“William and I were in the clinic when the hospital called. He told Coach Jenkinson. I don’t think the other racers know yet. I feel like a shit. I pretended I didn’t know who McKenzie was. I tried to ban him from skiing.” Ben’s face paled, and Kalin could tell his mouth had gone dry.
“You couldn’t have known. Should we tell Nora?”
“I can’t say anything. I’ll mention her to Jenkinson. He should probably tell her soon. I’m sure she knows something’s going on.”
“What happens now?”
Ben shrugged. “We wait until we’re told how to handle this. I don’t want to be responsible for a media leak. I’m sure Jenkinson wants to talk with McKenzie’s family first and then the team.”
“Can you leave after the patrol debrief meeting?”
“I think so.”
Kalin held his hand. When Ben was low, he needed to move. Sitting still and drinking coffee was not going to help him. “Let’s get Chica and go snowshoeing.”
Nora burst into the café, wild eyed, with her jacket and winter boots undone and her tuning apron hanging below her knees. She ran to Kalin and Ben. In between breaths, she asked Ben, “Is Steve okay? No one will tell me anything.”
Kalin stood and tenderly guided Nora by the elbow. “Sit with us.”
Nora shifted her gaze between Kalin and Ben and squeezed Kalin’s hand. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“He fell rounding the fourth gate,” Ben said.
“I’ve heard that already. You were there, so just tell me.”
Ben’s softened voice was barely audible. “I don’t know how to say this…Steve died.”
“No way. Not Steve.”
“The hospital called.”
The café had gone quiet when Nora entered. Kalin took in the scene. Gazes were hastily averted, but the other patrons were all straining to hear. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk privately.”
“This can’t be true.” With her elbows on the table, Nora rested her face on her fingertips and tears ran down her cheeks. She sat, uncharacteristically still, and Kalin and Ben gave her a moment.
Kalin tugged at her to stand. “Come on. Let’s go to my office.”
* * *
Reed’s office door slammed against the wall and Coach Jenkinson barged in, kicking the door when it bounced back in his direction.
“I’m on the phone. You’ll have to wait.”
“I’m not waiting.” Jenkinson grabbed the phone from Reed’s hand and hit the end button. He tossed the phone on the table. “I need to speak with you. Now!”
Gertrude hovered in the doorway. “Should I call security?”
“Get out and leave us alone,” Jenkinson commanded.
“Apologize to her.”
Jenkinson’s nostrils flared, and he took several deep breaths, getting himself under control. “I’m sorry for the outburst.”
“We’re fine, Gertrude. You can close the door,” Reed said.
She fussed with the pockets on her oversized sweater and hovered.
“It’s okay.”
“I’ll be right outside.”
Jenkinson was under stress and was aggressive by nature, so Reed held his body pumped, ready for action but controlled. “I’m sorry about Steve McKenzie.”
Jenkinson pointed a stubby finger and held it inches from Reed’s face. “This is your fault.”
Uncomfortable wet spots developed in the armpits of Reed’s dress shirt, but he did not step away. “What’s my fault?”
“Don’t play innocent. McKenzie’s accident.” Spit stuck in the cracks, where Jenkinson’s lips joined, and he darted his tongue into both crevices.
“How can it be my fault?”
“The team is going to sue the resort. Your run techs made the surface too icy.”
If Jenkinson hadn’t looked distraught, and very capable of violence, Reed would have laughed. “That’s the first time you’ve complained about fast conditions. How many times have you complained the conditions were too slow?” Reed waited while Jenkinson clenched his fists, then opened them.
Jenkinson didn’t answer.
“I can think of quite a few. You specifically asked for the run to be injected.” Reed had discussed the early season conditions with the run techs. Warm temperatures, or rain during the fall season, could cause run closures. To ensure the run stayed open, during the training weeks, the snow required injection. Every minute the run remained closed the resort lost money.
The coaches had pressured him to inject the run to allow the racers to train on conditions similar to what they would compete on. Injection had been good for the resort, and for the teams, and meant the racers achieved high speeds on the icy conditions.
“McKenzie wasn’t wearing his pass,” Jenkinson said.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“The pass carries the resort’s release of liability statement. That won’t look good in court.”
“Why are you trying to blame someone for the accident?”
“Someone has to pay for what happened to him.” Jenkinson wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Don’t think this guarantees Ian a spot on the team.”
“We had a deal. Ian’s times are as fast as McKenzie’s, and now there is a spot. I expect you to honor the deal and put Ian on the team.” Reed’s first thought, which he wasn’t proud of when he’d heard McKenzie died, was Susan would be happy.
“Do you know how many skiers crashed during our training session?” Jenkinson asked.
“No, but I think you do. You could’ve stopped the training at any time. I believe McKenzie skied late in the session. It was your call to pull him if you thought the conditions were dangerous.”
“What? You think this is my fault?”
“I think Super-G is a dangerous sport and people get hurt. I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault.”
* * *
Jeff Morley opened the garage door, not caring if the motorized hum notified his dad he was home, and hit the light switch. He could see from the emptiness on the left side that Donny was out. The grey cement sparkled as if it were brand new. A spotless garage floor was an unreasonable expectation from an unreasonable man. His dad used it as a way to get at Donny, as if Donny paralyzed himself on purpose.
