Charlotte Pass

by Lee Christine

  Before his grief could swamp him, he dragged his mind back to his work. Picking up his phone, he set up a playlist: The Beatles, The Everly Brothers and the others Celia had worshipped enough to display on her wall. Finally, there was only one thing left to do before he headed south, accompanied by the soundtrack to Celia’s life.

  Ten minutes later, Ryder turned into a quiet tree-lined street and pulled up across the road from his parents’ house. After three rings his mother picked up.

  ‘Hello, Mum.’

  ‘Pierce! Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you, sweetheart? Where are you?’

  Ryder’s eyes stung as he gazed across the street to the neat front garden and the soft lamp shining from the lounge-room window. ‘I’m good, Mum. I’m working.’

  ‘You’re always working.’ His mother’s voice turned muffled and he heard her call out, ‘Bill, it’s Pierce.’ Then she was back, clear as a bell again. ‘Your father’s coming. I’m putting you on speaker.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ryder took a deep breath. He was steps away from two of the three people he loved most in the world, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to get out of the car and go inside, knowing he was responsible for the excitement in his mother’s voice. And the anxiety.

  ‘Hello, Pierce?’ His father’s calm voice washed over him, the voice of reason during his childhood and teenage years.

  ‘G’day, Dad. What have you been up to?’ Ryder closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

  ‘Not a lot. Every day’s pretty much the same when you’re retired.’

  Ryder smiled at the droll response. Knowing his father, he would be keeping himself busy walking the dog, working in the yard and playing golf. It weighed on Ryder’s conscience that his parents had uprooted themselves from the family home in Forresters Beach and moved to Newcastle so they could give him and Tania a hand and be closer to their granddaughter. They’d been filled with optimism for the next stage of their life. But he’d wrenched it all away when he’d reversed out of the driveway that day.

  He took a steadying breath. ‘I’m sure Mum’s keeping you busy enough, mate. And what about you, Mum?’

  ‘I’m fine, Pierce. There’s no need for you to worry about us.’

  ‘I do, though.’ He bit out the words, hating himself for causing them so much loss.

  ‘I know, I know. It’s been so long since we’ve seen you, when are you coming home?’ His mother rushed the words as though he might hang up at any second.

  He’d done that, too.

  ‘Soon, Mum. I promise. I’m working on a cold case of Lew’s. One that’s important to him.’

  ‘As long as you’re looking after yourself, son,’ put in his father.

  ‘I am. I gave up the smokes thirteen weeks ago. I’m fitter than I was at eighteen.’

  ‘That’s great news, mate.’

  ‘You’re so precious to us, Pierce.’ Ryder gritted his teeth at the quaver in his mother’s voice. ‘We miss you.’

  ‘I know. I miss you guys, too.’

  A dog barked. Ryder opened his eyes and looked at the house. In the weak glow of the streetlight, he could just make out Bentley, the family beagle. He was looking at the car and jumping around behind the front gate.

  ‘I have to go. I promise I’ll be home soon.’

  ‘We’ll be here. Bye, darling.’

  ‘Bye, Mum. See ya, Dad.’

  ‘Take care, son.’

  Mouthing a silent apology to Bentley, Ryder hit the ignition button, shifted the car into gear and moved off. Only when he reached the corner did he switch on his headlights.

  Six

  Vanessa stood amid the crowd, her beanie pulled low on her forehead so the flaps covered her ears. Her gloved hands were wrapped around a steaming mug of glühwein from the ice bar, her second for the night.

  The temperature had fallen to four below zero, and for the past seven hours snowflakes the size of twenty-cent coins had drifted from the sky. Mountain operations had switched on the snow cannons, adding more snow to the existing cover. Not that any were pointed at the front valley where she and Libby waited, along with other members of staff and resort guests, beneath the powerful night skiing lights. But if she listened hard enough, she could make out the hum from the motors, and the whoosh of the cannons as they shot streams of ice particles onto the ski runs further out.

  Libby stamped her feet and looked towards Kangaroo Ridge where a ring of fire could be seen at the summit. ‘Come on! Let’s get this show on the road. I’m friggin’ freezing. How hard is it to work out how many seconds to leave between each skier?’

