‘Oh, it can’t be helped,’ Smythe said, getting to his feet.
‘So, what have they got lined up for you today?’ asked Ryder as they walked into the sitting room.
Smythe checked his watch. ‘Di has me on a pretty tight schedule. I’ve got about half an hour until I have to be at the top of the mountain. Do you ski, Detective?’
‘Me? No.’ Ryder shook his head and opened the door. ‘Give me the surf any day.’
Eleven
Vanessa raised the safety bar and wriggled to the edge of the seat. As the moving chair descended over the safety net, she tucked the two orange PVC poles and the CLOSED sign under her arm. When the chair skimmed over the platform, she touched her skis onto the compacted snow and, keeping her weight forward, glided down the unloading ramp. The empty chair swung around the bull wheel with a rattle and continued on its way downhill.
She came to a stop near the boundary rope that separated the resort’s terrain from the ungroomed back country. The weather had cleared during her lunch break, typical of how quickly it could change in the mountains. In the distance, Kosciuszko’s flat-ish peak nestled towards the back of the main range.
A scrape of edges behind her made her turn. Vanessa blinked in surprise. Aidan Smythe had come to a stop beside her. ‘I’d forgotten how spectacular the view is from up here.’ He used his stocks to draw level with her. ‘You’re practically standing on top of Australia.’
‘I love it,’ she said, admiring his blingy gold jacket and matching wraparound sunglasses. Up close, his freckled complexion and uneven skin tone spoke of decades of UV exposure and wind burn.
‘Back in the day, I used to hike out there to Kosciuszko. We used to stop for lunch at the Blue Lake. I loved skiing off-piste.’
Vanessa rested the sign and posts on the snow. ‘I never ski out of bounds. The worry would kill my mother.’
He chuckled. ‘Very sensible. I’m afraid my mind might be willing, but the old legs wouldn’t stand up to it these days, especially in these boots.’ He tapped the shell of his ski boot with his stock. ‘The leather ones we used to wear were easier to hike in than these rigid things.’
‘Are you enjoying being back in Australia?’ she asked, trying not to look too star struck.
‘Very much so. Everyone’s gone to a lot of trouble arranging things. I’m looking forward to a fun time.’ He glanced over his shoulder to where a small group of people had gathered.
‘I hope you brought a pen. It looks like you have autographs to sign.’
Aidan Smythe’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘They’re my students. I’m taking a masterclass this week.’
‘Of course.’ Heat warmed Vanessa’s face despite the cold breeze. With everything that had happened over the past few days, she’d forgotten all about his special ski class.
‘Well, I won’t keep you. It’s looks like you have an important job to do.’ He gave her a friendly nod. ‘Nice chatting with you, dear.’
‘Yes. Enjoy your stay.’
Vanessa watched him push off. Aidan Smythe was a tall, fit seventy-odd with a physique many younger men would envy. Whatever he said to the group must have been funny, because within seconds of him joining them they broke into laughter. He pointed with his stock for them to take the back track. A winding road high on the ridge, it had intermittent falls and a few steep rises that required the skier to work up a good amount of speed so they weren’t reduced to walking up the hills sideways.
‘So, what’s the king like?’
Vanessa turned around to see Sam, the liftie, leaning on his shovel and smiling at her.
‘He’s charming,’ she said, a little irritated. Sam’s job was to keep an eye on the people getting off the chairlift, not to watch her and Smythe. ‘Hand me the drill from inside the hut, will you?’
‘I love a woman who knows her way around power tools,’ Sam said with a cocky grin as he handed her the heavy snow drill.
Shaking her head, Vanessa hoisted the posts and sign onto one shoulder and hung the drill over the other. She pushed off, taking the back track, but in the opposite direction to where Aidan Smythe and his students had gone. With a skating action, she headed up the slight rise, making for a spot thirty metres away where two large boulders sat either side of the track. Earlier, Terry had spotted half a dozen dare-devil snowboarders riding the fresh powder close to Celia’s grave. Despite having already roped off the immediate area around the site, he’d now decided to cut off access to the entire side of the mountain. At least until the police had given them the go-ahead to remove everything.
