by Jeff Carson
“Hey Tom, hi, I’m Scott,” he said.
Patterson raised an eyebrow. Apparently Rachette knew this guy. How come she’d never seen this guy before?
Scott led them to the snow cat parked near a trail sign a few hundred paces away.
Patterson followed behind in silence, watching Scott converse with Wilson and Rachette. They swerved between throngs of skiers dropping skis and clacking boots in bindings, and clanking poles, but Patterson didn’t hear or notice any of it. She found herself entranced with other things, which was a rare occurrence for her.
Rachette and Wilson stepped into the cat and sat down along the wall benches.
Scott turned to Patterson, “You want to sit up here with me, Heather?”
She shrugged and tried to look nonplussed, “Sure.”
Scott smiled at her, looking at her like he knew she was hiding something, or maybe it was like he was looking into her soul. She felt her breath accelerate as she sat down on the cold torn leather of the seat.
“How fast can this puppy go?” Rachette said, thankfully drawing any awkwardness in the situation to himself.
Scott turned the key and the engine growled to life, rattling the interior. He slapped the steering wheel and turned to Rachette with a serious look, “Twenty-one miles per hour.”
Patterson laughed aloud. Scott glanced her way with a conspiratorial smile and then shifted it into gear.
“Aw, weak,” Rachette said.
Scott turned the wheel and started down the catwalk, which ran straight ahead along the ridgeline toward a big pine-log structure perched in the distance. It was a flat trek on skis, and a long walk on foot, which was the reason for Scott Reed’s employment, Patterson mused.
“Yeah. It’s not the top of the line”—he knocked on the dashboard a couple times—“like most of the stuff we’re working with at Rocky Points, but she does the job.” He flicked a glance at Patterson again.
Patterson smiled easily and looked out the passenger window, admiring the view of the peaks to the west.
“Not a bad office you have up here,” she said.
“You got that right,” he said, “the view is amazing today.”
She nodded and then looked over at him, and he was staring at her with a look as serious as a heart attack. She rolled her eyes a little and looked back out the window, and then felt her skin go red hot.
Patterson rode the rest of the few-minutes ride in silence, listening to Rachette’s incessant questions and Scott’s patient answers. At one point, there was a lull, and Patterson half-expected Rachette to whine, “Are we there yet?”
When they stopped, she got out and gave a quick wave to Scott.
“I’ll wait here for you guys,” he said.
She didn’t look back as they walked to the lodge, fearing she might reveal her growing infatuation for him in a one-second glance, and he would think she was desperate or plain psycho.
She exhaled and studied the building.
The structure was tall, made of sturdy logs that must have been taken from hundred year old trees. Though unseen from the front of the building, she knew there was a roomy lower level that opened to the rear of the building, housing the top-of-the-mountain ski patrol station. She had heard that one of the major perks of a patroller being assigned to the Antler Creek station was the availability of gourmet coffee and leftover world-class dessert pastries.
It was empty of skiers, which was in stark contrast to the other lodges around the mountain at noon on a weekend. It was open for après ski and dinner, and only by reservation. Patterson had eaten there once a few years ago with her father and Aunt Margaret. She hadn’t paid for a cent of the meal, and she wouldn’t have been able to afford it if she’d tried.
Rachette stepped up next to Patterson. “You like that guy?” he asked.
She frowned. “What?”
“That guy, Scott? I’m just asking. It looked like you might have been a little into him. He seemed to be into you.”
She looked at Rachette for a few seconds and then shook her head. “Whatever, I don’t know, he seems like a nice guy I guess.”
Rachette huffed and looked ahead.
“What?”
“He’s married.”
Patterson felt her stomach drop. “What?”
“Yep. Married. Two kids”
Patterson looked over at him again. Rachette was staring at the snow and shaking his head.
“You’re full of shit,” Patterson said.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Ask Wilson.”
Wilson looked over with wide eyes, “I have no clue. I just met the guy.”
“Well, he is,” Rachette said.
Patterson shook her head and looked forward, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. Then she slowed a bit and glared at Rachette’s back. She felt like an idiot for letting herself swoon like a high school girl so quickly, and now a bigger idiot that Rachette had seen through her so cleanly.
She guessed she had to be grateful to Rachette, though. Her partner had her back, and now she knew Scott was a scumbag, sooner rather than later, before he had become some full-blown romantic fantasy.
The doors to the Antler Creek Lodge looked at least fifteen feet tall, and both of them looked like one solid piece of wood, each with a rack of antlers burnt into them. They were behemoths, Patterson thought, but they swiveled easily as Rachette pulled them open.
Inside, a hostess podium stood underneath an enormous elk-antler chandelier suspended from the ceiling with a heavy-gauge rusted chain. Beyond that, was a vast room filled with round and square tables, each draped with a white tablecloth and topped with understated fresh floral and candle centerpieces.
Thick logs spanned the A-framed ceiling, and on the far wall were floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view from Williams Pass to the south, to the town of Rocky Points below, Cave Creek Canyon far to the north, and the snow-covered peaks of the continental divide behind all of it.