  The flare run was to mark the official opening of Winterfest, and Aidan Smythe was doing the honours leading the way down.

  ‘There’s a bit more to it than that,’ Vanessa explained. ‘The other skiers have to be given the right length broom handle, so when the flares are raised in the air, they’re all a similar height. Then there’s a safety talk on how to hold the flare away from you as you’re skiing. The top of the broom handle is dipped in something like napalm and lit. If the liquid drips onto your clothing, it’ll burn right through.’

  Libby screwed up her nose and looked towards the summit again.

  ‘We should do it before the end of the season, Lib. It’ll be fun. I haven’t been in a flare run for a while.’

  ‘Have you ever done one here?’

  ‘Eva and I did a couple way back in our teens, when Mum and Dad used to bring us here. I’ve done lots overseas, though.’

  ‘Hmm. I’ll think about it. Right now, I want them to hurry the hell up because I can’t feel my toes.’

  Vanessa pointed at the media scrum gathered at the base of the home run. ‘Maybe they’re the hold-up.’ Sound booms hovered over the group while the photographers fiddled with their telephoto lenses, desperate to capture every moment of Aidan Smythe’s return to the ski fields where it had all started. ‘They’ll want to film Aidan as he skis into the light.’

  ‘Meanwhile, I’m freezing my arse off out here.’

  ‘That’s the thing I hate about the snow. It’s freezing outside and then you come inside and roast in the central heating.’

  Vanessa smiled. Libby and Detective Ryder were of the same mind when it came to the snow. Libby wasn’t here because of her love of the mountains. She’d followed a boyfriend to Charlotte Pass. A week after she’d taken the job at the kids’ club, he’d broken up with her. Libby now spent most of her free time trying to avoid him.

  Vanessa sighed and looked across to the silent shadow of darkness that was Mount Stillwell. The skeleton had been fully unearthed, and police tape now roped off the area, along with the hazard fencing. Terry had gone even further, erecting signage warning people to keep away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Vee,’ Libby said, following Vanessa’s line of sight. ‘Here I am whinging about the cold when you’ve had another shit day.’

  ‘Shit morning.’ Vanessa took another gulp of her glühwein. The mulled wine was going down easily—a bit too easily. ‘Terry gave me the afternoon off.’

  ‘So he should have. Only a callous bastard would make you work after the detectives left for Canberra. Do you know if they’re coming back?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ She’d already told Libby she wasn’t allowed to talk about what had been discovered, but word had got out that a body had been found.

  Libby’s gaze moved beyond Vanessa’s shoulder. ‘Well, speak of the devil. Here comes one of them now.’

  Vanessa turned to see whom Libby was dissolving into sweet smiles for. Detective Flowers was coming towards them, picking his way through the throng, skirting around excited children, skiers and boarders, all of them in high spirits as they waited for the flare run to begin. Dressed in his regulation heavy weather gear which added weight to his slim frame, his short-cropped, dark auburn hair was completely hidden under a blue and grey beanie. Vanessa scanned the crowd beyond the Detective Constable, but stilled as unexpected disappointment caught her by
surprise.

  Disappointed? Seriously?

  Detective Ryder might be taller, darker and hotter than his junior partner, but she met tall, dark, hot men all the time. Half the ski-school instructors fitted that description.

  The lights went out.

  Libby swung around and squealed so loudly Vanessa covered one of her already muffled ears with a gloved hand. Detective Flowers had clearly been relegated to Libby’s mental backburner for now, at least until the light show was over.

  Vanessa trained her eyes on the summit and the first flicker of a flare. Aidan Smythe began his descent. Despite his age, Smythe’s impeccable timing and smooth, wide radius turns were executed with the finesse of a prima ballerina. One by one the other skiers followed, their flares glittering and shimmering in illuminated formation, like an enormous sparkling serpent sliding down the face of the mountain. Vanessa sighed with pleasure. After an upsetting couple of days, it felt good to witness something so beautiful. And the glühwein settling into her nerve endings wasn’t doing her any harm either.

