jesse thought, he’d be the same way if he had to sit in a gondola cabin listening to a relationship hit the rocks and break up.

  As if he was thinking the same thing, the man turned away, peering out the window into the night. It was the nearest he could get to not being there, not witnessing their argument, Jesse thought. He glanced over his shoulder—he was sitting facing uphill-and saw the misty lights of the bottom station looming out of the fog behind him.

  “Nearly there,” he said, to no one in particular. The man turned back and, just for a moment, Jesse thought he saw a trace of anger cross his face. Then it was gone, if it had ever been there at all, and the next minute, they were sliding into the light and the noise of the bottom station. The doors chunked open and the gondola rocked as it came onto the slow speed detached cable. Jesse stepped down at the unload point and turned to offer a hand to Abby. She ignored it pointedly steadying herself with one hand on the side of the gondola as she stepped down.

  “I’ll drive you back to the hotel,” he said, falling into step beside her. She shook her blond head angrily.

  “I can get a cab,” she replied shortly. They came out of the gondola building now and he gestured toward the Alpine Taxi rank. It was empty.

  “You’ll have to call for one. Could be waiting twenty minutes or more, this time of night.”

  It was just on eight thirty, a time when most people were heading out for their evening of après-ski activity. Even with the reduced number of tourists in town, the half-dozen taxis that served Steamboat would be running flat-out. Abby hesitated, then shrugged, realizing the sense of what he’d said.

  “All right,” she said. “Drive me back to the hotel. Then get the hell out of my life.”

  She turned toward where they had left his dented Subaru an hour ago. He had to walk quickly to keep up. Idly, he glanced around to see where the ski patroller had gotten to. But there was no sign of him anywhere.

  Lee had spent the evening wandering aimlessly around her small house. She’d made a quick, thrown together meal of hamburger, hash browns and beans, then turned the TV on. After a few minutes, she turned it off again, went through to the kitchen and sat at the kitchen bench for twenty minutes, cleaning and oiling the Blackhawk. She lined the five heavy .44 Magnum slugs up on the bench, spun the action several times, checking for dirt or grit, eased back the hammer, let it down again, spun the action again and then reloaded the five chambers.

  As ever, she left the one under the hammer empty.


  She thought about Jesse, wondering where he was, what he was doing. Instinctively, she knew that he was with Abby and she didn’t want to think about that. She pushed the subject to the back of her mind.

  Something was preying on her consciousness. Something about the downtown killing. There was something she was missing, she just knew it.

  She bundled the kitchen trash into a paper bag and crunched through the crusted snow to the garbage can just inside her front gate, crushing the new load down on top of the already full contents. She jammed the lid back down again, fastened the clips that held it in place and went back into the warmth of the kitchen.

  She still couldn’t place it. It was nagging at her and she still didn’t know what it was.

  Annoyed, she flipped on the TV again. Letterman was explaining to a New York audience how they’d arranged for a man leading a tame bear to try to get entry to the Russian Tea Room. A remote camera was following the action. The studio audience shrieked. Letterman arched his eyebrows and his bandleader sidekick made a few seemingly serious protests. If you believed the studio audience, it was hilarious stuff. Lee watched it, stone-faced.

  On the other channel, Jay Leno was interviewing one of the seemingly endless succession of near identical Baldwin brothers on the latest in a seemingly endless succession of near identical action movies. They showed a clip. The Baldwin brother was hanging off a train as it sped into a tunnel. There was a ball of flame as the carriage exploded—Lee wondered why a railway carriage would explode in a ball of flames. Then a stuntman leapt from the exploding/burning carriage onto a grassy slope beside the tracks, tucking into a ball and rolling. Then, in close up, the Baldwin brother—she thought it might be Alec—rose groggily to his feet, wisps of grass in his hair and dust covering one shoulder of his carefully ripped leather jacket.

  She killed the TV for the second time in half an hour.

  Damn! she thought. What was it? What was the small detail that was gnawing away at her subconscious? She’d tried ignoring it, tried to concentrate on other things, hoping that would allow her brain to sort it out and present a solution to her out of the blue.