Soft jazz played through invisible speakers, and the air smelled like spices and roasting meat.
“Ah, hello Officers,” a man said. He turned away from one of the tables with a hand flourish and walked toward them. He was medium height and heavy-set, dressed in a white button-up shirt and black slacks pulled high on his torso.
Identical attire to their victim, Patterson noticed.
“You the manager?” Rachette asked, and shook the man’s hand.
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“I’m Deputy Rachette. These are Deputies Wilson and Patterson.”
“Welcome to Antler Creek. I’m Terrence,” he replied in a sing-song tone. “It’s nice to meet you. I have to admit, I’ve been wondering what’s going on ever since you called.”
“We need to ask you a few questions about Stephanie Lang. Is she one of your employees?” Patterson said.
Rachette glanced at Patterson and then back to Terrence, “It’s part of an investigation we are conducting.”
Terrence nodded, and his slicked-back hair didn’t move a millimeter. “Okay?”
“What time did she leave last night?” Rachette asked.
“Oh, dear,” Terrence said, allowing his voice to take on a more-pronounced effeminate quality. “Come with me.” He stormed off with a deep, hip-swaying walk toward two swivel doors that had submarine portholes and bashed through with stiff arms.
Rachette jogged to catch them before they swung shut, and Patterson and Wilson followed, looking at one another. They all stopped, almost barreling into Terrence who was standing just inside the door, pressing his finger against a sheet of paper taped to the wall.
“Hmmm,” he said. “She left…with the first cuts. So, about ten-thirty?” He looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds. “Yeah. Probably about then.”
“Isn’t that a little late for the first cut?” Patterson said, thinking about a summer job she had had waiting tables for a restaurant in Aspen.
“Normally, yes,” Terrence said, “but last night w
as not normal now, was it?” Terrence zig-zagged his neck a few times and then stared at Patterson.
“No,” she said. “I guess not.”
“Those people stayed way too long for the type of weather we were having. It was like they wanted to be stranded here overnight. They don’t even know how lucky they were.”
“Have you ever been stranded here?” Patterson asked, her curiosity piqued.
He narrowed his eyes. “No.”
Rachette crossed his arms and looked between them. “Did you see her leave?”
“Pssh, I had plenty of other stuff going on.”
“Who else was let off work at the same time?” Patterson asked.
Terrence twisted to the sheet of paper again and pointed at the list. “All these with the number 1 next to them. Nine people.”
Patterson pulled out her notebook and started writing down the names. “Can we please get their phone numbers also?” she asked.
Terrence kept his eyes on Patterson and put his finger on the sheet of paper underneath. It was a roster of the employees with phone numbers next to the names.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Just write down the men,” Rachette said.
Patterson ignored him. Just because the text message had said she was with two men didn’t necessarily mean that she’d left the restaurant with them.
“How many servers were working last night?” she asked.
“All those you see right there,” Terrence said.
Patterson stopped writing on the third name and sighed. “Can we please take this schedule?”
Terrence shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
Patterson pulled the sheet off the wall and folded it. “So, what was the process last night for the servers? Did each server have a section? Or certain tasks?”
“They each had a specific section to keep track of. Within each section, some were in charge of drinks only, while the others took care of the food and everything else.”
“And which section was Stephanie in?” she asked.
Terrence rolled his eyes. “You’re killing me. Do you mind telling me what’s going on?” His attitude was pure sass, but somehow he used a light tone of voice and sincerity that came across as friendly.
“It’s just a part of an investigation,” Rachette said quickly. “Now, please. The section?”
Terrence turned and walked away at full speed again, clicking on the tile floor and swerving his ample body between a few cooks who were preparing things on the stainless steel counters.
They followed him, this time in less of a rush.
Terrence stopped at a door at the end of the kitchen and inserted a key. Pushing open the door and flipping on an interior light, he started whistling a vibrato melody and dug through a mess of papers on a desk. Then he picked up a sheet, stepped out, and slammed the door behind him.
“Here you go,” he said.
Rachette took it and Wilson and Patterson gathered to look. It was an overhead diagram of the dining hall, and every seat was labeled with a name written on a line next to it. It only took a few seconds for Patterson to spot Wolf’s name, seated next to Sheriff Harold Burton.
Terrence poked his finger on the sheet on the opposite side of the room from Wolf’s table. “She was in section two, drinks. These two tables.”
There were six people on a table, so twelve people in all. All in all, a heck of a lot of people Stephanie could have left with, and a heck of a lot of people to interview.
“Are there any servers from last night here now?” Patterson asked, slightly dejected.
Terrence shook his head with a sympathetic look. “Not for another couple of hours, sorry.”
Wilson cleared his throat, “How do you guys get down from the mountain at night?”
Terrence looked up at Wilson and leaned back, as if startled that the man could talk. “Same way you guys just got up here. The gondola.”
“Thank you,” Patterson said, and she turned and left the kitchen.