The police. Vanessa smiled, her thoughts shifting to Detective Pierce Ryder. Her heart had skipped a beat when he’d walked into the cafe, though he’d arrived at an awkward time when she was telling Terry about her run-in with Bruno.
‘It’s just not on,’ Terry had said of Bruno’s intimidating behaviour. ‘I’ll give him a warning, and hopefully you’ll have no further problems. If you do, come and see me straightaway.’
‘I will,’ she’d promised, with a sideways glance at the detective sitting a couple of tables away. She’d been surprised to find him looking right at her. Their gazes had held for an intense second or two before he’d looked away to focus on the flat screen in the corner. He went still, staring unblinkingly at the film as though he’d developed a sudden interest in skiing Valdez in Alaska.
Vanessa had stared at her coffee, ridiculously pleased that she’d sprung him checking her out. Or had she imagined that? Maybe he’d just been wondering what she and Terry had been discussing so seriously.
Pushing all thoughts of the detective to the back of her mind, she snowploughed to a stop as the boulders came into view. Clicking out of her skis, she let everything bar the drill drop to the ground. Choosing an appropriate spot, she set the heavy-duty bit to the hard-packed snow. The high-pitched whir from the motor shattered the silence as she bored a hole on either side of the track. Once the posts were firmly jammed in, she strung a florescent orange CLOSED sign between them.
‘That should do it,’ she said to herself, surveying her handiwork. Anyone who chose to disobey that signage would get a ticking off from the closest person in uniform and their lift pass confiscated.
Back at the lifties’ hut, she left her skis with Sam and gave him strict instructions that no one other than ski patrol was to go beyond the CLOSED sign. Then she traded him the drill for the keys to the snowmobile that was always parked beneath the platform.
After making sure her path was clear of guests, she drove in a direct line across the side of the mountain she’d just closed, easing off the throttle only when she reached the trees. For the next few minutes, she manoeuvred the machine though the gnarled snow gums, the furrowed snow evidence of the few adventurous guests Terry had spotted earlier. When the fences and police tape came into view, she parked the snowmobile a safe distance away and walked to the fences to do the check she had promised Terry. The posts were on a lean, the weight of the built-up snow forcing them downhill.
Vanessa took out her two-way radio. ‘Vanessa to Terry.’
‘Go ahead, Vee.’
‘I’m at the snow fences. Any more tonight and they’ll collapse.’
Vanessa grimaced as static crackled in her ear. Then Terry’s voice came through loud and clear. ‘I’ll talk to the detectives. We’ll need to get Bruno in there. Did you close the trail up top?’
‘All done.’
‘Righto, thanks.’
She pocketed the radio, unwilling to leave without pausing for a few seconds as a mark of respect to Celia. It had started to snow again, large flakes clinging to the branches of the snow gum that stood by the grave site like a sentinel. Vanessa watched the snow settle on the leaves, hoping that the young woman who’d lost her life up here would be transferred to a heavenly garden somewhere, her final resting place surrounded by flowers rather than crime-scene tape.
She was turning away when a tell-tale build-up of snow near the base of the tree cau
ght her eye. Pushing her goggles onto her forehead, she edged closer to the police tape for a better view. A dangerous hollow, a tree well had begun to form around the roots of the snow gum. Vanessa lowered her goggles, her body suddenly chilled despite the thermal layers she wore beneath her jacket. She’d pulled dead people out of tree wells in north America and France. How deep would that void have been back in 1964, when the snow had reached the eaves of the inn, and people had been skiing off the roof?
Back on the snowmobile, she opened up the throttle and headed straight for the village. She made a beeline for the run under the old chairlift and exited the trees at speed, a whiff of diesel in her nostrils, eyes watering behind her goggles.
At the inn, she parked at the side of the building and walked around to the entrance. An outdoor cafe had been set up a little way down the hill, where people were huddled close together, warming their hands around steaming mugs of coffee and hot chocolate.