Jeff would never forget how he’d almost ignored his cell on the night of the accident, but something made him answer. He’d been drunk, screwing some girl at a party. He left her sprawled on a bed and bolted for the hospital.
He found his mom in the emergency waiting room with her knees pulled to her chest, slowly rocking. She must have been on duty because she wore her nurse’s uniform. His mom was tall and thin, just like Aunt Lisa, but the way she sat curled into herself made her look small, vulnerable even.
“Mom? Is he okay?”
His mom sat but remained hunched. “I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“The car hit a tree. Rachel’s hurt too.”
Rachel Hudson was his cousin, and he thought of his aunt. “Did you call Aunt Lisa?”
“I can’t.”
Jeff ran his hand over his mom’s back, trying to soothe her. He should have been the one driving Donny home, but he’d been too focused on some girl he didn’t know, too worried about his own problems with Nora, to bother with his brother. He looked over her shoulder at a blank wall, avoiding eye contact with his mom. “I’ll do it. We need to call Nora too.”
His father hadn’t shown his face at the hospital, and Jeff wished he’d stayed away for good.
Three years had gone by since that horrible night. If Nora hadn’t dumped him after the prom, he wouldn’t have been fucking that girl, and Donny wouldn’t have been in the car with that asshole. And now the asshole was dead. Very satisfying.
Jeff paced the garage. His boots squeaked on the floor. He wanted to move out, but the problem was Donny. He couldn’t leave him there to deal with their dad on his own. Next year he’d figure out a way for Donny to come with hi
m, assuming the university accepted him.
Aunt Lisa had helped him with the application process, but he’d hidden his dream from his parents and Donny. He planned to wait until he was accepted to tell Donny. He didn’t want to get Donny’s hopes up, but he was too excited. He might tell him soon.
Once touring started, they’d both be out of Holden for a while. All Jeff had to do was keep in the top three on the team, and the coach would let him race. He had a better chance now with McKenzie dead. Too bad Jenkinson had let Ian Reed on the team. Jeff guessed having a dad who was the president of the resort helped.
Jeff stopped pacing at the back of the garage and placed his skis in the rack. He’d had the fastest time today. That should keep his dad from exploding like an avalanche.
The side door to the garage opened. “Well?”
“I was fastest.” Jeff placed his boots on the boot dryer and hung his poles on a hook. He was about to toss his helmet and goggles on the shelf except his dad stepped in front of him.
His dad picked up a wrench from the counter and tapped it against his thigh. “You think you’re such hot shit. You couldn’t beat McKenzie. He had to crash for you to get the fastest time.”
“You said I had to be fastest, and I was. It’s not my fault he fell.” Jeff kept an eye on the wrench, not really believing his father would hit him with the metal tool. He fisted the strap of his helmet, resisting the urge to swing his arm. One strong bang on the head, and his dad’s life would be over. Of the many versions of this daydream, the sound of the helmet smashing against his father’s head was the most satisfying. The thought of his mother stopped him. She depended on their dad, and Jeff didn’t think she could survive without him. “I finished the run when most of the team didn’t. That counts.”
“Where’s your brother? He should be home by now.”
Not long after Donny’s accident, their father started to refer to Donny as “your brother.” Jeff hadn’t heard his dad say Donny’s name since he’d lost the ability to walk.
“With so many crashes, he’s probably tuning tonight.”
“I phoned your so-called coach. He was too busy to talk to me.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“What was your time?”
“One minute thirty-three forty-three.”
“That’s still not good enough.” His father stepped forward. Jeff stepped backward, keeping an arm’s length from his dad.
“You coward. Don’t move away from me.”
Jeff kept his eyes on the wrench, ready to protect himself. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“McKenzie’s dead.”
Jeff’s dad smiled and hung the wrench back on the hooks on the cork board.
CHAPTER NINE
Steve McKenzie had been dead for only one day, and already reporters laid siege at the bottom of the Alpine Tracks run. Kalin recognized two local reporters. The third reporter wore a Calgary Herald jacket. All three shouted questions at the ticket checkers.
Security officers arrived and herded the reporters back, forcing them out of the maze.
Kalin spotted Ben and joined him beside his snowmobile. His eyes strayed below her neckline, and he grinned. Ben must have been injected with extra testosterone when he was born. She shoved his shoulder. “Get a grip. I’m wearing a ski jacket.”
“Yeah, but I know what’s underneath. Can you get off early today? Maybe I can remove that jacket before I go to fire practice.”
“Nope, but I’ll be happy to remove your fireman’s uniform when you get home.” To say his turnout gear was a turn-on was a gross understatement, and she’d have no problem taking it off him later.
Ben winked. “Promise?”
She turned and stood shoulder to shoulder with him, not quite touching but enjoying the sensation of his presence. The lift hummed as it carried racers from the German team to the top of the run. Kalin recognized Edwin Bucher, their top skier, from his photos in ski magazines and wished she had time to watch him ski. Finished with their training session, some of the Holden team skiers milled around the bottom, waiting for their coach. Snippets of conversations about speed reached Kalin, but the skiers seemed subdued.