She heard Rachette and Wilson wrap up the interview as she pushed through the swivel doors and into the dining room.
“Hey, wait up!” Rachette said.
Wilson and Rachette jingled and thumped up behind her, catching up to Patterson as she went out the front door, and back into the glare of the afternoon sun.
“What’s the hurry?” Rachette asked.
“We’ve got a funeral to go to in an hour,” Patterson said not breaking stride.
They walked in silence toward the parked snow cat.
Scott Reed sat on one of the snow tracks with his elbows on his knees, taking in the sun with an upturned face. He spotted them coming when he heard the crunching footsteps and smiled.
“You guys ready to get back—“
“Do you know who Stephanie Lang is?” Patterson asked, stopping in front of Scott.
Scott stood up and pulled his coat down. “Yeah, she works here.”
Scott gestured to the lodge behind them, and as he pointed with his left index finger, Patterson realized he wasn’t wearing gloves. Neither was he wearing a wedding ring.
“Everybody knows her,” he said with a small chuckle.
Patterson narrowed her eyes, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean. They kept hearing about Stephanie’s promiscuity. Was Scott saying he knew her in that way? Giving a little nudge-nudge, wink-wink to Rachette and Wilson? This guy with his dreamy green eyes oozed bags full of scum to her now.
“Did you see her last night?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he nodded and put on his gloves. “I took her over to the gondola, just like half of the rest of the people here. We had two cats going last night, but yeah, I remember taking her. She left early. The snow had just started.”
“Was she with anyone?” Patterson asked.
“Like, what do you mean, with someone? I remember…there were probably like seven or eight other people on the cat, and a ski patrolman sitting up front with me.”
“Do you remember if she was conversing with two men?” Rachette asked. “Like, she was leaving with them.”
Scott raised his eyebrows and looked to be starting a grin, and then looked at Patterson’s serious expression and scrunched his face in thought. A light went on, and he closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, she was. She was with a guy.”
“One man?” Rachette asked.
Scott nodded.
“How do you know they were together?” Patterson asked.
“I remember them cuddling and laughing, trying to keep warm against the blowing snow as they got into the cat. And then they sat just behind me and to the right, and I remember watching them kind of groping each other.”
“They were kissing?” Patterson asked.
“No. Just acting super friendly, you know? All smiles and”—he shook his head—“I don’t know. Just all up against each other.” Scott pantomimed cuddling up next to a person, and then looked down at Patterson.
Patterson stared with half-closed eyes. “Can you describe the man?”
Scott swallowed and flicked at look at Rachette and Wilson, and then he cleared his throat. “No, sorry.”
“Are you sure?” Rachette said.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. No. I can’t remember what he looked like. I shuttled so many people last night, and everyone was bundled up, and there was blowing snow…I’d just be making stuff up if I gave you any sort of description.”
Patterson stepped past Scott and got into the snow cat. Before she could stop herself, the words were already out of her mouth. “We wouldn’t want you making stuff up,” she said as she sat down on the rear bench.
“Uh,” Rachette looked at Patterson and then Scott. “I guess we’re ready to hit it. I’ll sit up front with you.”
They bounced and swayed in silence on the short ride back to the gondola.
When they stopped, Patterson jumped out and walked to the front of the cat.
Scott met her halfway with an outstretched hand and a
smile.
“Who was the gondola operator last night?” she asked, giving a quick and lifeless shake, not bothering to take off her glove.
“It was…Victor. Victor Peterhaus.”
She took off her glove and pulled out her notebook. “Can you spell that?”
He did.
“Do you have his number?” She asked.
He did, and he pulled out his cell phone and gave it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, and walked into the gondola terminal, and into the first vacant gondola.
A few seconds later Rachette and Wilson came in, wobbling the car as they sat breathlessly, a wary look of concern on their faces. And zipped lips.
Chapter 9
After sending Rachette and Patterson up to the mountain, Wolf drove up the road to check on the crime scene once again. They were clicking pictures, and writing notes, and bagging evidence. Satisfied that Lorber, his assistant, and the other four deputies were processing the scene with expert efficiency and didn’t need any help from him, he turned his truck around and headed back down into town.
On the way down he called Sarah. When it went to voicemail, he hung up and dialed Jack.
“Hello?” Jack said, his voice cracking, like it did so often these days.
“Hey man, what’s going on?”
“…” Wolf heard nothing. The connection was shoddy, as it was so often in the area.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yeah.” Jack’s voice was an old, scratched record.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Good, how are you?” A flutter of wind hit his phone microphone, and Wolf realized Jack was probably on the mountain.
“You riding today?” Wolf asked, careful to use Jack’s proper term for skiing.
“Yeah, I’m on the lift. It dumped huge. It’s so epic.”
Wolf nodded, picturing his son on the ski lift, his lanky legs, long after a growth spurt that had hit him painfully that last few months, dangling with wide skis designed for deep powder days just like this, long hair poking out from under his cap, probably wearing way too little clothing for how cold it was.