Terry emerged through the front swing doors.
‘Hey. Have you seen Detective Ryder?’ she asked.
‘He’s in the foyer, on his phone,’ he said without stopping.
‘Vanessa!’
She wheeled around to see Libby tramping down the slope followed by a group of children pulling plastic toboggans.
‘Hey. What’s up?’
Libby came closer and whispered in her ear. ‘I might have to crash on your trundle again soon.’
Vanessa grinned. ‘Are you being sexcluded from your room again?’
‘Shh!’ Libby glanced around but nobody was paying attention, least of all the kids. ‘Just my luck I get stuck with a horny roommate. I swear, she’s working her way through every guy in the hotel staff accommodation.’
‘Well, you can crash on my trundle anytime.’
‘Thanks, Vee. You’re a lifesaver. I wish I lived at Long Bay. You don’t know how lucky you are having a room to yourself.’
‘It’s a ski-patrol perk.’ Vanessa turned at the sound of an oversnow transport vehicle. It was trundling up the hill towards the inn, snow flying from beneath its caterpillar treads.
‘Stand over here, kids,’ Libby called as the vehicle drew level with the cafe patrons.
‘Are you up for a drink tonight?’ Vanessa asked. ‘The more I hang around Long Bay, the more chance I have of running into Bruno.’
‘Oh, my God. What a loser that guy is. Of course I’m up for a drink. And it’s my shout.’ Libby raised her voice over the rumble of the diesel engine. ‘Does six work for—’
‘Get those kids out of here!’
Vanessa swung around at Detective Ryder’s furious voice. His brows were drawn together, his eyes sparking with anger as he marched towards them, the inn doors swinging to a close behind him. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Vanessa blinked. ‘What?’
‘Tell me you can see that.’ He stabbed a finger at the approaching oversnow.
Vanessa glanced over her shoulder then looked at Libby, who was herding the children into a tight group. ‘It always pulls up here. People ski around it and stand out here all the time. Nothing’s ever happened.’
He leaned in close and practically growled the words. ‘I don’t know what kind of a show you’re running here, but that practice is unsafe.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Libby said, her pale complexion turning a fierce red. She leaned over and scooped up a little girl who’d burst into tears and settled her on her hip. ‘I’ll take the kids away now.’
Her words seemed to appease him a little. He gave a brief nod, watching as Libby made her escape, shooing the kids away in front of her. The driver had cut the engine and a couple of porters looked on in amusement as they came outside to unload the guests’ luggage.
‘You were talking, and not taking any notice of the children,’ he hissed, hustling Vanessa to one side of the entrance as incoming guests began to scramble down from the vehicle’s specially modified cabin.
‘There’s a law against talking, is there?’ Vanessa bristled, her cheeks burning with embarrassment from the public dressing down. ‘Libby is in charge of the children. Not that I’m blaming her. It’s just the way things work around here.’
‘Well, it needs to change,’ Ryder retorted. ‘Kids are unpredictable. They shove one another. They chase one another. If one had darted away from the group they could have ended up under those caterpillar treads.’
‘I get your point, but I think you’re over-reacting.’
His eyebrows shot up and his lips parted.
‘What I mean is,’ she said quickly before he could continue his tirade, ‘the oversnow moves very slowly. We’ve never had a problem.’ ‘There’s always a first time. Believe me, Vanessa, that’s something you don’t want to see.’
Vanessa stared at him, curling her fingers inside her gloves, too angry to speak. He held her gaze for a few seconds of loaded silence before turning and striding back into the inn.
Face flaming, Vanessa kicked at the snow. She needed to tell him about that friggin’ tree well, but as for chasing after him, the … She didn’t know what to think of him now.
She looked up. The people from the oversnow were milling around, most of them too busy admiring the gorgeous vista to have noticed their heated exchange. Only one elderly man was watching with keen interest.
Oh, to hell with it.
Vanessa weaved her way around the luggage, and with a pointed look at the man, followed Ryder into the inn. Confrontation might be unpleasant, but if she could ward off creepy Bruno, she could handle angry Pierce Ryder. It was important he learn about the tree well; more important than any embarrassment she might suffer.