“Do you think we should do something about the reporters?” Ben asked.
“No. My security guys can handle the three of them.”
“I need to tell you something.”
With the last of the Holden skiers through the gates, Coach Jenkinson skied to the bottom, making tight, precise turns. After he skidded to a stop, spraying loose snow, one of the local reporters approached him, and for a change, Jenkinson wore a welcoming smile.
“Hang on. I want to hear them.” Kalin stepped closer to Jenkinson.
“What caused the accident?” a reporter asked.
“You heard how many skiers fell. The run techs over injected the snow, making the run an ice rink.”
“Why didn’t you cancel the training?”
Jenkinson’s eyes froze along with his smile. “The resort didn’t get the injection right. They’re at fault.”
“Who’s going to replace McKenzie?”
Ian Reed stood close behind Jenkinson. He gripped the top of his ski poles and leaned forward on his skis, looking intent on hearing the answer.
Again, with a frozen smile, Jenkinson said, “He’s been dead twenty-four hours. Ask me in a week.”
Kalin watched security move closer to the reporters and imagined the story to come. There would be a description of run technology and then a hint Stone Mountain was at fault. She’d better brief Reed after she met with Fred. “I gotta run. Fred wants me to watch the video of the crash. Can we talk later?”
Ben rested his hand on her shoulder for a second as if he wanted to say something and then changed his mind. “See you tonight.”
* * *
Leaving her security officers to handle the situation, Kalin pulled her jacket tight and strode to Fred’s office. Her throat ached with the beginnings of a cold, and her jeans felt brittle against her thighs. She didn’t know why she sometimes forgot to wear thermal underwear. Too preoccupied she guessed. And who wouldn’t be? She was about to watch a video of a man dying.
Kalin entered the security office and found Fred Morgan and William DeWell sitting at the conference table. “Is that the video?”
As ski patrol manager, William was Ben’s boss. He wore his ski patrol jacket and ski pants. He’d tossed his toque and mitts on an empty chair, and his mud-colored hair looked as if he’d run his hand through the curls many times. He paused the video on the computer screen. “We got confirmation he broke his neck.”
Kalin avoided staring at the spot where William’s earlobe should be—the lobe he’d lost to frostbite. “That’s really sad.”
Fred swiveled in his chair and faced her. “I think it might have been more than sad.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Here, watch this.” Fred played the video for Kalin. The footage showed McKenzie skiing the Super-G course. He skied around a gate and launched out of his skis onto his head. “Do you see what I mean?”
Kalin had never seen a video of someone dying before. She felt oddly detached as if what she watched wasn’t real, except she knew it was. “Not really.”
“I see that his boot released from his ski for no reason. He didn’t catch an edge. He didn’t hit another gate. It’s like he stepped out of his binding.” Fred raised his thick eyebrows at her and waited as if expecting her to understand.
“Show me again.” Kalin watched the accident a second time. This time the crash wasn’t as shocking, and she could focus. “Could his binding have come loose when he hit the earlier gate?”
“I doubt it.” William shook his head. “It would have released then.”
“You think it was a gear malfunction?”
“Maybe…”
“Maybe what?” Kalin asked.
“Reed’s concerned about the resort being sued,” William sai
d. “He asked me to review the video to see if it showed anything that proves the resort wasn’t at fault. After watching the video several times, I thought Fred should see it before I talked to Reed.”
“You guys aren’t being clear.”
William reversed the video to just before McKenzie fell. “Watch his right foot.”
Kalin did as instructed.
McKenzie skied around the gate, and the heel of his ski boot lifted effortlessly out of the binding.
“You saw his boot release?” William asked.
“I did.”
“I think his DIN setting was too low.” DIN were the initials for the German standards institute, and the amount of force required for a boot to release from a binding depended on the DIN setting.
Kalin turned to Fred, who said, “I asked one of the guys to get his skis from the patrol room.”
Kalin stood. “There are reporters nosing around, and Jenkinson’s blaming the resort for McKenzie’s death. Let’s keep this quiet for now. Make sure the skis are secured, and then we’ll update Reed.”
Fred shook his head. “I’ll take care of the skis. You’re the director. It’s your job to deal with Reed.”
Kalin was sure William noticed the tension between her and Fred. Trying to distract him, she asked, “You want to come?”
On their way to Reed’s office, Kalin phoned Gertrude and asked if they could meet with Reed in fifteen minutes.
“What do you think we should tell Reed?” William asked.
“Exactly what you told me but maybe a little more direct.” There were times when Reed smiled a lot, and she suspected he had a side to him that didn’t show in the office, but this wouldn’t be one of those times.
They entered Reed’s outer office, and Gertrude motioned for them to go straight in.
Once seated, William glanced at Kalin, and she interpreted that to mean he wanted her to fill Reed in on what they’d found.
“This must be serious if neither of you want to say anything,” Reed said.
Descent (A Stone Mountain Mystery Book 1) Page 6