  As the skiers neared the bottom of the mountain the night skiing lights came back on, bathing the lower part of the run in daytime brilliance. An expectant hush fell over the gathering before Smythe skied out of the darkness and into the light, arms extended above his head, a flare in each hand.

  The crowd cheered. Vanessa drained the remainder of her glühwein before the jostling crowd could knock it out of her hands. Holding her phone aloft, she edged forward, keen to capture footage of Australian skiing royalty.

  ‘Ms Bell?’

  She swung around to find Detective Flowers standing next to her. He’d made it up the slope quicker than she’d expected him to. ‘Oh, hello.’

  ‘Sergeant Ryder said you had something for him.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Ignoring Libby’s raised eyebrow, Vanessa dug in the pocket of her jacket for the folded piece of paper. ‘We don’t have wi-fi where we’re staying, and I couldn’t send a text. Anyway, I thought it would be safer writing it down.’ Now, she wasn’t so sure. She’d imagined handing the list of Charlotte’s long-term residents to Detective Ryder privately. Instead, she was standing under floodlights surrounded by hundreds of people who may or may not be watching her exchange with the visiting policeman. Hoping it would go unnoticed, she slipped the piece of paper into the detective’s hand, like a schoolgirl passing notes in class. ‘Those are the only people I know of.’

  ‘That’s okay, we’ll track down the others. Thanks very much.’ The detective nodded to Libby. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies.’

  Libby peered over Vanessa’s shoulder, watching as Detective Flowers descended the slope. ‘How old do you think he is?’

  ‘Too young.’

  ‘I like them young.’

  Vanessa grinned. ‘I know you do.’

  Another cheer went up as the last of the skiers reached the bottom. Vanessa barely had time to take photographs before the lights were extinguished again. And then the first pyrotechnic sliced through the air with a high-pitched whine. It detonated overhead before burning itself out like a hundred shooting stars trailing back to earth.

  Rock music blared from the speakers, and for the next few minutes Vanessa forgot everything and enjoyed the fireworks display. The finale came in a flurry of multi-coloured starbursts that left revellers clapping and cheering—and a few toddlers crying.

  Eventually the lights came on again. A pall of gunpowder smoke hung over the village as the crowd gathered up their possessions and began to head home to the warmth of their fireplaces.

  Vanessa pulled her neck warmer over her nose to block out the charcoal smell, and shivering a little inside her jacket, trudged down the hill behind Libby.

  Winterfest was well and truly open.

  Standing in the hallway and peering through the glass pane in the centre of the heavy wooden door, Vanessa saw that the bottom bar was alive with people, most of them resort staff. She smiled when one of the instructors tipped a packet of gummy fish lollies into a fishbowl cocktail. The girls in the group laughed loudly when the drink slopped over the rim, their drinking straws at the ready. Meanwhile, another larrikin instructor was heading back from the bar, a jug of beer in each hand as he shouted to his mates over the eighties glam-rock music blaring from the sound system. Just inside the door, the resort’s entire maintenance team, their football beanies pulled low over their brows, had commandeered the pool table. Every now and then a few brave guests would venture past Vanessa and into the bar, but they didn’t last long. They soon sensed the revelry spiralling around them before turning on their heels and heading to the cocktail bar upstairs with its cosy lounges, crackling fire and peaceful ambience.

  Vanessa hesitated, in two minds whether to join the party. Libby had left for her lodging, declaring only a hot shower would warm her up. If Vanessa joined the ski school in the bar, there was a good chance she would have to fend off a barrage of questions she couldn’t answer about why she’d been crawling around on the mountain with police officers that morning. It would be a lot simpler to just head back to her room and listen to music.

  Outside in the freezing air, she gripped the edge of her hood and headed across the narrow wooden bridge towards Long Bay. The temperature had dropped again, and the wind was coming in intermittent gusts strong enough to stop Vanessa in her tracks. Water gushed between rocks in the creek and she kept her gaze trained on the few lights shining from the windows of the old timber building just ahead.

  She was almost at the bottom of the slated wooden stairs when a dark figure materialised in front of her. ‘Hey!’ Vanessa shrieked and recoiled, rolling on her right foot. She regained her balance, staring hard through the darkness as she tried to make out who it was. ‘Back off!’ Fear constricted her throat, and though she’d yelled at the dark shape the words had come out as little more than a croak.