She took off her ski boots and shoved them under the bench seat in the foyer. She couldn’t handle Di Gordon going ballistic right now. Even her paying guests were subjected to death stares for failing to remove their ski boots. A patroller wouldn’t escape so lightly.
Upstairs, she rapped loudly on the door of Ryder’s suite.
She waited, steeling her mind. There was the sound of movement from inside, and she bit her lip wondering if Detective Flowers was with him. Then Ryder flung open the door, his face pale, his dark hair dishevelled like he’d been running a hand through it.
He stared at her, disbelief in his eyes. ‘Have you come back for more, or are you going to give me a piece of your mind?’
She didn’t answer, just pushed past him and walked into the sitting room.
‘Come in,’ he said dryly, though he didn’t order her out. He closed the door and turned to face her.
‘You’re right.’ She spoke first, her voice shaking with renewed anger. ‘I don’t ever want to see a child, or an adult, go under those caterpillar treads. I’ll raise the issue of oversnow safety at the next meeting. What I do object to is you treating me like I’m personally responsible for some horrific thing that hasn’t even happened.’
He moved past her and sat on the edge of the sofa. Elbows resting on his knees, he clasped his hands together and stared across the room.
‘I was waiting to see you when you let loose down there,’ she said.
He raised a shaky hand and rubbed at his forehead with his fingers.
What was going on with him? Vanessa frowned, her anger cooling. ‘You’re shaken up. I can see that. You remind me of …’
‘An addict?’ He bit out the words.
‘Someone who’s had a shock, actually.’ She walked over and sat at arm’s length from him. ‘Are you an addict?’ She asked him quietly, desperately wanting him to say no.
He shook his head. ‘Not unless you count the cigarettes I gave up three months ago.’
‘Nicotine doesn’t stay that long in your system.’
‘And yet I’d kill for a smoke.’
‘That’s stress.’
‘Post-traumatic—so they tell me.’ He glanced at her, a weary smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
‘Have you spoken to any—’
‘Yes. It’s not unusual
. Half the Force has it.’
‘That’s a sad statistic.’
He gave a curt nod as though the subject were closed.
She smiled, her anger gone. ‘My mother suffered from it, too.’ The tree well could wait a few minutes. ‘I caused it. Seems I have a knack for triggering post-traumatic stress.’
‘What happened downstairs had nothing to do with you. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m sorry.’
He gave her a half-smile and reached for the glass jug on the coffee table. He poured water into two tumblers. ‘I’d prefer something stronger, but not while I’m on duty.’ He handed her a glass, cool fingers brushing hers for a nanosecond. ‘Tell me about your mother,’ he said, clearly in need of a distraction. ‘Were you a disorderly teenager?’
Vanessa watched him through her glass as she drank the water, feeling a sudden desire to distract him another way, whether he was on duty or not. Bothered by her thoughts, and hoping her emotions didn’t show on her face, she gulped down the rest of her water and put her glass back on the table. Something stronger would have been good.
‘It’s kind of a long story.’
‘I’d like to hear it.’
‘Okay,’ she said, pleased that he seemed to be calmer now. ‘I was five. My older sister, Eva, was at school. Dad had gone to pick her up, and Mum was on the verandah busy making presents for the school’s Mother’s Day stall. I was riding around on my bike. The verandah wraps around three sides of the house. There’s a vegetable garden down one side. I remember feeling hungry, but I knew Mum was busy, so I got off my bike and went into the garden. We had strawberries growing. I loved them so much I would eat them when they were only half-ripened. I’d given myself an awful stomach ache a few times, and Mum had warned me not to eat them while they were still green. She said I would be in all sorts of trouble if I did. Of course, she meant I’d get ill, but I imagined she’d get really angry with me. I remember hearing her calling me. I had pink juice all over my hands and clothes. I knew she’d know what I’d been doing, so I ran out of the garden and onto the property. I was lost all night before they found me the next morning.’
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