  There was a spark, then a flame split the darkness. Vanessa’s heart beat wildly as she stared into the sunken eyes of a man.

  ‘Bruno! What the hell are you doing? You scared the shit out of me.’

  The groomer made no apology. The old man never did. A lifelong employee of Charlotte Pass, he’d never been one to bother with social niceties. The raised scar that ended at the corner of his eye was clearly visible in the light from the flame. Legend had it that a steel disc from a surface lift had struck him in the head years ago.

  He bent his head and the cigarette tip flared as he inhaled smoke deep into his lungs, holding it there for a few seconds before letting it go.

  ‘What do you want?’ Vanessa flexed her smarting foot inside her boot and waved away his smoke.

  He opened his jacket and slipped the lighter into the pocket of the checked, flannelette shirt he wore underneath. Bringing the smoke to his lips again, he cocked his head in the direction of Mount Stillwell. ‘What’s the story up there?’

  Vanessa dragged in a breath. ‘Why are you asking me?’

  ‘You’re ski patrol, aren’t you?’ He took another drag and blew it out the side of his mouth.

  ‘You know I am.’

  ‘I have a problem, you see.’ The burning tip of the cigarette arced through the air as he lowered it to his side. ‘I have to get the grooming machine into that area so I can get to the snow behind the fences. If I can’t do my job, nothin’ else happens.’

  She couldn’t deny that, but she hated his self-importance as much as she hated the way he’d accosted her in the dark. ‘I don’t have the authority to tell you anything. You’ll have to ask the police, or Terry.’

  Vanessa reached for the metal railing, but he shot out a hand and grabbed her wrist, fingers digging into her flesh through layers of clothing.

  ‘Let me go!’ She rounded on him, striking his forearm with the side of her hand in a move a self-defence instructor would have been proud of. His fingers loosened, and Vanessa wrenched her hand free. She fled up the stairs, relieved to be able to put her full weight on her ankle. Breathless, she flung
open the door and slammed it behind her. She paused for a few beats, holding her breath and listening. Outside, the timber steps creaked beneath Bruno’s weight as he climbed the stairs.

  Vanessa ran down the corridor, ears pricked for the sound of voices coming from the bedrooms. Silence. She checked the common areas. The TV room was in darkness, its lounges empty, and only the cold glint of stainless steel shone from the darkened kitchen.

  Behind her, the outside door opened with a scrape then slammed closed.

  Vanessa’s heart pounded so hard she could feel the blood pulsing in her temples. She hurried towards her room, taking note of the missing jackets that normally hung from hooks in the corridor. Most of the others, if not all of them, were still in the pub celebrating Winterfest. When she reached her door, she looked back the way she’d come, past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, towards the kitchen. Bruno’s dark silhouette appeared at the end of the corridor.

  Vanessa fumbled with the door handle then burst inside. Closing the door quickly, she cursed the non-existent locks and the lack of mobile phone coverage. Heart thundering, she stood with her back to the door and listened. Bruno’s room was on the floor above. He would need to pass her door to go to the stairs. He came slowly, deliberately, his footsteps stilling outside her door.

  ‘Vanessa?’ he said quietly.

  Vanessa pressed her full weight against the door and stared down at the handle, watching for any movement. A shudder ran through her body as she heard the click of his lighter. Once. Twice.

  Please. For the love of God, move on.

  Long seconds passed. And then there was a rustle of clothing as he began moving away, clearing his throat as he tried to shift fifty years of tar built up in his lungs.

  Vanessa moved towards the moon lamp and switched it on with a shaky hand. A creamy glow lit the shabby room, sending light into the dark corners and chasing away the claustrophobic blackness. Grabbing hold of a straight-backed, wooden chair that lived in the corner, she wedged it under the door handle. Not satisfied it would keep Bruno out if he came back, she dragged her ski bag out from the bottom of the wardrobe and dumped it on top of the chair together with her tool belt. If he tried to get in, he’d make a hell of a noise doing it.